by J. D. Robb
She was late for Mira, but it couldn’t be helped. Eve found her sitting in the parlor, drinking tea and working on her PPC.
“Sorry. I got hung up.”
“It’s all right.” Mira set the PPC aside. She wore a simply cut suit in a smokey color that wasn’t quite blue, wasn’t quite gray. Somehow her shoes managed to be the exact same in-between tone. There were twists of silver at her ears and a trio of hair-thin chains around her neck.
Eve wondered if she had to strategize to put herself together with such elegant perfection, or if it came naturally.
“She’s sleeping. The child,” Mira said. “Summerset has her on monitor.”
“Oh, good. Okay. Listen, I’ve got to get some real coffee or my brain’s going to melt. You good?”
“Fine, thanks.”
Eve walked over to a wall panel and, opening it, revealed a mini AutoChef. “You got the report.”
“Yes, it’s what I was going over when you got here.”
“It’s sketchy yet, but I haven’t had time to fill in the fine points. Peabody’s getting the clearance for the minor victims’ data—heading to their schools, see what we can find there.”
“Do you expect to find anything there? Do you think the children were the targets?”
Eve lifted a shoulder, then closed her eyes and let the jolt of coffee do its work. “The boy was old enough, certainly, to be involved in illegals, gangs, and all sorts of bad behavior. Can’t discount that. Or the possibility he and/or his sister witnessed something or were told something that required their termination. Odds are higher it was one of the adults, but it’s not a certainty, especially this early on.”
“There was no additional violence, no destruction of property.”
“None, and if anything was taken from the premises, we don’t know about it yet. The timing was quick and slick. Teamwork, timetable. Damn good job.”
“From anyone else, I’d say that was a cold and heartless remark.”
Eve’s eyes flattened. “From their point of view, it was. Cold, heartless, and a damn good job. Except they missed. They’ll know they missed soon, once the media gets going on this.”
“And they may try to finish the job,” Mira said with a nod. “So you brought the child here.”
“One of the reasons. This place is a fucking fort. And if I keep CPS at a distance, I’ve got unlimited access to the eye witness. Plus, the kid freaked at the idea of going with the social worker. She’s no good to me if she’s hysterical.”
“Remember who you’re talking to,” Mira said mildly. “You would have managed full access even if she’d been placed under CPS and put in a safe house. Feeling for her doesn’t make you less of a cop.”
Eve slid one hand into her pocket. “She called nine-one-one. She crawled through her parents’ blood. Yeah, I feel for her. I also know a kid who can do that can stand up to what comes next.”
She sat across from Mira. “I don’t want to push the wrong buttons on her. I could do that, and if I do, she’s going to pull in, shut down. But I need details from her, information from her. Everything I can get. I need you to help me.”
“And I will.” She sipped her tea. “My preliminary profile of your killers is that they were indeed a team. Have likely worked together before, and have certainly killed before. They would be mature, and likely have some training. Military or paramilitary, or organized crime. There was nothing personal in this act, but the murder of the children—a family as a unit—is certainly personal. I’m sure it wasn’t a thrill kill, nor was it sexual.”
“For profit?”
“Very possibly, or because they were given orders, or simply because it had to be done. The motive?” She sipped her tea thoughtfully. “We’ll need more on the victims to speculate on the why. But the who? They’ll be experienced, and they’ll trust each other. They’re organized and confident.”
“It was an op. That’s how it ran for me. An operation, planned and practiced.”
“You think they had access to the house before last night?” Mira asked.
“Maybe. In any case, they knew the layout, where everyone slept. If the housekeeper was primary, there was no reason to take the second floor and vice versa. So it was a clean sweep.”
Eve checked her wrist unit. “How long do you figure she’ll be out? The kid?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“I don’t want to hold you up.”
“And you’re anxious to get to work yourself.”
“I haven’t talked to the ME, or finished my report, harassed the lab, or yelled at the sweepers. People are going to think I’m on vacation.”
With a smile, Mira rose. “Why don’t you contact me when . . . Ah,” she added when Summerset stepped into the doorway.
“Lieutenant, your young charge is awake.”
“Oh. Right. Fine. You still got time to start this now?” she asked Mira.
“Yes. Where would you like to speak with her?”
“I figured my office.”
“Why don’t you bring her down here? It’s a nice, comfortable space, and might help put her at ease.”
“I’ll bring her down.” Summerset faded out of the doorway, and left Eve frowning.
“Am I going to owe him for this?” she wondered. “For, you know, riding herd or whatever you’d call it. Because I’d really hate that.”
“I think you’re fortunate to have someone on premises who’s willing and able to tend to a young, traumatized girl.”
“Yeah, shit.” Eve sighed. “I was afraid of that.”
“It might help to remember the child’s welfare and state of mind is priority.”
“Looking at him on a regular basis might send her back into shock.”
But when Nixie came in, the cat on her heels, she had her hand firmly in Summerset’s bony one, releasing it only when she saw Eve. Nixie walked directly to her. “Did you find them?”
“Working on it. This is Dr. Mira. She’s going to help—”
“I already saw a doctor. I don’t want to see a doctor.” Nixie’s voice began to rise. “I don’t want—”
“Throttle back,” Eve ordered. “Mira’s a friend of mine, and she’s not only a doctor, she works with the cops.”
Nixie slid her eyes toward Mira. “She doesn’t look like the police.”
“I work with the police,” Mira said in calm, quiet tones. “I try to help them understand the people who commit crimes. I’ve known Lieutenant Dallas quite a while. I want to help her, and you, find the people who hurt your family.”
“They didn’t hurt them, they killed them. They’re all dead.”
“Yes, I know. It’s horrible.” Mira’s gaze and her tone stayed level. “The worst thing that can happen.”
“I wish it didn’t.”
“So do I. I think if we sit down and talk, we might be able to help.”
“They killed Linnie.” Nixie’s bottom lip began to tremble. “They thought she was me, and now she’s dead. I wasn’t supposed to go downstairs.”
“We all do things we’re not really supposed to sometimes.”
“But Linnie didn’t. I was bad, and she wasn’t. And she’s dead.”
“Not so very bad,” Mira said gently, and taking Nixie’s hand led her to a chair. “Why did you go downstairs?”
“I wanted an Orange Fizzy. I’m not supposed to have them without permission. I’m not supposed to snack at night. My mom—” she broke off, knuckled her eyes.
“Your mom would have said no, so yes, it was wrong of you to go behind her back. But she’d be very glad you weren’t hurt, wouldn’t she? She’d be happy that, this once, you broke the rules.”
“I guess.” Galahad leaped into her lap, and Nixie stroked his wide back. “But Linnie—”
“It wasn’t your fault. Nothing that happened was your fault. You didn’t cause it, and you couldn’t have stopped it.”
Nixie looked up. “Maybe if I’d yelled really loud, I’d’ve woken everyone up.
My dad could’ve fought the bad guys.”
“Did your father have a weapon?” Eve demanded before Mira could speak.
“No, but—”
“Two men with knives, and him unarmed. Maybe if you’d yelled he’d have woken up. And he’d still be dead. Only difference is they’d have known someone else was in the house, hunted you down, and killed you, too.”
Mira shot Eve a warning look and turned her attention back to Nixie. “Lieutenant Dallas told me you were very brave and very strong. Because she’s both of those things, I know she’s telling the truth.”
“She found me. I was hiding.”
“It was good that you hid. It was good that she found you. I know what Lieutenant Dallas just said is hard for you to hear, but she’s right. There was nothing more you could have done last night to help your family. But there are things you can do now.” Mira glanced at Eve, signalling her.
“Listen, Nixie,” Eve said, “this is rough, but the more you can tell me, the more I know. This is my recorder.” She set it on the table, sat across from Mira and the child. “I’m going to ask you some questions. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, in interview with Swisher, Nixie, minor female, with Mira, Dr. Charlotte, in attendance. Okay, Nixie?”
“Okay.”
“Do you know about what time it was that you got out of bed?”
“It was more than two o’clock. Like ten after, about. I had my Jelly Roll on.”
“Wrist unit,” Mira translated.
“What did you do when you got up? Exactly.”
“I went downstairs—really quiet. I thought, for a minute, since Linnie didn’t want to wake up, I’d get Coyle. But maybe he’d tell, and I liked being up by myself. I went to the kitchen and got an Orange Fizzy out of the friggie, even though I’m not supposed to. And I went to sit down and drink it in the breakfast area.”
“What happened then?”
“I saw the shadow come in, but it didn’t see me. I got down on the bench. It went into Inga’s room.”
“What did the shadow look like?”
“It looked like a man, I guess. It was dark.”
“Was he tall or short?”
“As tall as the lieutenant?” Mira prompted and gestured for Eve to stand up.
“Taller, probably. I don’t know.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Dark stuff.”
“What about his hair?” Eve tugged her own. “Short, long?”
On a short sigh, Nixie nuzzled the cat. “It must’ve been short, ’cause I couldn’t really see it. It was . . . it was . . . covered. Like.” She made a gesture, as if pulling something over her head. “It covered him up. His whole face, and his eyes, they were all black and shiny.”
Protective gear, Eve surmised. Night goggles. “Did you hear him say anything?”
“No. He killed her, with the knife. He killed her, and there was blood. And he didn’t say anything.”
“Where were you?”
“On the floor, at the door. I wanted to look inside and see . . .”
“It was dark. How could you see?”
Her eyebrows came together a moment. “From the window. The streetlight through the window. He had a light.”
“Like a flashlight?”
“No, a little dot, a little green light. It was blinking. On his hand. On his . . . here.” She closed her fingers around her wrist.
“Okay, what happened then?”
“I got against the wall. I think. I was so scared. He killed Inga, and he had a knife, and I was so scared.”
“You don’t have to be scared now,” Mira said. “You’re safe now.”
“He didn’t see me, like I wasn’t there. Like hide-and-seek, but he didn’t look for me. I got the ’link and I called. Dad says if you see somebody getting hurt, you call Emergency and the police will come and help. You gotta call, you gotta be a good neighbor. My dad—” She broke off, bowed her head as tears dripped.
“He would be very proud of you.” Mira reached for her own bag, took a tissue from it. “Very proud that you did just what he taught you, even when you were scared.”
“I wanted to tell him, to tell him and Mom. I wanted Mom. But they were dead.”
“You saw the man again, and someone else,” Eve prompted, “when you went upstairs. You went up the back way.”
“The man who killed Inga was going into Coyle’s room.”
“How do you know? Nixie, how do you know it was the man from Inga’s room who went into Coyle’s?”
“Because . . .” She looked up again, blinking against the tears. “The light. The green light. The other didn’t have one.”
“Okay. What else was different?”
“The one who killed Inga was bigger.”
“Taller?”
“A little bit, but bigger.” She flexed her arms, indicating muscle.
“Did they talk to each other?”
“They didn’t say anything. They didn’t make any noise. I couldn’t hear anything. I wanted Mom.”
Her eyes went dull again, and a tremor shook her voice. “I knew what they were going to do and I wanted Mom and Dad, but . . . And there was blood, and it got on me. I hid in the bathroom, and I didn’t come out. I heard people come in, but I didn’t come out. You came.”
“Okay. Do you remember, before any of this happened, if your parents said anything about being concerned, about anybody who was mad at them, or if they’d seen somebody hanging around who shouldn’t be?”
“Dad said Dave said he was going to beat him unconscious with his nine iron because he won the golf game.”
“Did they fight a lot, your dad and Dave?”
“Nuh-uh, not for real.” She knuckled her eyes. “Just ripping.”
“Was there anybody he did fight with? Not just ripping?”
“No. I don’t know.”
“Or your mom?” When Nixie shook her head, Eve eased into a dicey area. “Did your mom and dad fight, with each other?”
“Sometimes, but not like bad. Gemmie’s mom and dad used to yell at each other all the time, and Gemmie said they threw things. And they got divorced because her dad couldn’t keep his pants zipped. That means he screwed around.”
“Got that. But your parents didn’t fight like that.”
“They didn’t, and they didn’t screw around either. They danced on the beach.”
“Sorry?”
“In the summer, when we went to the beach and got the house. Sometimes they went out to walk at night, and I could see them from my window. They’d dance on the beach. They weren’t going to get divorced.”
“It’s good to have a memory like that,” Mira said. “When you start to feel too sad, or scared, you can try to see them dancing on the beach. You did very well. I’d like to come back and talk to you again some time.”
“I guess it’s okay. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
“I think you should have some lunch. I have to go soon, but Lieutenant Dallas will be here, working upstairs in her office. Do you know where the kitchen is?”
“No, the house is too big.”
“Tell me about it,” Eve muttered.
Mira rose, held out a hand. “I’ll take you back, and maybe you can help Summerset for a little while. I’ll be back in a minute,” she said to Eve.
Alone, Eve paced to the windows, to the fireplace, back to the windows. She wanted to get to it, start the process. She needed to set up her board, do the runs, write her report and file it. Calls to make, people to see, she thought, jingling loose credits in her pocket.
Shit, how was she going to deal with this kid?
She wondered if the cops who’d had to interview her all those years ago had been equally unsure of their footing.
“She’s coping very well.” Mira came back into the room. “Better than most would. But you should expect mood swings, tears, anger, difficulty sleeping. She’s going to require counseling.”
“Can you handle that?”
&n
bsp; “For the moment, and we’ll see how it goes. She may require a specialist, someone trained primarily in children. I’ll look into it.”
“Thanks. I was thinking I should check the department, Youth Services, find a couple of officers who I can assign to her.”
“Take it slow. She’s dealing with a lot of strangers at once.” She touched Eve’s arm, then picked up her bag. “You’ll handle it.”
Maybe, Eve thought when Mira left. Hopefully. But at the moment, she had plenty of doubts. She headed upstairs, detoured into Roarke’s office.
He was at his desk, with three of his wall screens scrolling various data, and his desk unit humming. “Pause operations,” he said, and smiled. “Lieutenant, you look beat up.”
“Feel that way. Listen, I didn’t have a chance to really run all this by you. I know I just more or less dumped some strange kid on you and blew.”
“Is she awake?”
“Yeah. She’s with Summerset. I did a second interview with her, with Mira in attendance. She holds up pretty well. The kid, I mean.”
“I’ve had the news on. The names haven’t been released yet.”
“I’ve got that blocked—for the moment. It’s going to break soon.”
Knowing his wife, he went to the AutoChef, programmed two coffees, black. “Why don’t you run it for me now?”
“Quick version, because I’m behind.”
She gave him the details, brief and stark.
“Poor child. No evidence, as yet, that anyone in the household was into something that could bring down this kind of payback?”
“Not yet. But it’s early.”
“Professional, as I’m sure you’ve already concluded. Someone trained in wet work. The green light she saw was most likely the jammer—green for go—as the security had been bypassed.”
“Figured. On the surface, these people seem ordinary, ordinary family. Straight arrows. But we haven’t done much scratching on that surface yet.”
“Sophisticated electronics, special forces–type invasion, quick, clean hits.” Sipping coffee, he ignored the beep of his laser fax. “In and out . . . in, what, ten or fifteen minutes? It’s not something for nothing. Home terrorism would have left a mark, and the targets would have been higher profile. On the surface,” he added.