by J. D. Robb
“Tell me about him,” Roarke said as he bulleted through the gates.
“Second-rate—no that’s being kind. Third-rate illegals dealer, chemi-head who was real fond of the funk. He was showing signs of those by-products. Liked to play pool—was good at it, but he’d lose that once the funk blurred his vision. Haunted the underground, and was a regular at Gametown. An asshole, a complete fuckhead. Mostly nonviolent. Run, hide, and lie. Crap.”
She sat back a moment, closed her eyes.
“When did you last deal with him?”
“Winter before last, before I lost my badge. The whole organ-theft, sidewalk-sleeper murders.”
Waverly, she remembered, had been on her dream jury.
“I took Peabody underground—scared the snot out of her.”
“It wouldn’t now.”
“No, it wouldn’t now. I went looking for him because I knew he dealt with one of the vics. Old guy named Snooks, picked up some scratch selling crappy flowers.”
She took herself back, underground, to the dank and the dangerous. To the tunnels, the fetid smells, the lost souls.
“I found him in Gametown, playing pool. One of the other assholes he played with didn’t want the game interrupted, got in my face, got a little physical. I picked up Ledo’s cue, knocked the big asshole back with it. But he was big, and he shook it off, came back at me. I used my knee as a cue on his balls. Ran the table, you could say.”
“If the killer’s punishing people who came at you—one way or the other—it sounds like the big asshole would be the victim.”
“Ledo loved that cue—and I broke it on the big asshole’s rock head. Ledo grabbed for it, and ended up clocking me in the face. Inadvertent, but I saw stars and it left a pretty good mark.”
“Did you arrest him?”
“No. Used the assaulting an officer as leverage, got what I could out of him. He actually gave me some information. He didn’t do anything but piss me off, give me an accidental tap, and be himself. Which meant he was a moron.”
“All that would’ve been in your report.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “All of it would’ve been in my report. Add that Ledo likely tried to up his rep by claiming he’d taken on the bitch cop, left a mark on her. He could’ve told that story while doing his last stint—embellished.”
Roarke drove fast, smooth, slipping and sliding his way around maxibuses, early commuters, Rapid Cabs.
“You’re the juncture, and that helps you.”
“Being a murder juncture doesn’t feel helpful.”
“Stop feeling it. Easier said,” he added, taking his hand from the wheel to touch hers. “But you can, and you will. You’re looking for someone who gained knowledge of these two victims, and their dealings with you. Bastwick was vocal in the media, so that’s simple enough. But this one has to be more internal.”
“Back to a cop or someone involved in law enforcement because the odds of someone focused on me who actually knew Bastwick and Ledo are slim. They couldn’t have run in more opposing directions. Law enforcement, lawyer, court staff. Reporter,” she added, following the theme.
She drummed her fingers on her thigh as he drove downtown.
“Mira’s profile. Organized, intelligent, controlled. We’ve got someone who can implement and execute long-range plans, and one who avoids confrontation. Who seeks approval—or at least mine—and wants appreciation.”
“A person who’s idealized you,” Roarke added. “And one who, we have to consider, can as quickly demonize you.”
“I’d rather,” Eve said. “Come after me? I can handle it.”
A few rusted, dented vehicles hugged the curb in the Square. Most of them stripped of any usable parts, then used as yet another canvas for ugly words, suggestions, and comments or pornographic graffiti.
In back of a wheel-less, door-less, and ancient two-seater with FUCK YOU, ASSWIPE sprayed in black on the faded brown truck, sat a muscular black-and-white.
A couple of early risers—or more likely late players—loitered on the steps leading down to a basement flop, all reddened cheeks and angry eyes.
Two beat droids stood on the sidewalk looking as snarly as droids could, each with a hand on the butt of a riot stick.
“Lieutenant.” The first stepped up as Eve got out of the car. He’d been created to resemble a black man in his early thirties with shoulders wide as the Great Wall of China. “We were called in to deal with crowd control when and if necessary, and keep a watch on any and all official vehicles. We’re programmed specifically to deal with the issues and culture of this area.”
“Good, you do that.” She scanned the building, the darkened windows, the ones currently boarded up. “It’s too early for too much trouble here.” She flicked a glance at the loiterers as one made sucking kisses noises in her direction.
The beat droid turned, but Eve shook her head. “I’ll handle it.”
She strolled over, long leather coat billowing in the wind. “Want a kiss?” she asked.
“Can’t be putting my lips on no cop’s.” Bloodshot eyes with reddened rims dared her, and when his lips peeled back in a grin he demonstrated a disdain for any hint of dental hygiene. “But I got a big dick here, you wanna use your mouth for something.”
The idea had his skinny, long-necked companion giggling like a girl.
“A big one?”
He cupped his crotch, pumped his hips. “Bigger than you ever seen, bitch.”
She angled her head, smiled. “I’ve seen pretty big, so you’re going to have to prove it.”
Still cruising on whatever had gotten him through the night, Big Dick fumbled open his fly, yanked out a cock just going hard. Privately Eve could admit he might have some reasonable bragging rights on size, but that just made it simpler.
“Is that yours?”
“Shit, you blind and stupid, bitch?”
“Just making sure.”
She grabbed it, sincerely grateful she’d pulled on gloves, twisted. As he made a sound like one of those whistling kettles just getting the steam up, his companion lurched forward with a “Hey, hey!”
Eve balled her free fist, popped him in the throat as there was such a long target. He choked, grabbed his throat, stumbled back to land on his ass on the litter-strewn concrete in front of the apartment door.
Big Dick kept making that high-pitched wheeze as he went down to his knees.
“Here are your choices,” she said, twisting just a little harder. “I can have your bruised and ugly dick hauled in along with the rest of you and your idiot friend there. Indecent exposure, assault on an officer, and toss in possession of whatever the deeply stupid pair of you have in your pockets. You get that? Nod if you get that.”
His head bobbed, his reddened eyes watered and spilled tears.
“Good. Second choice. Zip that thing back up before I add polluting the atmosphere to the list. Nod once for choice one, twice for choice two.”
Very carefully he nodded twice. “Also good.”
She let him go. Both of them coughed until she wondered if they’d bring up an internal organ. While she waited for them to get their breath back, she peeled off her gloves, gingerly turned them inside out, balled them into each other.
She wouldn’t be using them again.
“How long have you been out here?”
“Fuck—”
“I’ll go for your balls next,” Eve warned, with some cheer in the tone. “And I’ll crush them like walnuts. How long?”
“Don’t make her mad no more, Pick. Don’t make her mad.”
Longneck managed to get to his knees. “We just walked down, after-hours place down the block. We just walked down, saw the cops and all. I live here. Right here.”
He gestured to the basement flop. “We didn’t do nothing. We didn’t see nothing.”
/> “You know Ledo?”
“Sure, sure, lives right up there.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Um, like maybe yesterday. Maybe night before. Down around Gametown maybe. Like that.”
If she needed more, she knew where to find them. She straightened. “Get gone. Now. And stay that way.”
She turned, walked away. The droids now looked as amused as droids could manage. Roarke leaned casually against the car, working on his PPC.
“Should we write up the incident, Lieutenant?” one of the droids asked her.
“What incident?” Signaling to Roarke, she walked toward the neighboring building. “I can’t lie, I needed that.”
“Everyone’s entitled to a bit of entertainment now and again.”
“Perked me right up.” She rolled her shoulders as they went inside. “Did you give me these gloves?”
“Most likely.”
“They were nice. Sorry.”
Though she considered she should fine herself for littering, she tossed them on the already littered floor before starting up the stairs.
Somebody would be able to use them—and wouldn’t give a hot damn where they’d been.
Peabody opened the door.
“You were fast,” she said. “I just got here. Hey, Roarke.” She stepped back to let them in. “Officer Rineheart’s first on scene. Nine-one-one caller’s across the hall with his partner. She states she was leaving to go to work, saw the door open, looked in.”
Peabody gestured to where Ledo lay on a thin mattress stained with blood and assorted bodily fluids Eve didn’t much want to think about.
He was fully dressed—faded Knicks sweatshirt, black cargo pants, thick socks—once white, she assumed, and now the color of puss—with ragged holes so both big toes poked through.
A dark trench coat and a couple of frayed and tattered blankets lay crumpled beside him, and the butt end of a pool cue speared out of his chest.
Scrawny build, hair like dirty straw, eyes that showed the pink rims of the funky-junkie.
“That’s Ledo.” Eve turned to the uniform. “Let’s have it.”
“Responded to nine-one-one logged at oh-six-sixteen. My partner and I arrived at oh-six-twenty. Building unsecured, apartment door open, DB as you see it. I visually ID’d Ledo.”
The cop, grizzled hair under his cap, glanced toward the body.
“I’ve worked this area for the last four years, so I know him. Caller’s Misty Polinsky, lives across the hall. She’s young, Lieutenant, and pretty shaken up. Once we got her settled down, I called in some droids. We leave the cruiser out there unattended, there won’t be much left of it when we get out again.”
“Okay. Start a canvass, for what it’s worth. You want backup for that?”
“Most people know me. Won’t be a problem. A couple of sidewalk sleepers were inside, down on the entrance level. Sleeping. We had to shake ’em pretty good to wake them up. We got names, had them transported to a shelter. They didn’t see anything. I know ’em,” he added. “They’re regulars around here, so it’s easy to pick them up you want to talk to them, but they were both out cold.”
She nodded, then taking her field kit from Roarke, sealed up before she moved toward the body.
Routine, she told herself. Procedure. And took out her tools.
“Vic’s ID confirmed as Ledo, Wendall, of this address. TOD . . .” She checked her gauge. “Oh-six-three. Wit just missed the killer.”
“I’ve got the rest of the pool cue here, Dallas,” Peabody told her. “Top half.”
“Guess he bought a new one,” Eve murmured. “Pool was his game. I busted the other, about like this, and when he grabbed for it, he clocked me in the face with the butt end.”
“Dallas,” Peabody began, but Eve shook her head.
“That’s what the killer had to know, had to think. He tried lying to me—that’s why his tongue’s sitting in this go-cup.”
“Didn’t see that. I’ll bag it.”
“Cold in here. Windows are crap so it’s cold in here. He comes in, probably from Gametown, tosses his coat, his shoes, but flops down in his clothes, pulls on those crap blankets. Tox screen will be interesting.” She peeled one of his reddened eyelids up. “Couldn’t lay off the funk, couldn’t resist his own products. He’ll have some stashed around here, and you can bet the pockets of that coat hold more. Check that out, Peabody.”
“Ick,” was Peabody’s opinion, but she crouched down to go through the stained coat on the floor.
“Easy enough to case a dump like this, to get a line on Ledo’s routine. He’d sleep most days—his business is night business, plus the sun hurts his eyes. Funk does that. And in weather like this, he’d go underground, maybe hit one of the grease joints for some food first, but he’d do most of his business under. Get high, stay high, shoot some pool, and if he still had some skills, make enough to buy some brew, maybe more to eat—maybe enough to pay for a quick bang or a bj. Come home before the sun comes up, pass out, then do it all again.”
“Various suspicious substances,” Peabody announced. “In small, clear bags, two key bars, one-sixty-three in cash, no credits, no plastic, a pocket ’link, a small, opened bag of cheese-and-onion soy chips.”
Eve sat back on her heels. “Fucked-up life, but it was his.”
“The locks were tampered with recently,” Roarke told her. “What there is of them.”
She nodded. “Knows he’ll have flopped sometime before dawn. Hell, if he’s not here, just wait until he stumbled home. But odds are he’d be here. No security on this building, just walk in. Bet you had your cover, though. Your delivery uniform, your box of tricks. Just step over the sleepers and come right up. Pick the locks—crap locks, but you didn’t just break them, so that’s another skill in your pocket.”
She walked through it in her head, walked through it with the killer.
“He’s passed out. Had to be dark—filthy windows, not much light coming through that early, even from the streetlights, not through those windows. Brought your own light.”
Carefully, she lifted the bloodstained sweatshirt, examined his torso. “Brought your stunner, too. Passed-out junkie, and still you use a stunner. Cowardice or compassion? Have to think about that. Either way, he didn’t feel a thing.”
She got to her feet. “Pool cue’s right there. He kept it close, like a fricking teddy bear. Bust it—that’s symbolic. Give him one good smack with it—same side of the face as he got me. That’s symbolic, too, otherwise, why not beat him to death with the cue? Just wail away.”
“Too violent,” Peabody suggested.
“Yeah. Too violent, too passionate, and too messy. Beating somebody to death just isn’t efficient. One hit—payback—then stab the broken end into his chest. That takes some muscle.” She shifted her body, held her hands just above the butt of the cue.
“Set it on him? Press down, use your weight, push. That’s probably it. Popped it right through him. Take care of the tongue—lying tongue—then write the message.”
TO LIEUTENANT EVE DALLAS, WITH RESPECT AND ADMIRATION.
HE WAS A BLIGHT ON SOCIETY, THE SAME SOCIETY WHO HAMPERS YOU WITH RULES PROTECTING BLIGHTS. SOME RULES RESTRAIN JUSTICE. YOU AND I KNOW THIS.
HE SOLD HIS FILTH TO THOSE WHO IGNORE ALL RULES, LIVE IN FILTH. HE LIED TO YOU, ASSAULTED YOU. WHILE HE FEARED YOU, HE NEVER RESPECTED YOU. AND STILL THOSE RULES ALLOWED HIM TO LIVE HIS WORTHLESS, PARASITIC LIFE.
THIS IS JUSTICE, FOR SOCIETY, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, MOST PERSONALLY, EVE, FOR YOU. THE MARK HE LEFT ON YOUR FACE FADED, AND NOW THE INSULT HAS BEEN REPAID, IN FULL.
I AM YOUR FRIEND. KNOW THAT I’LL ALWAYS STAND BY YOU, ASK FOR NOTHING MORE THAN YOUR FRIENDSHIP. I WILL HELP YOU SERVE JUSTICE, REAL JUSTICE TO THE GUILTY. AS YOU READ THIS, KNOW I’M THINKING OF YOU EVERY HOUR OF EVERY DAY.
>
YOUR TRUE FRIEND.
“It’s longer,” Eve noted. “Getting chattier, and . . .” She pulled out microgoggles, moved in closer. “Shakier. Not as precise and controlled on the lettering here. We need this analyzed, but it looks like some of the words are darker, a little thicker—like he pushed harder with the marker. My first name, justice, filth, respected, true. More emphasis there.”
She stepped back, pulled off the goggles. “Okay. We’re going to leave the scene to the sweepers.”
Peabody glanced around the pesthole. “Thanks be to the goddess of all that’s clean and healthy.” She smiled at Roarke. “A little Free-Ager sentiment.”
“And perfectly apt, considering.”
“Send for the sweepers, and the wagon,” Eve ordered. “Tag Morris, Mira, and Whitney. EDD can check out his ’link. We’ll talk to the wit, have the uniforms secure the scene.” She looked over at Roarke. “You’ve got to have things to do.”
“I’ll stay until you’re done here.”
Rather than argue, she moved out and across the hall, knuckle-rapped on the door.
A female officer with a tough build answered. She glanced at Eve’s badge, back up to her face. “Lieutenant.”
“Your partner’s started the canvass. The sweepers and the morgue have been notified. Keep the scene secured, Officer Morales.”
“Yes, sir. Wit’s shaken up, but cooperative. I don’t think she saw anything. Her story’s holding solid.”
“We’ll take a pass at her.”
Eve stepped in. It was a mirror of Ledo’s flop in size and shape, but it lacked the toxic pigsty decor. Misty Polinsky had a saggy sofa covered with a wildly floral throw, a skinny red rug over clean floors, a fringed lamp with a dented shade. She—or someone—had painted more flowers on boxes stacked into a substitute dresser.