Promises in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “None taken,” Mira assured her.

  “All that stands on her being Ricker’s kid, and knowing it.”

  “We’ll be substantiating that today. You’re up for this, Morris?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Peabody and I will pull Alex Ricker in, work him. If he knows about a sister, even suspects he may have one, we’ll get it out of him. And letting the word get out that we’ve got Alex Ricker in the box, are interviewing him in the matter of Coltraine and Sandy? It’s going to give Grady a feeling of accomplishment. I’ll bet she’ll want a pat on the back from Daddy.”

  “It would fit,” Mira agreed. “She may try to contact him through her usual sources.”

  “Which we’ll have, also in a box, within hours. Rouche will give us Ricker, and he’ll give us Sandy. We may get lucky and get another log to add on the Grady fire.” She looked at Feeney. “We need to know asap if she tries for the contact. You’ll be set.”

  “We’ll be set. She sends anything to the ’link Callendar found in Rouche’s quarters, we’ll nail it down. Once you work the return process out of Rouche, we’ll send her whatever return you want.”

  “We’re a go then. Get me the damn warrants, Reo. Peabody, wait outside, please. McNab, set it up. Morris, another minute.”

  Eve waited until the room cleared. “McNab’s going to have ears on you the whole time you’re with her.”

  “I’m not worried about it.”

  “She’s a killer. It’s her job. You should worry about it. If she senses anything off, she’ll do you first, think about it later. You just have to—”

  “We’ve been over what you want me to do, how you want me to do it, three times. I can do this. And I should be the one to do it, not only for Amaryllis, but because I’m the only logical choice. You have to trust me to do my part. I’m trusting you to do yours.”

  No choice, she thought, but to back off. “Call it in, either way.”

  “I will.”

  Eve watched him walk away, then stuck her hands in her pockets as Peabody stepped up. “He’ll be okay, Dallas. McNab’ll be right there. Practically.”

  “If he tips it the wrong way, and she pulls out her weapon or a knife, McNab will get it on record. Morris is still down. I couldn’t work out a way to do it myself. She’ll be on alert with me. I thought about pushing her into taking a swing at me, so I could swing back. Then, oops, I’ve got her blood on my shirt. But then I’ve provoked her into giving up DNA instead of her—essentially—volunteering it.”

  “He’ll get it done. He needs to, so he will.”

  “Right. Contact Alex Ricker, and ask him real nice to come on down so we can chat.”

  “He’ll bring a bunch of lawyers.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  She went into her office to prep, to line up all the threads she intended to tie together. She could wrap that knot tight around Cleo Grady, but she needed all those threads to put the bow on it.

  Now it was wait, she thought. Wait for Reo to get the warrants, wait for Callendar and Sisto to deliver Rouche, wait for Morris to play out his role.

  Alex Ricker? At this point he was more a pawn than a thread. She’d use him—and prove his father, his friend, and his half sister had used him. And she’d prove all the threads ran out from him, simply because he was.

  She wouldn’t be sorry for it. He’d made his choices—to follow in his father’s footsteps, or close enough alongside them to cross the lines. He’d chosen to stay on that path rather than change it for a woman who must have loved him. A woman who died because she’d loved him, and left him.

  She stood at her window, drinking coffee, considering choices. When she heard the knock on her door, she called out, “Come on.”

  Mira stepped in, closed the door behind her. “Do you want me to observe when you interview Alex Ricker?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “All right. I will want to observe if and when you interview Cleo Grady.”

  “When. The DNA’s going to lock it. I need that because the law says I do. But I know who she is. She’s Ricker’s spawn. What I don’t know, what I’m curious about is what she wanted, or needed, from him. Was it the recognition, the money, the thrill? Maybe all of it. It fits that she sought him out rather than the other way. It fits their profiles.”

  “Yes. She’d be nothing to him, and he’d be important to her. She could make herself important to him.”

  “He educated her, so she must have. The college money, coming through a scholarship—with her the only recipient. That was stupid and greedy on Ricker’s part. Why not spend some bucks to send off a few other kids? He’d buried the payment, putting it through one of the arms of one of his fronts. He could’ve made it a legit deal, done the same a few times. Gotten the tax break or whatever.”

  “He wouldn’t give a dollar to anyone without a purpose, a personal interest. It’s not in his scope.”

  “Once she took it, he owned her. Was she too stupid to see that, or didn’t she care? She didn’t care,” Eve said before Mira spoke. “I read your profile. I’m just talking out loud.”

  “It troubles you, all of this. The genetics of it.”

  “Maybe it does. But that only makes me more determined to put her away. She had a pretty good life from what I can see. Parents who stuck, a decent home. She tossed it. Some people are just born fucked up. I know that.”

  She studied Grady’s photo on her board. “Maybe she was, maybe she was always going to go bad—even without knowing Ricker, without knowing she came from him. And maybe needing to know where she came from and finding out turned her, just enough. Just enough so she kept going, and couldn’t go back. I’m curious.”

  “Will it make a difference in what you do?” Mira asked her. “Or how you handle what you’ve done, afterward?”

  “No to the first. I’m not sure to the second. I’m not going to say taking her down isn’t personal, because it is. Because she’s a cop, because of Ricker. Because of Morris and because of Coltraine. It’s personal, right down the line.”

  “And it’s easier, clearer, to take the steps, do what has to be done when it’s not. Or not this personal.”

  Eve met Mira’s eyes and spoke calmly, coolly. “I want to hurt her, to use my hands on her, get her blood on them. I want that for all the reasons I just said. And I want it just for me.”

  “But you won’t.”

  Eve shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

  “You won’t jeopardize the case for your own satisfaction, however much you’d enjoy it. That alone should answer one of your questions, Eve. Genetics stamp us, we can’t deny it. But we build from there. At the end of the day you’ll do what needs to be done, for all the reasons you named. But at the core of it, at the heart, you’ll do what needs to be done for Amaryllis Coltraine.”

  “I didn’t give her a chance, you know?”

  “In what way?”

  She let out a breath, shoved at her hair. “When she was alive, with Morris. I didn’t give her a chance. It kind of irritated me for some reason that he was stuck on her. Stupid.”

  “Not stupid, really. You didn’t know her, and you’re very attached to him.”

  “Not that way.”

  Mira smiled. “Not that way. But you’re not one who trusts quickly, or easily. God knows. You didn’t trust her yet.”

  “I’ve been having dreams, kind of conversational dreams with her. It’s weird. Weird because I know it’s my head holding both ends of the conversation, but . . . I had this thought the other night at the shower deal. This thought that I guess comes out of those weird conversation dreams. I think I would’ve liked her okay if I’d given her more of a chance, when there was a chance. I think if that shower deal had been another six months or so down the road, she’d have been there.”

  “It’s harder knowing that.”

  “It’s fucking brutal actually.”

  “Dallas. Sorry, Dr. Mira.” Peabody poked her head in t
he door. “Alex Ricker’s on his way in.”

  “Good. Set up for interview.”

  Wait’s over, she thought.

  21

  ALEX SAT WITH HIS COMPLEMENT OF LAWYERS while Eve and Peabody set up, while Eve engaged the recorder and read off the salients. Though she’d Mirandized him before, she did so again.

  “Questions?” she asked pleasantly. “Comments? Snide remarks?”

  As she expected, the head suit went into a prepared riff on Mr. Ricker’s voluntary presence, on his willingness to cooperate, the previous examples of his cooperation. She let it run through, then nodded.

  “Is that it? All finished now? Or would you like to give examples of Mr. Ricker’s kindness to the little orphaned children and small puppies?”

  Harry Proctor looked down his important nose. “I’ll make a note of your sarcasm and discourteous attitude.”

  “My partner here keeps them on disc.”

  “I can get you a copy,” Peabody offered.

  “And here’s what I’m making a note of. The cooperative and civil-minded Mr. Ricker comes into interview with not one, not two, but three—count them, three—lawyers. Makes me wonder just what you’ve got to worry about, Alex.”

  “I believe in being prepared, particularly when it comes to the police.”

  “I bet you do. But, golly, it’s strange that someone who’s prepared, a businessman of your . . . caliber would be, as he claims, oblivious to the machinations—don’t you love that word, Peabody?”

  “Top-ten favorite.”

  “Let’s say it again, to the machinations of his personal assistant and longtime best pal, Rod Sandy. That you’d just be blissfully ignorant of Sandy and your father’s plotting and planning. It makes you kind of an idiot, doesn’t it?”

  It got a rise of color along his cheekbones, but Alex’s voice remained neutral. “I trusted Rod. My mistake.”

  “Oh boy, wasn’t it just? We’re talking years here, Alex. Your boyfriend’s been socking away money your daddy paid him to spy on you, to pass info on. You can probably think back to a deal that didn’t pan out the way you wanted, and wonder if it’s because your old man had the inside track and felt like screwing with you.”

  “Am I in here to admit a trusted friend used me for his own gain, and my father enjoys complicating my life? Admitted. Freely. Is that all?”

  “Not even close. It’s got to piss you off.”

  “Again, freely admitted.”

  “In your shoes I’d want some payback.” Eve gave Peabody a speculative glance. “If my partner here worked me that way and I found out? She couldn’t run far or fast enough.”

  “And I can run pretty fast given the right incentive.”

  “I’d make her pay for it. How do you think I’d make you pay for it, Peabody?”

  “In the most painful and humiliating way possible.”

  “See how well we know each other? The difference in the situations and personalities as I see it is I wouldn’t end her. I’d want her to hurt and fear me for a long, long time. But we all have our different definition of fun. Did you have fun killing Sandy, Alex?”

  “That accusation—”

  Alex simply lifted a hand to cut the lawyer off. “Rod’s dead? How?”

  She’d kept a lid on it and saw now she’d been right to do so. He hadn’t known, Eve thought. His network hadn’t found Sandy, or hadn’t been ordered to look quite deep enough. “I’m asking the questions. He betrayed you, made a fool of you, now he’s dead. That’s a one plus one equals two kind of deal around here. Of course, that’s if we believe you were the goat.”

  She tipped back casually in her chair. “We could speculate that you and Sandy were duping your father. Take his money and Sandy feeds him what you want him to eat. You’re smart enough to do that.”

  “It’s exactly what I would have done, if I’d known.”

  “You’re in a tough spot here, Alex. Say you knew and it could take you off the hook on Sandy’s murder. But say you knew, and—since he’s implicated in Coltraine’s murder—that could tie you to a cop killing. Say you don’t know, and you come off a fool who’d probably want some of his own back.”

  “Lieutenant Dallas,” Proctor began, “my client can hardly be held responsible for the actions of . . .”

  Eve didn’t bother to listen, didn’t bother to interrupt. She just kept looking at Alex. It was Alex who finally shut the lawyer down, and leaned toward Eve. “I don’t know when my father got his hooks into Rod. I intend to find out, but I don’t know how long ago. I don’t know why Rod betrayed me for money. Now I’ll never know. You may not think the why would be important. It’s essential to me. I didn’t want Rod dead. I wanted to know why, I wanted to know if he had anything, anything at all to do with Ammy’s death. I wanted to look in his face and know if he could’ve done that to her, to me. And why.”

  “He not only could have, he did. Why? Money’s often enough. Add sex and the potential for power, and you’ve got it all. Hell, Alex, he’s probably been banging your sister regularly since college.”

  “I don’t have a sister, so the supposition is—”

  “Christ, Peabody, maybe he is just an oblivious idiot.” Eve pulled out Cleo Grady’s photo, tossed it on the table. “Not much family resemblance, but that’s understandable with half sibs.”

  Alex stared at the photo, and Eve watched his color fade shade by shade. “Get out,” Alex said to the lawyers. “All of you, get out.”

  “Mr. Ricker, it’s not in your best interest to—”

  “Get out now, or you’re fired.” He stared at Eve as the lawyers packed up their briefcases and left the room. “If you’re lying about this, if you’re playing me on this, I’ll use every means at my disposal to have your badge.”

  “Now I’m scared.”

  “Don’t fuck with me!”

  It was the anger, the raw emotion through it, that gave Eve some of the answers she’d wanted. “We’ll remain on record. You have dismissed your attorneys?”

  “Yes, I’ve damn well dismissed them. Tell me who this is, and what she has to do with me.”

  Morris opened the door of Ammy’s apartment for Cleo Grady. She stepped forward, said only, “Morris,” and gave him both her hands.

  “I’m sorry I pulled you into this, Cleo. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Don’t be. You shouldn’t try to do this alone. She was my friend. I want to help.”

  She sounded so sincere, he thought. With just the slightest catch in her voice. How easy it would be to believe her, if he didn’t know. He shifted to let her inside, closed the door. “I don’t know if I could do it alone. But when her family asked, I . . . They don’t want to come back here. I can’t blame them. But going through her things, packing them up . . . There’s so much of her. And none of her.”

  “I can take care of it. I’ve got the personal time coming. My LT knows I’m here today. Why don’t you let me deal with this, Morris? You don’t have to—”

  “No, I said I would. I’ve started, but I keep, well, bogging down.” Successful lies, Morris thought, were wrapped in truth. “The police still have her electronics, her files, but I started on her clothes. Her family told me to keep whatever I wanted, or to give what I thought appropriate to her friends here. How do I know, Cleo? How can I?”

  “I’ll help you.” She stood, looked around the living room. “She always kept her space nice. Here, at work. Made the rest of us look like slobs. She’d want us to put her things away, nice, if you know what I mean.”

  “With care.”

  “Yeah, with care.” She turned to him. “We’ll do that for her, Morris. Do you want to finish the clothes first?”

  “Yes, that’s probably best.” He led the way into the bedroom where he had painfully begun the process of packing Ammy’s things. Now he continued the task with the woman he believed had murdered his lover.

  They spoke of her, and other things. He looked straight into Cleo’s eyes as she folded one
of Ammy’s favorite sweaters. He could do that, Morris thought. He could let this woman touch Ammy’s things, speak of her, move around the room where he and Ammy had been intimate, had loved each other. He could do whatever he needed to do, and for now—at least for now—feel nothing.

  A twinge, just a twinge cut through when she began to box and wrap jewelry.

  “She always knew just what to wear with what.” Cleo’s eyes met his in the mirror, smiled. “It’s a talent I don’t share. I used to admire . . . oh.” She held up a pair of small, simple silver hoops. “She wore these a lot, for work anyway. They’re so her, you know? Just exactly right, not too much, not too little. They’re just . . . her.”