by J. D. Robb
“Mmm, there’s just a little hitch with that. Well, a few really,” Eve amended. “Did you know a human being sheds between fifty and a hundred hairs every day?”
“What nonsense is this?” Kobast demanded.
“Just a fun fact. A fun forensic fact. Since you’re a criminal defense attorney, I imagine you’ve had an occasion to cross-examine our hair and fiber expert, Ms. Harvo.”
Carefully, Kobast kept his face blank. “Please get to the point.”
“Harvo’s the point. You’d know just how good she is. So good, in fact, she found, identified, and matched DNA with two hundred and twenty-three hairs Mr. Whitt left in Mr. Cosner’s converted warehouse. The one he’s just stated, for the record, he knew nothing about, had never seen, had never been to. And one of them—bonus point—was found caught in the strap of the air mask he used to protect himself when he killed his old pal, Marsh.
“How’d your hair end up there, Steve?”
“This is more bullshit. Broward, they’re still trying to screw me. I’ve had enough.”
“Quiet.” Kobast put a hand on Whitt’s arm. “Be quiet.”
“You’re probably going to ask for another little confab with your lying sack of a client, but you might as well have more forensics before you do. Like the thumbprint you left behind the shelves when you removed the spy camera you’d placed in the lab where Sanchez cooked up the nerve agent that killed three people.”
“I was never there. You’re the liar.”
“Two hundred and twenty-three hairs and a thumbprint,” Eve said. “Oh, and you haven’t seen Loco for years, didn’t know he was recently deceased? Murder by stabbing. Our sweepers are really good, too.”
Eve took a bagged steak knife out of the evidence box. “And yet this knife, found in your kitchen drawer, has traces of blood still on it. People think they clean it all over, but almost never do. Our ME—he’s a genius, as your attorney knows, I’m sure—matches this knife with the stab wounds on Lucas Sanchez’s body.”
“Marsh must have used it. Taken it, used it, put it back.”
“Not a balanced relationship,” Peabody repeated with a sad shake of her head. “Poor old Marsh.”
“Yeah, poor old Marsh,” Eve agreed. “You should have walked a few more blocks before catching the cab when you left Cosner’s apartment, Steve. You only gave it a block, then took said cab to your cousin’s garage. You left fingerprints on the keypad, on the door, on the scooter. We actually check these things.”
“You think you’re so smart.”
“Yeah. I think you’re not as smart as you think—but a hell of a lot smarter than your dead school pal.”
She slapped a hand on the table mostly for the satisfaction of seeing him jolt. “You were the brains behind this. He went along with you, the way he always did. Like when you beat Miguel Rodriges, put him in the hospital.”
“Who?”
“I don’t doubt you don’t remember him. He remembers you, and your pal documented the beating—and the consideration of just killing the kid—in this book.”
She took it out of the box. “You missed this when you went through Cosner’s place.”
“That’s not proof of anything.”
“It starts adding up, as your attorney knows.”
“Be quiet, Stephen. Put your cards on the table, Lieutenant.”
“It goes back to Gold Academy, to Grange. Your father had a sexual relationship with her. It didn’t bother you she had sex with some of the teachers, some of the other fathers. But yours?”
She took a photo of Whitt’s father and Grange out of the box. “You didn’t send this one to Greenwald because you didn’t, at least then, want your father ID’d. But, like the one you sent, you took this—kept it in your hidey-hole. But I’m guessing Cosner took this one.”
And pulled out another, one of Lotte Grange with Stephen Whitt.
“My client was a minor, and this woman an adult, and the headmistress of his school.”
“Agreed, and that will be addressed, take my word. You wanted to punish her for doing your father, your own father, while she was doing you, didn’t you, Steve? You made sure you got one of Grange with your father’s face turned away, obscured.”
Pausing, she pulled a copy of what she described out of the evidence box. “You sent it to Grange’s husband. The divorces, your parents, Grange, that was just fine. But you didn’t expect Grange to leave the school. She was your shield, plus sex. Seriously teacher’s pet, right?”
“As a minor—”
Eve cut Kobast off with a vicious look that jolted him as much as her slap on the table had Whitt. “This is where it started.” She jabbed a finger on the photo of Grange with Whitt—a teenager, a student.
“Right here. But it didn’t end until today. Grange cut her losses, took another position in another city. Then the next thing you know, Rufty’s in there laying down new rules. That son of a bitch. You’re getting pulled out, but at least you’ll still be with Grange, still have that shield, probably the sex. But you lose the girl.”
Eve rose, walked around the table. “You didn’t love the girl, you’re not capable of it. But she belonged to you, she did what you said, what you wanted. She was nearly beautiful and obliging enough to be worthy of you. And all of a sudden, she moves on. She just let you go. You can blame her parents at first, but Jesus, she doesn’t even try.”
She leaned down, close to his ear, whispered, “That stupid, spineless cunt.”
Eve watched his hands fist as she eased back.
“Then what does she do? She gets tight with the mother who separated you, she goes off and starts a business. Then, the final blow.” Eve reached into the box, took out the bagged clippings from the evidence box. “She gets engaged, and not to just anyone, but to someone important, to the son of someone really important. She had no right.”
Eve rapped a fist on the table, whipped out the words. “Isn’t that how you saw it? Nobody walks away from you like that. And whose fault was it?”
She took the printout of the kill list, tossed it on the table. “Theirs. It’s just not as simple as hitting delete, Steve. You didn’t want to kill them, not the ones responsible. You wanted them to suffer, to lose, to never forget. The academy had been your golden goose, and they killed it. So you killed Rufty’s husband, Duran’s wife. You killed Sanchez when you didn’t need him anymore, and you killed your partner in this, your best friend, so you could shovel all the blame on him and walk away.
“But.” She leaned over his shoulder again, turned her voice into a verbal sneer. “You weren’t smart enough to pull it off. Every time you thought you covered your tracks, you left bread crumbs. You kept the knife you used to kill because you’re arrogant, and too stupid to throw it away.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Whitt snarled at her.
“Lieutenant,” Kobast began, but she pushed over him.
“Cards on the table. You kept a record of your enemies, the targets, their schedules on a tablet in the hole in the floor because you felt smug when you looked at it.”
To back up the words, Peabody pulled the tablet out of the evidence box, and a printout of the kill list taken from it.
“You spent a half hour inside your friend’s apartment before you murdered him because you’re such a moron it never occurred to you we’d check the damn security feed.
“You didn’t destroy Cosner’s tablet and couldn’t get by his passcode because you’re stupid. He kept up his habit of documenting, like a journal. Only he went from a book to a tablet. It’s all on there.”
Shifting, she pushed her face into his, filled her voice with derision.
“You’re an idiot who couldn’t get through high school without cheating. You cheated on your girlfriend with a woman old enough to be your grandmother. You preyed on the weaker, the defenseless because it made you feel like a big man. But you’re not, never were. You’re still a small, selfish, stupid boy.”
“Fuck you!”
She shifted again so the elbow he tried to jab brushed her hip. Now she could add assaulting an officer if she wanted to pile it on.
She wanted to pile it on.
“Stephen, you need to be quiet.”
“Fuck quiet. Stupid?”
She saw emotion in him now. Saw the ugly rage.
“If I’m so stupid, how come Rufty’s fag husband’s dead? And that asshole Duran’s bitch? How does stupid get some loser junkie to focus in, to do the work to make something the military would pay billions for? If you’re so goddamn smart,” he shouted over Kobast’s orders to stop talking, “how come you didn’t figure it out sooner? Before Marsh got high and took out the egg?”
“You gave him the illegal in the scotch. You tampered with the seal of the egg.”
“So the fuck what? He still did it himself. And if you’re so much smarter than I am, why is that pontificating excuse for a chemistry teacher’s older-than-dirt wife dead?”
“You mean Lilliana Rosalind? She’s fine. We intercepted that shipment because you’re an idiot.”
“Enough, enough. This interview is over.” Kobast lurched to his feet.
Eve nodded. “You know it is, Counselor. Your client has confessed, on the record, to four murders and an attempted murder. The other assorted charges are mixed in there, too. And all because somebody said he couldn’t have everything he wanted when he wanted it.”
She looked back at Whitt. “Now you’ll spend the rest of your life in a cage being told every day what you can’t have.”
“I won’t go to prison.” His lips curled. “Do you understand who I am? Who my family is?”
“I absolutely do.”
“Stephen, be quiet. I don’t want to hear another word. This interview is over. Stephen, you’ll need to go back to your cell and wait for me. Ms. Reo, we need to talk.”
“You better fix this, Broward, do you fucking hear me? You better fix this if you know what’s good for you. You’ve got a wife, too.”
Kobash jerked at the shock of the threat, said nothing.
“Peabody, get a uniform to assist you in taking Mr. Whitt back to his cell.”
“I’ll come after you,” Whitt mumbled, his eyes dead and fixed on Eve.
“Stephen, for God’s sake.”
“I’ll come after all of you.”
“Keep believing that,” Eve suggested. “It may help you through the first decade or so. Interview end. Record off.”
Epilogue
In her office near end of shift, Eve drifted off with her head on her desk. She’d sent Peabody home, written the reports, filled out the forms, turned the lock.
She’d had her meetings with Reo, with Mira, added them to her notes.
And closed the book, cleared the board.
When she’d realized she couldn’t take another cup of coffee, she put her head down, closed her eyes.
Roarke woke her with a stroke on the back, a kiss on the head.
“I’m just … resting.”
“Out for the count, Lieutenant, but I thought you’d object to me carrying you out of your office.”
“Yeah, I would.” She rubbed her eyes clear. “I appreciate you coming down.”
“I’m happy to be a part of this, and you can tell me how you worked it all on the way.”
“Okay.”
“Your board’s clear.”
She glanced back at it as she rose. “For now.”
She started the saga on the way to the garage, wound through it as Roarke drove.
“His counsel pushed for a deal. Reo stuck firm. They’ll order their own shrink, try to work something there, but it won’t fly. He knew right from wrong, he just didn’t give a rat’s ass.”
“Will you tell the ex-girlfriend?”
“I’ve already talked to her. I thought she should know before this hits because the media will dig up her name and the connection. And I spoke with Rosalind, let him know there’s nothing to worry about. Same with the others on the list. I figure I owe Harvo a big bottle of something, even though she’s feeling pretty good without it.”
“She seems like a champagne sort.”
“Maybe. Okay. The son of a bitch killed his only real friend because it was convenient. He didn’t have a scrap of remorse over it. There was a time Mavis was my only friend—not that I wanted one. Well, and Feeney, but that was different, because boss. But after Mavis wore me down into friendship, I’d have stood for her no matter what. Now I’ve got all these damn people, and it’s the same. I’d stand for them.”
“He has nothing inside him. And no one who means more than he means to himself. What about Grange?”
“She’s done, or will be. I only wish I could put her in a cage. But I had a discussion with the powers that be at the prep school, gave them documentation, which includes her naked with a then student—minor. She’s done.”
“It did start with her, didn’t it?”
“People like Whitt, I think they’re born empty. But yeah, she nurtured it, planted the seeds for it, perpetuated it. So, done,” she said when he pulled up at Rufty’s house.
Charles and Louise waited on the sidewalk.
“We wanted to walk awhile,” Louise said as Eve got out of the car. “So we walked down to wait for you.” She took Eve’s hands. “Thank you.”
“It’s the job, Louise.”
“I know it, but this is personal.”
“It’s not the job to take this time, to know he’d need a friend,” Charles put in, “when you tell him. It won’t bring Kent back, but it will give Martin some peace.”
She hoped it would, as she hoped it would bring some peace to Jay Duran when she told him.
She walked to the door and, taking Roarke’s hand, rang the bell.
Later, sometime later when the day was finally done, she sat with Roarke by the pond, beside the tree they’d planted, with the scent of spring in the air, the stars blooming overhead, and the lights of the house glowing.
She’d done the job, and would hold on to her own peace while it lasted.
TITLES BY J. D. ROBB
Naked in Death
Glory in Death
Immortal in Death
Rapture in Death
Ceremony in Death
Vengeance in Death
Holiday in Death
Conspiracy in Death
Loyalty in Death
Witness in Death
Judgment in Death
Betrayal in Death
Seduction in Death
Reunion in Death
Purity in Death
Portrait in Death
Imitation in Death
Divided in Death
Visions in Death
Survivor in Death
Origin in Death
Memory in Death
Born in Death
Innocent in Death
Creation in Death
Strangers in Death
Salvation in Death
Promises in Death
Kindred in Death
Fantasy in Death
Indulgence in Death
Treachery in Death
New York to Dallas
Celebrity in Death
Delusion in Death
Calculated in Death
Thankless in Death
Concealed in Death
Festive in Death
Obsession in Death
Devoted in Death
Brotherhood in Death
Apprentice in Death
Echoes in Death
Secrets in Death
Dark in Death
Leverage in Death
Connections in Death
Vendetta in Death
Golden in Death
ANTHOLOGIES
Silent Night
(with Susan Plunkett, Dee Holmes, and Claire Cross)
Out of This World
(with Laurell K. Hamilton, Susan Krinard, and Maggie Shayne)
Remember When
(with Nora
Roberts)
Bump in the Night
(with Mary Blayney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
Dead of Night
(with Mary Blayney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
Three in Death
Suite 606
(with Mary Blayney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
In Death
The Lost
(with Patricia Gaffney, Mary Blayney, and Ruth Ryan Langan)
The Other Side
(with Mary Blayney, Patricia Gaffney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
Time of Death
The Unquiet
(with Mary Blayney, Patricia Gaffney, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Mary Kay McComas)
Mirror, Mirror
(with Mary Blayney, Elaine Fox, Mary Kay McComas, and R. C. Ryan)
Down the Rabbit Hole
(with Mary Blayney, Elaine Fox, Mary Kay McComas, and R. C. Ryan)
About the Author
J. D. Robb is the pseudonym for the New York Times bestselling author of more than two hundred novels, including the futuristic suspense In Death series. There are more than 500 million copies of the author’s books in print. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Epigraphs
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
