by J. D. Robb
To her amazement, he flushed scarlet—all two hundred twenty-five pounds of him. “Ah, just Jim. He’s, um, he owns the place. He’s, um. Um, he’s got Beaner sparring over in the ring. Ma’am.”
She started across the room. Bench Press sat up, eyed her with open suspicion and considerable dislike. “Jim, he don’t take no females in here.”
“Jim must be unaware that it’s illegal to discriminate due to sex.”
“Discriminate.” He barked a laugh and sneered. “He don’t discriminate. He just don’t take no females.”
“A fine distinction. What you got there? Two seventy-five. That be about your weight?”
He swiped sweat from his wide, cocoa-colored face. “Guy can’t bench his weight, he’s a girl.”
With a nod, Eve unlocked the weights, adjusted them. “That’s my weight.” Then she wagged a thumb, inviting him to rise.
Heavy Bag stepped over as she positioned herself on the bench. “Ma’am. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”
“No, I don’t. Spot me, Peabody.”
“Sure.”
Eve curled her hands around the bar, set. And did ten slow, steady reps. She replaced the bar, slid off the bench. “I ain’t no girl.”
She nodded to Heavy Bag, who blushed again, then strolled toward the next room.
“I can’t bench my weight yet,” Peabody said in an undertone. “I guess I’m a girl.”
“Practice.”
She stopped to watch the sparring match.
There was a bruiser in the ring with black skin so glossy it looked oiled. He had tree-trunk legs, abs that looked like ridges of steel. A punishing right, she noted, but he telegraphed it by dropping his left shoulder.
His opponent was in the Nordic god style, and quick on his feet. When she stepped closer, she made it as a droid.
The trainer was wrapped in gray sweats and jogged to different spots outside the ring to shout instruction and insult with equal fervor.
He was about five eight, Eve judged, and on the shady side of fifty. From the looks of it, his nose had had the occasion to meet someone’s fist with some regularity. When he peeled back his lips to spew abuse on his fighter, Eve caught the glint of a silver tooth.
She waited until the end of the round and watched the black guy—heavyweight division—hang his head as the flyweight berated him from outside the ropes.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Eve began.
Jim’s head whipped around. “I don’t like women in my place.” He heaved a towel at his fighter, then rolled toward Eve like a small tank. “Out.”
Eve took out her badge. “Why don’t we start over?”
“Female cops. Worse than a regular female. This is my place. Man oughta be able to do what he wants to do in his own place and not have some female cop come around telling him he has to cater to women.”
He was working up a good head of steam, eyes bulging, head bopping like a pigeon’s, feet dancing in place. “I’ll shut down before I have females prancing around here and asking me where’s the fucking lemon water.”
“Aren’t we both lucky I’m not here to bust your chops about your overt violations of discrimination laws.”
“Discrimination, my ass. This is a serious gym, not some froufrou palace.”
“So I see. I’m Lieutenant Dallas, this is Detective Peabody. We’re Homicide.”
“Well, I sure as hell haven’t killed anybody. Lately.”
“That’s a big relief to me, Jim. You got an office?”
“Why?”
“So we could go there and have a discussion instead of me cuffing you and hauling your disagreeable ass into Central to have the discussion there. I’m not interested in shutting you down. I don’t give a rat’s skinny ass if you block women from your membership list or if you haul them in by the bargeload to dance naked in the showers. Providing you have shower facilities, which from the smell of things, you don’t.”
“I got showers. I got an office. This is my place, and I run it my way.”
“Fine and good. Your office or mine, Jim?”
“Goddamn females. You.” He jabbed a finger at his fighter who continued to stand, gloves dangling, head down. “You do an hour with the rope till you learn what to do with your damn clumsy feet. I gotta go have a discussion.”
He marched off.
“Things started going downhill,” Peabody commented as they started after him, “as soon as they gave us the vote. Bet he has that sad day circled in funeral black on his perpetual calendar.”
They had to climb a set of rusty iron stairs to a second level. The amazing stench of body odor, mildew, and flatulence identified the shower facilities. And made the eyes water.
Even Eve, who didn’t consider herself overly fussy, was forced to agree with Peabody’s whispered: gross.
Jim turned into a room identified as his office by the desk buried under sparring gloves, mouth guards, paper, and used towels. The walls were decorated with photos of a younger Jim in boxing trunks. In one he held a title belt aloft. Since his right eye was swollen shut, his nose bloody, and his torso black-and-blue, she assumed it hadn’t been an easy victory.
“What year did you take the title?” Eve asked him.
“Forty-five. Twelve rounds. Knocked Hardy into a coma. Took him three days to come out of it.”
“You must be proud. We’re conducting an investigation into the rape and strangulation of two women.”
“Don’t know nothing about it.” He tossed what might have been a pile of dirty laundry off a chair and sat. “Got two ex-wives. Gave up on women after the second one.”
“Wise choice. We believe the killer lives, works, or frequents this area.”
“Which is it? Typical female, can’t make up your mind.”
“I can see why you have those two ex-wives, Jim. You’re such a charmer. Two women are dead. They were beaten, raped, strangled, and mutilated, for no reason other than they were women.”
The cocky grin faded from his face. “That’s why I don’t watch nothing but the sports channels. You think I go around beating and raping and killing women? I gotta get me a damn lawyer now?”
“That’s up to you. You’re not a suspect, but we believe the man who killed these women, who may have killed others, is serious about his body maintenance. He’s big, and he’s very strong. You’d get that type in here.”
“Well, Jesus H. Christ, what am I supposed to do? Ask a guy when he comes in to lift if he’s going out to strangle some woman after?”
“You’re supposed to cooperate with the authorities and give me your membership list.”
“I know laws and shit. I don’t have to do that unless you slap me with a warrant.”
“Try this instead.” Eve reached into Peabody’s bag and took out Elisa Maplewood’s ID photo. “This is what one of his victims looked like. Before. I won’t show you the after. You wouldn’t recognize her, not after what he’d done to her. She had a four-year-old daughter.”
“Jesus H. Christ.” He looked away from it, glowered at the wall. “I know the guys who come in here. You think I’d let some crazy woman-killer use my place? I’d sooner have females.”
“The membership list.”
He puffed out his cheeks. “I don’t hold with rape. Man’s got a hand, doesn’t he? Plenty of LCs around if he’s got to stick his dick in something. I don’t hold with rape. Worse than killing, you ask me.”
He shoved at the debris on his desk until he unearthed an ancient portable computer.
Peabody heaved out a breath when they were back on the street. “That was an experience. My olfactory sense is still in shock. It may take a week to recover. Some of the places we hit yesterday were a little ripe, and you could say colorful. But that wins the trophy.”
“We’ve got another one to go. Second craft place is two blocks west. We’ll hit that, double back, and take the next gym.”
Peabody calculated the distance already hiked, the distance yet to go. “I get two des
serts tonight.
It took more than two hours. It would’ve taken longer, but they caught an assistant manager at the craft center who was so excited at the prospect of being even a peripheral part of a murder investigation she would have given them every scrap of data at her fingertips.
The second gym was cleaner, more crowded, and a great deal less pungent. But the manager insisted on speaking with the owner, who refused any cooperation until he, himself, could come in to deal with the situation.
He was a hard-bodied six three, a light-skinned Asian with a skullcap of salt-and-pepper hair. He offered Eve a hand and took hers in the careful way of a big man who was aware of his size and strength.
“I’ve heard about these murders. It’s a terrible thing.”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Why don’t we sit down?”
His office wasn’t any larger than Jim’s, but it looked to have been cleaned and outfitted not only within the last quarter century, but perhaps within the last week.
“I understand you want a list of our members.”
“That’s right. Our investigation indicates the killer may use facilities such as this.”
“I don’t like to think I’m acquainted with, or doing business with, anyone who could do something like this. It’s not that I don’t want to cooperate, Lieutenant, but it seems I should consult with my lawyer first. Membership lists are confidential.”
“You’re free to do so, Mr. Ling. We’ll get a warrant. It’ll take some time, but we’ll get one.”
“And the time it takes may give him the opportunity to kill another woman. I hear the subtext, loud and clear. I’m going to give you the list, but I’m going to ask if you need anything else, to come directly to me, rather than my manager. I’ll give you my private number. Men gossip, Lieutenant, the same as anybody. I don’t want our members put off by the idea they may be pumping iron or showering off next to a homicidal maniac.”
“That’s no problem.” She waited a moment while he ordered his computer to access the membership list and copy to disc. “You don’t cater to women?”
“Female members are welcome,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Otherwise I’d be in violation of federal and state statutes regarding discrimination. But oddly enough, you’ll see we have no women on our membership list currently.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
“We’ll let Feeney run with this awhile and grab a couple hours’ sleep,” Eve said when she and Peabody walked back toward Homicide. “We’re going to need follow-ups with Morris and Mira, and if there’s no report from the lab by fifteen hundred, we need to kick Dickhead.”
“Want me to set them up?”
“No, I’ll . . .” She stopped when she saw the big man rise from a bench outside her division. “Yeah, go ahead. Then take the two hours of personal.”
Eve hung back until Peabody moved off into the bull pen, then, dipping her hands in her pockets, walked forward.
“Hey, Crack.”
“Dallas. Good thing you came along when you did. Cops, they get nervous when a big, beautiful black man hangs around.”
Big he was. Black he was. But beautiful, not even close. He had a face even a besotted mother would have a hard time loving—and that was before the tattoos. He wore a skintight silver T-shirt under a long black leather vest. Snug black pants followed the acreage of his legs. Thick-soled black boots added another inch to his already impressive height.
He owned a sex club called the Down and Dirty, where the drinks were next to lethal, the music was hot, and many of the patrons had spent as much time in a cage as out of one.
They called him Crack as he claimed that was the sound he made when he knocked people’s heads together. And that summer, Eve had held him while he’d wept like a baby beside the body of his murdered sister.
“You just here to scare cops?” she asked.
“Nothing scares you, white girl. You got a minute? Maybe some place without so many ears.”
“Sure.” She led the way into her office, shut the door.
“Cop shops,” he said with a glimmer of a smile. “Don’t know as I’ve ever been in one in what you might call a voluntary capacity.”
“Want coffee?”
He shook his head, shifting his bulk to look out the window. “Ain’t much of a place here, hot stuff.”
“No, but it’s mine. You going to sit?”
Again, he shook his head. “Ain’t see you in a while.”
“No.” The silence hung a moment, as they both thought of the last time they’d seen each other.
“Last time I did was when you come by my place to tell me face-to-face that you got the bastard killed my sister. I didn’t have much to say to you.”
“Wasn’t much to say.”
His shoulders lifted, fell. “No. Too much to say.”
“I went by your place a couple weeks ago. Barman said you were out of town.”
“Couldn’t stay here after what happened to my baby. Had to get away awhile. Did me some traveling. Big-ass world out there. Took a look at some of it. Never thanked you for what you did for me and my baby sister. Couldn’t get the words out before.”
“You don’t have to get them out now.”
“She was beautiful.”
“Yes, she was. I’ve never lost anybody really close to me, but—”
He turned back to her now. “You lose people every day. Don’t know how you get through one and into the next.” He drew a deep breath. “I got the letter from your man saying how the two of you had a tree planted in the park for my girl. That was a fine thing to do. I went by to see it, and it’s a fine thing. Want to thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You did right by her, I wanted to say that. Wanted to say I know you took care of her, and I won’t forget it. The living’s got to live, no matter what. So now I’m gonna try to do that, best I can. You come down to the D and D now, I’ll be there. Kicking ass and cracking heads, like always.”
“I’m glad you’re back.”
“You need anything from me, you just ask. Now, I gotta tell you, hot lips, seen you look better.”
“Long couple of days.”
“Maybe it’s time you got out of town awhile.”
“Maybe.” She angled her head as she considered him. “You’re a big guy.”
“Sweetcheeks.” He patted his crotch. “I got written testimony to that effect.”
“Bet. But just keep that big dog on the leash.” She was thinking of geographics again. “Big, beautiful black man wants to maintain his big, beautiful build he goes to the gym regular.”
“I got me some equipment of my own.” He winked lasciviously. “But I use a place a couple times a week. Keeps mind and body disciplined.”
“You know Jim’s Gym?”
“Shithole.”
“I hear that. What about Bodybuilders?”
“Ain’t no ladies there. Why I want to waste this body on a buncha men? ’Sides, man with my attributes gets hit on in a place like that. Then I have to be busting somebody’s face, and I use up my valuable time. Me, I use Zone to Zone. Man can get himself a full massage—a full massage—after his workout if he’s inclined.”
“But you know the other places, and you could check them out from the inside, if you were so inclined?”
His grin spread. “Could, if a skinny white girl cop asked me to.”
“I’m looking for a guy, between six four and six eight, around two-seventy. Light-skinned. Woman hater. Loner. Seriously strong.”
“Maybe if I moseyed into those places, like I was maybe considering changing my fitness allegiance, I’d see somebody like that.”
“Maybe you would. Then you could tell me.”
“See what I can do.”
Chapter 13
Eve banked an hour’s sleep at her desk. When she woke, she was almost disappointed to find the lab reports holding in her incoming. There would be no way to justify trouncing the chief lab t
ech.
She read them over, listened to the interoffice memo from Peabody clearing the follow-ups, then scanned her voice and e-mail.
A message from the commander’s office informed her she was required at a media conference at sixteen hundred. She’d seen that one coming. And she was going to be both unprepared and late if she didn’t get her butt in gear.
She scrubbed her hands over her face, and put through a call to Morris at the morgue.
He was at his desk, and answered himself.
“What can you tell me?” she asked him.
“I’m about to send you the report, but I can tell you Lily Napier had a short life, that it was ended in the same manner as Elisa Maplewood’s, and in my opinion by the same individual. There was more violence to the face and body, which would lead me to believe his rage is increasing.”
He shifted, and she could see him bring up a file. “Your on-site was thorough, as always. To that I can add she consumed some pork-fried rice four hours prior to her death, and was mildly anemic. There was no semen. I found fibers inside the vagina. My guess would be they’re from her panties, and were carried inside during the rape. There were other fibers that will likely be identified as textile, and almost certainly be from her own clothing. Grass and dirt under her nails, in accordance with your observation. She dug them into the ground. No hair, other than her own.”
“Hair from Maplewood turned out to be from the dog, and a squirrel,” Eve told him. “Dog’s obvious, and it’s probable she picked up the squirrel hair on the grass in the park. Dickhead’s report IDs the fibers under Maplewood’s nails as man-made, black. Ubiquitous black cloth. We’ll match it when we get him, but for now we’ve got nothing from him.”
“Lunatics are, unfortunately, rarely stupid.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Morris.”
She was about to try Mira’s office when she felt her blood sugar bottom out. Since her chocolate supply was tapped for the moment, vending was her only choice. She walked out to the hallway and stared at a snack machine with pure dislike.
“Problem?”
She glanced over, saw Mira. “No. I was just going to grab something, then tag you.”
“I had a consult in this section. Thought I’d come to you.”
