Survivor in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “Have you got a copy of the ’link transmission? I’d like to hear it.”

  Eve took out a disc, plugged it in, called up the recording.

  While it played, Peabody sipped coffee. “It’s off—just a little, but it’s close. The way it says, ‘I’m aware of that,’ when he questions you contacting him on the house ’link. I’d have known it wasn’t you, but he doesn’t talk with you every day, so yeah, he’d have bought it. Initially. Then, give him another ten seconds, and he’s going to think: blocked video, you never addressed him by name or rank, and you don’t do drone work. You wouldn’t be the one to contact all the plants and inform. You’d be too busy with the suspects.”

  “He didn’t have the additional ten seconds. He goes up to answer the ’link. Only house ’link in the place, and in that room because that room’s secured, for police only when there’s a witness on the premises. Good spy equipment, they can locate that, and it’s good for them. Separate the two of them. Up and down, keeping one on the ’link just long enough to finish bypassing. He hasn’t even ended the transmission when they’re in.”

  “Who called it in? Who called in the officer down?”

  “They didn’t make their required hourly check-in. Backup team sent in, found them. Canvass turned up zilch, so far.”

  “Those locations are soundproofed. Nobody would have heard the weapons’ fire.”

  “It’s street level, they had to close the door behind them. Don’t miss a trick. In, one of them gives it a boot. Knight comes out, shouts the warning, and he’s down before he can draw his weapon. Preston responds, gets off one stream, and he’s down. Finish them off, do a quick search—not going to miss anything this time. Then they’re out.”

  “Had to have a vehicle somewhere, running the surveillance, the electronics.”

  “The third man, at least one more. Possibly two now. One to drive, one to handle the equipment. Inside guys report the target’s not there, the vehicle heads for a pickup spot, or just back to HQ. These guys walk away. Walk away from the scene because somebody might notice and remember seeing two guys get into a van outside a place where two cops got their throats cut. Too many people around there, walking, running shops, hailing cabs. It’s not a pit like where they snatched Newman.”

  “Somebody might’ve noticed two guys entering and leaving the scene.”

  “Yeah, and we’ll hope so, but it’s less of a risk. A couple of pedestrians, as opposed to two men jumping into the back of a van—especially since the reports of how Newman was abducted are all over the screen. Better to mix things up than form too recognizable a pattern.”

  “And we still don’t know why.”

  “We work with what we know. Extreme knowledge of electronics and surveillance, commando-style hits. Multiple participants. This is a team, and well-lubed. This team, or a member of it, ordered or requested the hit on the Swishers. And there’s a good chance they—What?” she called out, irritated at the knock on her door.

  “Sorry, Lieutenant.” Jannson stood in the doorway.

  “What is it, Detective?”

  “I started making the rounds, for the Survivors’ Fund.”

  “We’ll have to discuss that later.”

  “No, sir. I was down in Booking, and when one of the uniforms was digging out a donation, he said they had an LC in the tank who was mouthing off about knowing something about what went down. He was pissed about it, the uniform, because she’s a regular visitor—street level. Always looking for an angle, mostly full of it. He figured she heard some of the men talking about Knight and Preston and wants some attention, a little glory. It’s a long shot otherwise, but I didn’t want it overlooked. Lieutenant, she was picked up on West Eighty-nine. Just blocks from the scene.”

  “Bring her up, into Interview. We’ll take her for a spin. Check which room’s available.”

  “I already did. Interview A’s clear.”

  “Bring her up. You want in?”

  Jannson hesitated, and Eve could see the struggle on her face. “Three of us in there, gives her too much thumb. I’ll take the Observation Room.”

  “Have Booking shoot up her sheet. Nice catch, Jannson.”

  Ophelia Washburn was more than worn around the edges. She was heading for tattered. She was a wide-hipped black woman with breasts of such enormity and stature no angel of God had bestowed them. Her top was spangled and feathered and strained mightily to hold those mountains in place.

  Her hair was a towering shock of white. Eve always wondered why street-levels felt huge hair was as big a drawing card as huge breasts. And why either were needed, when most customers either wanted a fast bang or a quick blow job.

  Her lips were full, large, and dyed to match the top. A gold eyetooth glinted between them, while the rest of her face was painted and slathered in a manner that shouted out, “Whore here! Inquire regarding rates.”

  But all the paint and polish didn’t disguise the fact that Ophelia was past prime. Limping toward fifty, a decade beyond the age most street-levels burned out and took jobs as irritable waitresses or riders at sex clubs. Maybe bit actors in porn vids.

  “Ophelia.” Eve kept her voice light, even friendly. “I see you’re operating on a suspended license and have three other violations within the last eighteen months.”

  “No, see, that’s the thing. That cop, he said I was carrying illegals and I told him the john musta put them on me. You can’t trust a john, take it from me. But they don’t pay any mind, and I get my license suspended. Now how’m I supposed to make a living I can’t trick? Who’m I hurting out there? I get my health checks regular. You can see that in my file. I’m clean.”

  “It also says you’ve tested positive for Exotica and Go.”

  “Well, musta been a mistake, or some john, he slipped me some. Some rub Go on their dicks. Give a bj, and there you are.”

  Eve cocked her head as if she found this information fascinating. “You know with this last bust, they’re going to lift your license permanently.”

  “You can fix that. You can fix that for me, ’cause I got something for you.”

  “What have you got for me, Ophelia?”

  “First you fix it.”

  “Peabody, do I look as if most of my brain has recently been surgically removed?”

  “No. You certainly don’t look nearly dim enough to fix a sheet of this length without first being given salient information.”

  Ophelia sent Peabody a scowl. “What she mean salient?”

  “Ophelia, two cops are dead.” The light, friendly tone turned cold as Pluto. “You heard about that. If you’re using that, if you’re playing me with that so you can get your license clear, I will personally see that it’s not only lifted, but that you’re hounded by the cops to the extent you won’t be able to give away blow jobs for old times’ sake.”

  “No need to get pissy.” Ophelia’s large lips seemed to gain weight with a pout. “Just trying to help us both outtava jam.”

  “Then you tell me what you know, and if it helps, you walk out.”

  “With a license?”

  “With a license.”

  “Phat. So, here’s what. I’m doing the stroll on Ninety-two. My usual area of business is downtown, but with my current situation, I changed. And you get better tricks Upper West. That time of day, lots of nine-to-fives heading home after a quick drink. I give them a bj to go with it, maybe a fast bang.”

  “On the street.”

  “Well . . . See, I got an arrangement with a guy has a deli with a back room. He takes a cut, and I got some privacy for my business.”

  “Okay. Keep going.”

  Obviously cheered by the fact she wasn’t going to get slapped for another violation, Ophelia beamed. “So I’m starting the stroll. Got one quickie in, so I’m feeling pretty good. Nice night out, people walking around. Lots of potentials, you know? And I see these two. Mmmmmmm. Big, handsome guys. Look rough, look tough. Think maybe I can get me a twofer. I sway on up to them, lea
ding with the champs here.” She laid her hands on her breasts, gave them a squeeze. “And I say, how about you gentlemen and me have ourselves a party. Offer them a special rate. I’m standing in front of them. You gotta slow a john down, show off the merchandise, you gonna have a shot. And this one looks at me, hard. But not like he’s thinking about doing me, but like he’s thinking about kicking my sweet ass down and giving it a stomp. You been in the life long as I have, you know that look. They don’t say nothing, just part ways and walk by on either side of me. That’s when I smelled it.”

  “Smelled what.”

  “Blood. Fresh. So you best believe while they’re walking that way, I’m walking quick, fast, and in a hurry in the other. It’s ’cause I’m shaken up some that I end up offering to party with a cop in soft clothes, and he asks to see my license. And I end up in the tank where I hear talk about two cops getting dead on Ninety-second. And I’m saying how I have information, but—”

  “Let’s go back a minute. Did you see blood on these men?”

  “No, smelled it.”

  “How did you know it was blood?”

  “Well, shit, you ever smelled it? Especially when it’s fresh. You can almost taste it, like you sucked on an old credit. My granddaddy’s got a little farm down in Kentucky. Raises pigs. I did some time there as a kid—hog slaughtering time. I know what blood smells like. And those guys had been bloody, you can take that to the bank.”

  Eve felt that fizz in her own blood, but kept her tone even. “What did they look like?”

  “Big, built. White boys. Had to look up at them, but I don’t have much height, even in my work shoes. But they looked big ’cause they were solid, you know?”

  “Handsome, you said.”

  “Yeah, good lookers, what I could see. Wearing sun shades and caps. I didn’t see the eyes, but when they send that look at you, you don’t have to. Sorta looked alike, I guess, but they were white boys and sometimes they just do.”

  “What were they wearing?”

  “Dark.” She lifted a shoulder. “Didn’t pay much attention, but they looked like good stuff—quality—so I figured they had fee and tip on them. Had bags, too, on long straps.” She held her hands about a foot apart. “ ’Bout that big. Now I’m thinking, one of the bags bumped me when they walked by. Felt solid, and that’s when I smelled the blood.”

  “Which way were they walking, west or east?”

  “West, heading on over toward Broadway. One of ’em had a hitch in his stride.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Gimpy. Limping some. Like his leg was paining him or his shoes didn’t fit right.”

  Got one of them, Preston, Eve thought. Gave them a little pain. “Hair color, distinguishing marks, anything else?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Eve drew herself back. If she pushed too hard, the woman could start making things up, just to fill in the blanks. “Do you think you’d recognize them if you saw them again?”

  “Might.”

  “I’d like you to work with a police artist.”

  “No shit. Never did that before. I must’ve given you good stuff.”

  “Maybe. Good enough I’ll fix your license.”

  “You’re stand-up. I don’t do girls as a rule, but you want a bang sometime, I’ll give you a freebie.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Meanwhile, I need you to stay here while I arrange for an artist.”

  “I don’t gotta go back to the tank?”

  “No.” As she rose, Eve decided she could do one better. “There hasn’t yet been a reward posted, but there will be by morning. There’s a standard reward in cases of cop killing. If this information you’ve given us leads to an arrest, I’ll see that you get it.”

  This time Ophelia’s jaw dropped. “You are shitting me.”

  “We appreciate your cooperation.”

  The minute they stepped out, Peabody clutched a hand on Eve’s arms. “That’s the real deal, Dallas. She saw them.”

  “Yeah, she did. Goddamn street hooker. You just never know.” Eve nodded as Jannson came out of Observation. “Nice work, Detective.”

  “Back at you, sir. You drew that out of her like it was candy tied to a string. I can arrange for the artist.”

  “Tag Yancy, he’s the best. Call him in. I don’t want this leaking to the media as yet. And the LC’s name is now Jane Doe on any and all records.”

  “On that.”

  Eve turned to Peabody. “I want her to stay in Central. I don’t want her back on the street. They get wind, they’ll find her. She gets out, she’ll tell anyone who’ll listen. No safe houses. We put her up in one of the cribs here. Get her whatever she wants, within reason. Let’s keep her happy.”

  “On that,” Peabody said and returned to the interview room.

  As she headed to her office, Eve yanked out her pocket ’link. Roarke’s face filled the screen so quickly, she knew he’d been waiting.

  “I may not make it home for a while. I got something.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “Street LC, tried to solicit them a couple of blocks from the scene. I’ll fill you in later, but I’ve got her here, bringing Yancy in to work with her. I’m going to stick, see if we can get a good picture.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Funny you should ask.” This time she walked straight through the bull pen, ignoring the questioning looks, into her office, and shut the door.

  “You up for some drone work?”

  “I prefer to call it expert computer tasking. You’ve got a look in your eye, Lieutenant, that I’m very pleased to see.”

  “I’m on them.” Ophelia had smelled the blood, she thought. And now, so did she. “I’ve been thinking, and was about to pursue the theory that the Swishers might not have been first. That’s a kind of crescendo—isn’t that the thing you call it when you drag me to symphonies and crap?”

  “It is, my darling, uncultured Eve.”

  “Crescendos, the big noise. But mostly, you lead up to that, build up to it. So maybe they weren’t the only. And maybe not the first.”

  “Both you and Feeney have run IRCCA for like crimes.”

  “Not like—not home invasion, necessarily, with a slaughter. But connected. So, here’s a theory. If somebody was pissed enough or worried enough about one or more members of the Swisher household to wipe them out, could be there are one or more individuals this dick is pissed off at or worried about. So we need to go back, we need to do a search of logical connections—at least we’ll stick with logical to start. School staff—anyone connected with the school who died or disappeared within, let’s say, the last three years. These guys are patient, but they’re cocky, too, proud. They wouldn’t spread it out much longer than that.”

  “Then there’s health care workers and physicians Keelie or Grant Swisher worked with.”

  “You do connect the dots. Lawyers who went up against Swisher in court, presiding judges, social workers. Clients on both—dead or missing.”

  “Same time period?”

  “Yeah—shit, let’s make it six years. Better have a buffer. If I’m right and the Swishers were to be the big finish, we’ll find something. What’s happened since is cleanup, because of one small mistake. We connect something, that’s going to connect to something else. Then I’ll wrap them up and choke them with it.”

  “Sexy talk.”

  “Find me something, it’ll get sexier. You’re slicker than me on this stuff.”

  “Darling, you’re an amazon in bed.”

  “Drone work, ace.” She could feel the juices bubbling inside now. “I’ll take the school angle, because it’s the least likely. Anything pops, anything, tag me.”

  She walked over to the AutoChef, then backed off. She was too damn revved for more coffee. Better to flush some of it out. She grabbed water instead before organizing what she needed for the ready room.

  She opened her door, and stopped short before she walked into Whitney.

&n
bsp; “Sir. I didn’t realize you were in the house.”

  “I’ve just come from paying condolence calls on Knight’s and Preston’s families.” He glanced down at the bottle in her hand. “Does coffee now come clear and in bottles?”

  “It’s water, sir.”

  “And has hell frozen over without me getting a report?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t . . . Oh.” She gave the bottle a little frown. “I thought I should offset the caffeine.”

  “I, on the other hand, could use the jolt.”

  “Yes, sir.” She set her things down, went to the AutoChef.

  “I’m aware you have a briefing in a moment. It’ll keep. I’m also aware you have an artist coming in to work a potential witness.”

  “I think she’s solid, Commander. I’ve requested Detective Yancy. I haven’t yet written my report on the interview.”

  He accepted the coffee. “I saw Detective Peabody, so I have the main points. I’ll attend your briefing and expect to be filled in more completely at that time. But we need to discuss something else first.”

  When he closed the door, her shoulders squared. When she realized it, she reminded herself of Trueheart.

  “Sit down, Lieutenant.”

  She took the visitor’s chair, leaving him the marginally sturdier one at the desk. But he didn’t sit, simply stood with the coffee in his hand.

  “It’s difficult to lose men. It’s difficult to accept that your orders put them in harm’s way.” He looked toward her board, toward the pictures of two cops. “These aren’t the first men either of us has lost.”

  “No, sir.”

  “But each is like the first. Each is difficult. Taking orders is less of a burden than giving them. You need to carry that weight, and stop yourself from asking if you should have done something different. You did what you had to do, just as your men did what they had to do. We may lose more in our pursuit of the scum who did this, and you are not allowed to hesitate to give the orders, you are not allowed to second guess what you know has to be done.”

  “I’ve dealt with it, Commander.”

  “You’ve started to. It’ll come back on you when you stop, when you’re away from here and the work. It’ll come back on you, and you’ll have to finish dealing with it. And put it away. If you have trouble doing that, speak with Mira or one of the department counselors.”