by J. D. Robb
“Hope he got off a good stream.”
“Ophelia said one of them was limping. I’d say Preston got some of his own in before the end. EDD doesn’t give us anything new, but it establishes pattern. Let’s see if we can find it again with any of the names on the list of people the Swishers knew who are now missing or dead.”
“I’ll get started.”
“Your portion of the list is attached to the voice mail I sent you. You get any sort of a ring, I need to know.”
“I’m there.” She started out, paused. “The waffles. Come on, Dallas, smothered in whipped cream or swimming in syrup?”
“Syrup, drowning.”
“Mmmmm.”
Peabody gave a little sigh and walked out. To satisfy her curiosity, Eve peered through the door and watched her go. She didn’t think overmuch about female asses, but Peabody’s looked fine to her.
She sat, called up her own list.
Brenegan, Jaynene, age 35 at TOD, February 10, 2055. Emergency care physician. Killed by multiple stab wounds in robbery attempt in parking lot of West Side Memorial Hospital. Suspect identified, apprehended, tested positive for Zeus. Currently serving twenty-five to life, Rikers.
Brenegan treated Coyle Swisher for a fractured arm—sports injury—and testified in Swisher’s custody case Vemere v. Trent, May 2055, and Kirkendall v. Kirkendall, September 2053.
The addition was Roarke’s, she noted. The guy was nothing if not thorough.
She’d take a look at Vemere and Trent and Kirkendall, and keep Brenegan on the active list for now. She was thorough, too.
Cruz, Pedro, age 72. Court reporter. Died of heart condition, October 22, 2058. Medical files confirm.
Cruz served as reporter in several of Swisher’s trials in family court, and consulted Swisher regarding nutrition.
Unlikely, Eve decided, and bumped him down the list.
Hill, Lindi and Hester, ages 32 and 29 respectively. Same sex spouses. Died in a vehicular accident, August 2, 2057. Driver at fault, Fein, Kirk, charged with DWI, speeding, two counts of vehicular manslaughter. Serving term in Weizt Rehabilitation Complex.
Yeah, she thought, kill a couple of women because you’re drunk and stupid and serve it out in a country club for ten years.
The Hills retained Swisher and Rangle to assist them in their plans to adopt a child. This was in process when they were killed. Both women also were clients of Keelie Swisher.
No motive, Eve thought, and crossed them off.
Mooreland, Amity, age 28 at TOD, May 17, 2059. Dancer. Killed by ex-cohabitation partner in rape/homicide. Lawrence, Jez, convicted. Serving life sentence, Attica.
Mooreland retained Swisher to terminate her cohabitation and to sue Lawrence for lost wages due to injuries. She consulted with Keelie Swisher on nutrition and health during her rehabilitation from injuries, and continued to consult until her death.
Lawrence, Jez, would bear another look. Mooreland stayed on the list.
Moss, Thomas. Age 52 at TOD, September 6, 2057. Family Court judge. Killed, along with son, Moss, Evan, age 14, in car bomb explosion.
“Ring,” Eve mumbled.
Moss served as judge in several of Swisher’s trials. His wife, Suzanna, consulted Keelie Swisher. The homicide cases remain open.
“Computer, search and list all court cases wherein Swisher, Grant, served as attorney with Judge Thomas Moss presiding.
Time frame for search?
“All cases.”
Acknowledged. Working . . .
She pushed up, paced. Car bomb. Not the same pattern, not up close and personal like a knife to the throat. But a military assassination technique. A terrorist tactic. So within the profile parameters.
Took a child out that time, too. By plan or circumstance?
She swung back to the computer, considering other health and medical types that might be on the list. Then pulled back. Her unit was going wonky, even though McNab had jury-rigged it. She didn’t trust it to run complex multitasks.
“Dallas.” Peabody came to the door. “I got a pop. I think. Social worker, attached to some of Swisher’s cases. Strangled in her bed last year. Investigators looked hard at the boyfriend, they were having some trouble, but couldn’t pin him. Case is still open. Her apartment showed no signs of forced entry. No sexual assault, no evidence of burglary. Manual strangulation. No trace evidence of anyone but the vic, the boyfriend, and a coworker, who were both alibied up.”
“Who worked it?”
“Ah . . .” She lifted her memo book. “Detectives Howard and Little out of the six-two.”
“Tag them, get everything they’ve got. And check the vic’s data. See if she was on one of Swisher’s cases with a Judge Moss, Thomas, on the bench.”
“You got a pop, too.”
“It’s looking that way.”
Search is complete.
Eve swung toward her screen. “Display. Okay, Moss and Swisher had a lot of business together. We’ll cross these with your vic. What’s the name?”
“Karin Duberry, age 35 at TOD, single, no children.”
“Lieutenant? Sorry.” One of her detectives moved into the doorway. “You’ve got a couple of visitors. A Mrs. Dyson and a lawyer.”
Eve scooped up her hair. She was running hot, she thought, but couldn’t put this off. “Put them in the lounge. I’ll be there. Peabody, do the cross. Work that list for names that have the kind of training or connections we’re looking for. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve dealt with this.”
She called Mira’s office, left a message with her admin when told the doctor was in session. Grinding her teeth, Eve decided she’d have to handle this one alone.
She found Dyson in what the Central cops lovingly—or sarcastically—called the lounge. It was a step up from the Eatery as far as the noise factor, and a step down on the food choices. Which, given the Eatery, wasn’t saying much.
Dyson sat at one of the round tables, her head bent close to Dave Rangle’s. Both of them looked as if they’d seen much better days.
“Mrs. Dyson, Mr. Rangle. I appreciate you making the time to come in.”
Jenny Dyson sat up, sat straight. “I had planned to come today, before I got your message. I’d like to ask you first if there’s any progress in the investigation.”
“We have what we believe may be a couple of good leads. We’re pursuing them. In fact, Mr. Rangle—”
“Dave,” he told her.
“Dave, if I could speak to you for a few moments when we’re done here, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
Eve took a seat. “Are you here as Mrs. Dyson’s legal representative or as Mr. Swisher’s partner?”
“Both. I’m aware, as you are, that Jenny and Matt were named as Coyle and Nixie’s legal guardians should something happen to Grant and Keelie. I . . .” He shook his head. “How’s she doing? How’s Nixie doing? Do you know?”
“She’s dealing. She’s being counseled. She’s safe.”
“If you could somehow communicate to her that she’s in my thoughts. Mine and everyone at the office. We—” He broke off when Jenny laid a hand over his. “I’ll get to that later. We’re here at this time to discuss the guardianship.”
“We can’t take her,” Jenny blurted out.
“For her own safety and security, as well as the security of this investigation, I’d be unable to turn her over to you at this time. However—”
“Ever.”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Jenny.” Dave spoke to her gently, and when his gaze came back to Eve’s, it was full of sorrow and regret. “Jenny has asked me to represent her in dissolving the guardianship. She and Matt feel unable to fulfill the terms. I’ve agreed to begin the process, and will file in Family Court today.”
“She has no one.”
“My child is dead.” Jenny’s breath rushed out, rushed in. “My baby is dead. My husband is devastated beyond any words I can use to tell you. We’re burying her tod
ay, our Linnie, and I’m not sure he’ll last through the service.”
“Mrs. Dyson.”
“No. No! You listen.”
Her voice peaked up in a way that had other cops in the room glancing over, weighing the situation.
“We can’t take her. It wasn’t supposed to happen. If there’d been an accident, we would step in, we’d have taken Nixie and Coyle.”
“But it was murder, so you won’t?”
“Lieutenant,” Dave began, and was silenced again.
“Can’t. We’re not capable of this. My baby is dead.” She pressed both hands to her mouth. “We loved Keelie and Grant, those children. We were almost like family.”
“The bits and pieces of family Nixie Swisher have left show no interest in providing for her welfare,” Eve put in. “There was a reason you were named guardians.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” The words whipped out. “That I feel nothing for that child, even through my own grief? Part of me wants to go to her, take her in my arms, and hold onto her. In that part of me, my arms ache to hold her. But the other part can barely say her name. Can’t bear the thought of seeing her, of touching her.”
Tears slid down her cheeks. “Part of me can’t stop thinking it should have been her, and not my child. It should have been her we’re burying today and not my Linnie. I may hate that part of myself, Lieutenant, but it’s there.” She let out a shuddering breath. “It’s always going to be there. I’ll never be able to look at her without wondering why, without wishing. And my husband . . . I think it would drive him mad.”
“Nothing that happened that night is her fault.”
“Oh, I know it. I know it. But I wonder how long, if I did what Keelie and Grant asked, it would take for me to have her blaming herself. I have to go.” She pushed to her feet. “My husband needs me.”
“Jenny, if you could give me a few minutes with the lieutenant.”
“Take all the time you need. I’ll get myself home. I want to be alone right now. I just want to be by myself.”
“I don’t know if she should be.” Dave made to rise as she hurried out.
“Hold on.” She took out her communicator, gave Dyson’s name, the description, her current location, and requested a plainclothes team follow her to make sure she arrived home safely.
“She’s a good person, Lieutenant. I know how this must seem to you, but it’s costing her to walk away from this.”
“It should. Don’t you Family Court suits stand for the rights of the child?”
“For the family—and for what’s in the best interests. After talking with Jenny, after seeing Matt, I can’t state that trying to hold them to their agreement is in Nixie’s best interests.”
“You could hold off a few days, see if they change their mind.”
“I have to file the papers, at her request. But I can slow things down a little. And I will. But I can tell you, they won’t change their minds. They’re leaving the city after the funeral. They’ve already made arrangements to move upstate, with her family. Matt’s been given a leave of absence, and she’s closed her practice. It’s . . .”
He lifted his hands, let them fall again as he sat back. “The lives they had are destroyed. They may build another—I hope they do. But it won’t ever be the same. Nixie’s part of what they lost. They can’t—won’t—have that reminder. I’ll do whatever I can for Nixie. I can probably swing temporary custody. I’ll speak with the blood relative she has left, see if that’s the right direction.”
“I’ll need you to keep me apprised of any movement or progress in the resolution of her guardianship.”
“I will. My God, I’m sorry. Sick and sorry for everyone. Look, can I get you something? I need some water. Gotta pop a blocker. I’ve got a headache coming on.”
Don’t we all, she thought. “No, I’m good. Go ahead.”
He rose, went to Vending for a bottle of water. When he returned, he popped a small pill, washed it down.
“Lieutenant, the Dysons are good people. It’s costing Jenny to walk away from Nixie, from the promise she gave to people she loved. She’s never going to forgive herself for it, but she just doesn’t have anything left. And Matt, he’s broken to pieces. I’m not having an easy time holding it together myself.”
“I need you to do just that. I need to ask you about some of Grant Swisher’s cases.”
“Anything I can tell you.” He drank more water, capped the bottle off. “If I can’t, Sade can. She’s got a brain like a motherboard.”
“Cases where Judge T. Moss presided.”
“Judge Moss? He was killed some years ago. Horrible tragedy. His boy, too. Car bomb. They never caught who did it.”
“I’m aware of that. Can you remember any cases, anything that stands out where Swisher was attorney of record, Moss on the bench, and a caseworker named Karin Duberry was involved?”
“Duberry.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he concentrated. “Something vaguely familiar, but I don’t know anybody by that name. Hold on.”
He reached for his pocket ’link. Within seconds, Sade was on-screen. “Did Grant work with a CPS rep, Karin Duberry?”
“The one who was strangled last year?”
“I don’t—” He looked toward Eve, got a nod. “Yeah.”
“Sure. They were on cases—same side and opposing. Why?”
“How about both of them going before Judge Moss?”
“Had to, I’d think. Odds in favor. What’s the deal, Dave?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mind?” Eve asked, and before he could answer took the ’link herself. “Lieutenant Dallas. Do you remember any threats by any participant in a case where Moss, Duberry, and Swisher were all involved?”
“Nothing springs. You’ve got copies of the case files. There’d be notes. Jesus, these are connected? You think the people who killed Grant blew up Judge Moss, killed the caseworker?”
“I’m looking into it. I’ll need you available if I need to talk to you again.”
“You can count on it.”
Eve handed the ’link back.
“Thanks, Sade. I’ll pick you up at two-thirty.” He shut off the ’link. “We’re going to the funeral together. Look, Lieutenant, I can go over the case files myself. See if any of them bring back any coffee-break chatter. Grant and I bitched to each other plenty. You know, partners.”
“Yes, I know partners. If you think of anything, get in touch.”
“I will. I wondered, before I go . . . I wondered if you could give me an idea when I could hold the memorial? I thought as Grant’s partner, as their friend, I’d make the arrangements. I’d want to talk to Nixie, make sure we do this in a way that makes it as easy for her as possible.”
“You need to hold off awhile. I can’t allow her to attend a memorial until we’re satisfied she’s no longer in any jeopardy.”
“All right, but could you just . . .” He lifted his briefcase, opened it. “This is the picture Grant kept on his desk. I think she’d want it.”
Eve looked down at the four smiling faces, the family grouped together in what seemed to be a casual photograph at the beach. The father’s arm slung around the son’s shoulder—the hand reaching to lay on the wife’s, his other drawing his daughter back to him. The mother with her arm around the son’s waist—fingers hooked in the belt loops of her husband’s jeans. Her other hand holding her daughter’s.
Happy, she thought, carefree summer day.
“I took it, actually. It was one of those weekends at their beach place. I remember I said, ‘Hey, let me try out my new camera. You guys get together.’ They moved together just like that. Big smiles.” He cleared his throat. “It was a good weekend, and Grant really loved that picture. Christ, I miss him.”
He broke off, shook his head. “Nixie, I think Nixie would like to have it.”
“I’ll make sure she gets it.”
When he left she sat there, looking at the summer moment, that frozen sli
ce of careless family fun. They hadn’t known there wouldn’t be another summer.
What was it like to have that sort of bond? That sort of sunshine ease, as a family? To grow up knowing there were people there to lay an arm over your shoulder, reach for your hand. Keep you safe?
She’d never known that. Instead she’d grown up knowing there were people who would hurt you, just for the sport of it. Beat you, rape you, break you because you were weaker.
Until you got stronger, until there was that one mad moment when the knife was in your hand. And you used it until your skin, your face, your hands were slick with blood.
“Eve.”
She jolted, dropped the photograph, and stared up at Mira. Mira sat, turned the photograph around on the table to study it. “A lovely family. Look at the body language. A loving and lovely family.”
“Not anymore.”
“No, you’re wrong. They’ll always be a family, and moments like this one are what make that last. This will comfort Nixie.”
“Father’s partner brought it in, along with Jenny Dyson. She and her husband are dissolving the guardianship. They won’t take her.”
“Ah.” The sound came out as a sigh as Mira sat back. “I was afraid of that.”
“You figured something like this?”
“Was afraid,” she repeated, “that they might feel unable, unwilling to take Nixie into their home. She’s too strong a reminder of their loss.”
“What the hell is she supposed to do now? End up in the system because some son of a bitch decided to massacre her family?”
Mira closed a hand over the fist Eve bunched on the table. “It may very well be in Nixie’s best interest to go into foster care, or with a relative, if possible. While she’s a reminder of loss for the Dysons, they’d also be a reminder to her. She’s still dealing with survivor’s guilt, along with her shock, her grief, her fears.”