Survivor in Death

by J. D. Robb

  She entered the elevator quickly, closed the door before he could respond.

  Eve let them settle in first, go through the chatter, the greed for food. She even ignored the cooing flirtation between her partner and EDD ace Ian McNab, the recent cohabs.

  The fact was, Peabody’s color had been off since they’d hauled up the steps to interview Minnie. The cooing, however unseemly, had her pinked up again.

  And while they settled, Eve organized the conference in her head.

  “Okay, boys and girls.” She remained standing. She handled such meetings better on her feet. “If everyone’s had their afternoon snack, maybe we can get started.”

  “Uptown grub.” McNab scooped up the last of leftover apple pie.

  His skinny frame was festooned—Eve figured that was the word for it—in a neon orange skin-tank with sizzling blue pants that had some sort of silver clamps running up the outside of each leg. The overshirt was a headache of dots, outdone only by the glowing checks covering his airboots.

  His shining blond hair was pulled back from his thin, pretty face. The better to show off the trio of orange and blue coils adorning each ear.

  “I’m glad you approve, Detective. Now maybe you can give your report. Unless, of course, you’d like seconds.”

  Sarcasm, even delivered in mild tones, could hit like a hammer. He swallowed the last of the pie quickly. “No, sir. Our team has reviewed and completed search-and-scans on all ’links, all d and c’s owned or used by any and all of the vics, and the survivor. We found no transmissions on the ’links other than ordinary communications from and to the Swishers and their domestic. While there were numerous transmissions over the last thirty days, they check. Friends, clients, each other, personal and business transmissions. A list of all, with transcription, is now on disc for your file.”

  “Thirty days?”

  “The Swishers cleared their ’links every thirty. That’s common. We’re digging in, and will retrieve the deleted transmissions prior to the thirty. As to the data centers, the files are pretty much what you’d expect.”

  “What would I expect, Detective?”

  He was warming up, she could see, losing the stiffness her reprimand had caused. He slouched more comfortably in his chair and began to gesture as he spoke. “You know, Dallas, games, to-do lists, meal planning, appointments, birthday reminders. Family stuff, school stuff, upcoming vacation data. Got case files from each of the adult’s business units, comments, reports, financials. Nothing pops out. If they had trouble, or suspected they might have trouble, they didn’t make a record of it. They didn’t discuss it with anyone via ’link.”

  He glanced toward the murder board, the death photos, and his eyes—a misty green—hardened. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with that family the last few days. My opinion—from their electronic records and transmissions—they didn’t have a clue.”

  She nodded, shifted to Feeney. Beside the fashionable McNab, he looked blessedly dull. “Security.”

  “Bypassed and shut down. Remote and at site. Diagnostic scan couldn’t locate the source, but when we took the system apart we found microscopic particles—fiber-optic traces. They hooked in—portable code-breaker, most likely. Had to be prime equipment to read the code, to get through the failsafes without tripping any alarm. Equipment and operator had to be prime to do it in the time frame we’re working with. We’re looking for at least one suspect who has a superior knowledge of and skill with electronics, and the equipment to match.”

  Since Feeney looked to him for confirmation, Roarke nodded. “Their equipment would have had to have been small, possibly palm-sized. From your description, Lieutenant, of the men seen walking away from the location of the murders.”

  “They each had a bag, but no,” she confirmed, “nothing large.”

  “Your ordinary, even better-than-average, B and E man isn’t likely to have access to a palm-sized breaker in the range capable of reading that system, certainly not at that speed. As the system showed no signs of tampering, the men you’re looking for probably didn’t have the burglary skills to go manual.”

  “Meaning they had to rely on equipment, not . . .” She lifted her hands, wiggled her fingers. And made him smile.

  “Exactly. The equipment would also have to be tailored specifically for that system. The time frame means it was tailored prior to their arrival.”

  “Confirming they knew the system, knew what they’d find, and had studied it either by duplicating or purchasing the same system, or spending time on site.”

  “The only way they could have studied it on site thoroughly enough to have pulled this off means they had considerable time—hours—both inside the house and outside, with no one questioning them.”

  Eve pursed her lips at Roarke. “Hours?”

  “It’s a solid system, Dallas,” Feeney commented. “They didn’t get through by eyeballing it.”

  “Then it’s unlikely they ran sims with the Swisher’s actual system. Peabody, you’ve done a search of purchases of that security system?”

  “Yes, sir, and it’s a whale of a list. I’ve started on it, dividing it into city, out of city, out of state, out of country, and off planet. I’ve then eliminated purchases made before the Swishers obtained their system. I’ve started runs on purchases in city, and have eliminated approximately another six percent.”

  “By what process?”

  “Well, by separating out single female purchasers and married with family, then checking those to determine if they had any maintenance and repair on the system since the purchase date. Profile indicates the killers are not family men, and the probability run gave me in the nineties that this process was the most efficient. At this time.”

  “Have you run those systems purchased that were not installed by the company?”

  Peabody opened her mouth, then closed it long enough to clear her throat. “No, sir. I’ll do so.”

  “Split the list between all members of this team. Probability or not, do not—at this time—eliminate families or single females. Maybe one of them has a girlfriend, or a female accomplice. Maybe he’s a licensed installer. Maybe he’s just the handy neighbor who says, ‘Hey, I’ll take care of that for you and save you some dough.’ These are home security systems, but there’s no law saying a business couldn’t purchase one. Let’s get on this.”

  She leaned back against her desk, remembered the coffee she’d poured before she’d begun. She picked it up, drank it lukewarm. “Baxter. Client lists.”

  “Both the Swishers had a good thing going. Successful in their professions. Family law firm was busy, and Swisher had a good win rate. His caseload weighs heavy on protection of children’s rights, custody suits, divorce, while his partner takes more of the straight abuse, palimony, cohab dissolutions, and competency stuff. But they both have a mix, and both have a good percentage of pro bono work.”

  He cocked his ankle onto his knee, brushed the line of the pants of his well-cut suit smooth. “She was no slouch either. Lots of referrals. Liked to do families or couples, but didn’t turn away the individual. She would also work on a sliding scale, ratio of fee to income. Not just fatties,” he added. “Dug into various eating disorders, health conditions. Consulted with her client’s health care provider, and made house calls.”

  “House calls?”

  “She’d visit the client’s home and workplace. Do a study on their lifestyle, recommend changes, not just in eating habits, but in exercise, entertainment, stress levels, the works. That kind of treatment didn’t come cheap, but like I said, she had a lot of referrals. Satisfied customers. You got your dissatisfied, too, both sides.”

  “Do a cross-check. See how many times their clients crossed. Do another, see which cases Swisher’s firm worked on where Meredith Newman was listed as CPS rep. It could be interesting data. Trueheart.”

  “Sir.” Long and lanky, and almost tenderly young in his uniform, he came to attention.

  “You’ve been spendin
g time with the witness.”

  “She’s a nice kid, Lieutenant.”

  “Any further data from her?”

  “Sir, she doesn’t talk much about it. She’s broken down a couple of times. Not hysterical, just sits down and cries. I’m trying to keep her busy. She seems comfortable with me, and with Summerset, though she asks about you.”

  “Asks what?”

  “When you’re coming back, what you’re doing. When you’re going to take her to see her parents and her brother. If you’ve caught the bad guys yet. I don’t know much about, well, I guess you’d say child psychology, but I’d say she’s holding on to herself until you do. Catch them. To date, she hasn’t said anything that would add to her previous statements.”

  “All right. Moving on to Meredith Newman. CPS reps in cases like this are kept confidential. However, it’s not that complicated to access the data. Anyone with serious interest and reasonable hacking capabilities could slither into the CPS files like a snake through grass. Feeney, I’ll want your department to check the d and c’s for any evidence of hacking. Maybe we’ll get a bounce. The subject was abducted off the sidewalk on Avenue B, daylight grab, with witnesses. The speed and success of the grab indicates the suspects have some experience in daylight abductions. It also indicates there were three. It’s unlikely these two would trust their vehicle to auto under the circumstances. We must assume Newman’s connection to Nixie Swisher was the motive for the grab. We must assume that the perpetrators had experience in making grabs of this nature, in electronics and security, in stealth assassinations.”

  “Military or para,” Feeney said. “Espionage or special forces. Average citizens, they’re not.”

  “If they were military, it’s likely we’ll find they washed out—or were promoted to fucking general because of their particular skills. One way or the other, these men have been in the field, and they’ve gotten wet. They’re not rusty, either, so they’ve kept in the game.”

  “Paramilitary seems more probable,” Roarke commented. “There’s testing in standard military that would question the personality type or predilection of killing for personal gain or satisfaction—particularly children.”

  “Mercenaries kill for personal gain, and are often attached to military ops.”

  “True enough.” But he shook his head at Eve. “That’s most usually monetary. Where is the monetary gain here?”

  “We might not have found it yet, but let’s say I agree. And I agree that it takes a certain kind of personality to slit a child’s throat while she sleeps. That’s terrorist tactics, and fringe at that. I think that’s where this arrow’s going to point.”

  “More cross-checking then,” Baxter put in. “Known terrorists or members of fringe organizations.”

  “Look for teams. Two or more who are known to work together, or known to have trained together. Then we need to put one of them, at least, in New York during the last few years.”

  “Could be hirelings,” Baxter pointed out. “Brought into New York to do the job.”

  “Low odds. Hirelings would’ve been smoke an hour after the Swisher hit. But they’re still in New York, still here to grab up Newman. One or both of them targeted the Swishers, and for a reason. This means, at some point, one or more of them crossed paths with one or more of the Swishers. Security and wet work, and they’re in shape. No desk jockeys or data crunchers. These are field operatives. Males, between thirty and sixty to start. White or light-skinned males. Either they or their organization has deep pockets. Look for the money.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck, finished off the cold coffee. “They’ve got a place, in or near the city. Headquarters. They’d need something local, and they’d need something private. The only logical motive for grabbing Newman would be for information on Nixie Swisher. They’d need somewhere they could take her, work it out of her.”

  “We’ll be cross-checking until the blood runs out of our ears. Not complaining, Lieutenant,” McNab said quickly. “You can’t look at that board and complain. Just feels like the time’s dripping away.”

  “Then you’d better get busy.” She checked her wrist unit. “Baxter, you’re all right where we set you up?”

  “It’s prime.”

  “Trueheart, maybe you could spell Summerset with the witness for fifteen. Mira’s due here shortly, then she’ll take her. Work with Baxter when you’re off babysitting duty. Feeney, you and McNab can work here in the computer lab?”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ll join you,” Roarke told them. “But first, Lieutenant, a minute of your time.”

  “That’s about all I’ve got to spare. Peabody?”

  “I’ll head down with Trueheart, say hi to Nixie.”

  Then, to Roarke, she said, “I have to contact the commander, give him a report, so this has to be quick.”

  He merely went to the door, closed it behind Peabody.

  “What?” Eve’s hands went automatically to her pockets. “You pissed about something?”

  “No.” Keeping his eyes, deep and blue, on hers, he walked to her. “No,” he repeated, and taking her face in his hand, kissed her. Long, deep, soft.

  “Jesus.” It took longer than it should have for her to pull her hands out of her pockets and nudge him back. “I can’t play lock the lips with you now.”

  “Quiet.” He took her arms, and the look on his face, so strong, so serious, had her going still. “I value my skin—a very great deal. I’ll do what it takes to protect it. I’ll do more yet, I promise you, to protect it so that you’re not distracted from this with worry for me. I love you, Eve. I’ll keep safe because I love you.”

  “I shouldn’t have hung that on you. I—”

  “Quiet,” he repeated. “I’m not finished. You’ll keep yourself as safe as you can. You’re courageous, but not reckless. I know. Just as I know there are risks you’ll take, risks you’ll feel duty-bound to take. Don’t keep them from me. When you find a way to use yourself as bait on this, I want to know about it.”

  He knew her, she thought. Knew her, understood her, accepted and loved anyway. You couldn’t ask for more. “I wouldn’t do anything like that without telling you.” When his gaze stayed steady, she shrugged. “I’d think about doing it without telling you, but then I’d cave. I’m not doing anything on that angle until I’m dead sure they won’t get me. Because if they get me, they’ve got a better chance of getting her. And because I love you, too: I get sure, decide to try something, I’ll tell you first.”

  “Good enough, then. I didn’t ask before, and I know you’re pressed now, but were you able to speak to the Dysons about Nixie?”

  “To her. He was out of it. She’s not in much better shape. I’m going to give them another couple days. I know it’s inconvenient, but—”

  “It’s not. I just assume that she’d feel steadier if she had those familiar faces, if she were able to have her friend’s parents with her.” He considered telling her what he’d dug up regarding Nixie’s remaining family, then let it go. She had enough on her plate. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, even to himself, he wanted to handle that part of it. “Summerset told me basically what Trueheart told you. She holds up, she breaks down, and holds up again. She’s grieving, and there’s no one here who can grieve with her, who knew her family.”

  “I’ll talk to Mira about it. Maybe she can speak to the Dysons. Might be better coming from her than me.”

  “Maybe. I’ll go join the EDD boys and leave you to your commander. Grab a nutribar at least with the next gallon of coffee you drink.”

  “Nag, nag, nag,” she said as he walked out the door. But she got the nutribar out of her desk drawer.

  10

  AFTER MIRA AND HER SECURITY ESCORT WERE cleared through the gates, Eve met her at the door. Since she had the extra men, she ordered security to do a patrol around the grounds, with electronic sweep.

  “You’re being very cautious,” Mira commented. “Do you really expect them to try an
invasion on this house?”

  “Newman doesn’t know where I took the kid, so trying a hit here isn’t the next logical step.” She swept a glance down the hall. Trueheart had Nixie in the game room, but that didn’t mean the kid couldn’t come wandering out. “Why don’t we step outside for a minute?”

  Eve led the way through the parlor and the doors to the side terrace. She had a momentary pause when she saw a little silver droid, a low, shiny box, busily sucking up fallen leaves. “Huh, how about that.” At her voice, it glided off the terrace and slid down one of the paths into the garden. “Wonder what it does with them once it sucks them up.”

  “I think it chops them into a kind of mulch, or compost. Dennis talks about getting something like it, then doesn’t. I think he secretly enjoys raking the leaves by hand.”

  Eve thought of Mira’s kind-eyed, absentminded husband. “Why?”

  “Mindless work that gets him outdoors. Of course, if we had grounds this extensive to deal with, it’d be a different story. It’s lovely out here, isn’t it, even so late in the year with so much of the gardens fading away toward winter.”

  Eve looked over the gardens, through the ornamental and shade trees, past arbors and fountains to the thick stone walls. “Lot of ways in, lot of ways out, but as secure as it gets.”

  “And still your home. That makes it difficult.”

  “I made the call. Look, it’s cooler out here than I thought. You okay for a minute?”

  “I’m fine.” Mira wore a jacket, and Eve was currently in shirtsleeves. “It must be inconvenient, having so many people in your home.”

  “Place is starting to smell like Central. Anyway, if they click on the idea Nixie’s here, they might see it as a challenge, get revved at the idea. The bigger the mission, the bigger the payoff.”