by J. D. Robb
“What a proud day this is for me.” Eve laid a hand on Peabody’s shoulder. “Yeah, she’s bitch slime. She went into the synchronized swimming round with Williams of her own volition. Tough to prove otherwise seeing as he’s been eliminated from the competition, but we know what we know. But is the bitch slime a murderer?”
“Probably. She had motive and opportunity on both vics.”
“We’d like her to be the killer,” Eve acknowledged, “as righteous bitches to bitch slime, we’d love to take her down for a couple of murders in the first. But we don’t have enough to lock either one. The next thing we have to do is verify our own infallible instincts and prove Williams was murdered.”
“Oh, yeah.” Peabody hunched her shoulders. “I sort of forgot that little step.”
“It’s the little ones that trip you and send your face into the concrete. Let’s go to the morgue.”
14
SHE SWUNG THROUGH THE BULL PEN, THEN into her office for her coat. Stopped, kicked the desk lightly. She wasn’t answering those messages. She wasn’t a frigging saint. But she could do something about something else.
Pulling on her coat she walked back into the bull pen and straight to Baxter’s desk where he was slugging back cop coffee and reading a sweeper’s report.
“I saw you closed the underground case. Got a Murder Two. Trueheart handle the interview?”
“Yeah. He did good.”
She glanced over to the cube where the undeniably adorable Officer Trueheart was pecking away at paperwork. “Trueheart.”
He swiveled around immediately, blinked at her. “Sir.”
“Nice work on the Syke’s interview.”
He flushed. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
“Taught him all he knows,” Baxter claimed with a grin.
“Hopefully, he’ll overcome that. As for earlier, I appreciate the sentiment. Let’s leave it there.”
“Got that.”
Satisfied, she left to study the dead.
Welcome back. Can I offer you some refreshments?” Morris was in pewter today, with a purple shirt and braided pewter tie. His hair was in a long tail that made Eve think of glossy thoroughbreds.
“Rather have a ruling.” Eve glanced down at Williams’s body. “Homicide.”
“I have fudge brownies. Home-baked by the lovely hands of a Southern goddess.”
Eve’s eyes narrowed on the mention of brownies. She swore she heard saliva pool in Peabody’s mouth. Then the Southern goddess mention struck. “Detective Coltraine?”
Morris laid a hand on his heart, thumped it to mime a beating heart. And Eve thought, What was it with men and blondes with big tits?
Morris wiggled his dark, sharp eyebrows. “Our transplanted magnolia bakes for relaxation, it seems.”
“Huh.” Eve cocked her head. “What, you smitten, Morris?”
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“I could eat, like, a half a brownie.”
Morris smiled at Peabody. “In the personal friggie over there. Help yourself.” Then he turned to Eve. “Accident or murder? You be the judge.”
“It’s murder.”
“Well, well.” He stepped back from the body, gestured. “What do we see? A superficial wound under the chin.”
“Cracked it on the pool edging. Sweepers found some of his skin on the tile. It would’ve smarted, but I’m damned if it knocked him unconscious and caused him to drown.”
“Hmm. More superficial wounds on the back.”
“Consistent with injury sustained when he was dragged out of the pool. More skin found. That’s postmortem.”
“It is, it is, my canny student. We have a very fit individual, other than his being dead, of course. Excellent muscle tone. Your on-scene notes indicated he was a swimmer, that there was no sign of struggle. Yet you cry murder.”
“I say it, straight out.”
“And knowing you, knowing you wouldn’t send me a body unless you had strong cause, we’ve proceeded accordingly. His tox screen isn’t back yet. Shortly, as I flagged it.”
“What do you think’s in him, and how did it get there?”
“For the what, we’ll wait. For the how. Have a look.”
He handed her goggles, then gave her a finger curl. When she walked to Williams’s head, she noted Morris had shaved a circle of hair away on the crown.
“Man, would he hate that. Bald spot. And lookie, lookie.” She bent closer, and with the goggles could just make out the faint mark. “Pressure syringe,” she said. “Barely shows, and on the scalp, with a headful of hair, the naked eye isn’t going to see it.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Now she glanced over at Morris, grinned. “Yours excepted. I missed it. I looked over his body, between his fingers and his toes, even checked his tongue, the inside of his cheeks, but I missed this. Nice catch.”
“I ate a whole brownie,” Peabody confessed.
“Who could blame you?” Morris patted her arm when she joined them.
“We got our homicide, Peabody. Vic’s doing laps, maybe finishes up, or just stops when he sees someone. Grips the edging. Maybe says something…‘Hey, what’s up?’ But there’s no time for conversation. Have to get it done, get out. It’s a risk, but like with Foster, calculated. All you do is bend down, pump the syringe.”
Drawing off the goggles, she pictured it. “Had to be quick. No poison this time. He didn’t show any symptoms of any poison I know. Maybe the shock of the buzz on the scalp had him lose his grip, rap his chin. But…not a sedative. Too slow. He might have been able to make it out, or try. If he’d clawed at the edging, we’d have seen signs of that on his hands, his fingers. Numbed him, that’s what it did. Like the stuff MTs and doctors use to block pain and movements for some treatments. You’re awake, even aware on some levels, but you don’t feel anything, you can’t move anything.”
“And we are, once more, in accord.” Morris nodded. “I believe the tox results will come back with a standard surgical paralytic substance, injected through the scalp. Strong, fast-acting, and quite temporary.”
“Not temporary enough for him. He would’ve struggled. Strong guy, he’d have been able to keep his head up for a while, maybe try to float. There’s a set of stairs about five feet from where the sweepers found the skin. If he’d thought of it, tried to get there, prop his head…The killer might have had to help him out a little, hurry the process before someone wandered in. There are some long poles in there. Nets, brushes. Wouldn’t have taken much to nudge him under, keep him under until it was done.
“Then you just walk out, slide right back into the mainstream.”
“Slime bitch,” Peabody said, with relish. But Eve frowned.
“Morris, do you figure they keep paralytics in the nurse’s station at a private school?”
“They would probably have low doses of a basic number, for pain relief. But I can’t imagine they’d be authorized to have anything like this.”
“More likely the killer brought it in rather than took it from the school. So, impulse, passion is again unlikely. Prepared and calculated and controlled, while able to take risks.”
She’d run probabilities, she’d go back over every point, reevaluate time lines and wit statements. But for now, she looked back down at Williams.
“You were a sleazy son of a bitch, but you weren’t a killer after all. Whoever did Foster did you both.”
At Eve’s order, Peabody put in a request for a warrant to search Arnette Mosebly’s residence. Eve tapped her fingers on the wheel as she drove back to the school.
“Tag Reo back,” she decided. “I want a warrant for the Straffo residence.”
“You really think Allika Straffo might’ve done them?”
“I figure beautiful women know how to play, how to act the victim. I also figure Oliver Straffo’s a tough nut. Maybe he finds out his wife’s diddling with the teacher. And he finds out Foster knows and is considering blowing the horn. Protect the home front, protect the reputat
ion and your own personal pride.”
“Stretching.”
“Is it?” She sighed. “If I’d known about that vid they aired this morning, I’d have been tempted to hunt down the operator, the reporter, the producer, whoever I needed to find, and do them some bodily harm. I’d have rather kicked ass than feel humiliated publicly, then have to walk into that bull pen and feel it all over again.”
“Sorry. Um, can I just ask why that Magdelana whore-slut wasn’t in line for bodily harm?”
“I’d have saved her for last.” Eve’s fingers tightened and released on the wheel. “Which means I’d have probably blown my wad before I got to her, and still feel the way I do now. What’s the point?”
“Don’t say that, Dallas. You can’t—”
“It’s going back in the box.” Where it should have stayed, Eve reminded herself. “I only brought it out to illustrate a possibility we have to consider. Straffo’s a lawyer, and to give him his due, he’s a damn good one. He plans, he calculates, he strategizes. And as a defense lawyer he often knows going in that he’s doing all this to set the guilty free.”
“Lack of conscience.”
“We’re cops, we like to think that of defense lawyers. But it’s the job. That’s what it is. It’s their job, and it’s the law. But you have to have some stones to work at getting a killer, a rapist, an illegals dealer a walk—or a deal, for that matter. So he fits the profile, and we take a closer look.”
Just to be certain, Peabody checked her notes. “He wasn’t signed in this morning at the school.”
“No matter how good the security, there’s a way around it.” She’d learned that from Roarke. “And the security at the school is no more than decent. Something else that needs to be checked out more carefully.”
She’d have asked Roarke to help out in that area. That was a habit she’d fallen into, another kind of rhythm, she supposed. But she’d just do it without the aid of her expert consultant, civilian, this time around.
At the school, she uncoded the locks with her master, then stood inside, hands in her pockets, studying the security scanner.
The student or visitor was obliged to use the thumb plate—all prints of authorized students, guardians, staff, and faculty were on file. Guests were required to be cleared before entry. Bags were scanned for weapons and illegals.
In a facility like this, Eve imagined the scans probably worked ninety percent of the time. In the state schools of her education, they hadn’t worked ninety percent of the time.
So money, as money could, brought a certain edge of safety.
At the same time, she imagined the system could be caused to jam or hiccup by a five-year-old with reasonable e-skills.
“Let’s have EDD go over this security. Dig down in it to see if it blipped at any time.”
Her bootsteps echoed as she walked the halls. Empty schools were like haunted houses, she thought. If you listened you could hear the sound of voices, the rush of bodies. Generations of kids, she imagined, trooping along in whatever footwear met the current fashion criteria.
She stopped at the nurse’s station, unlocked the door. Inside was a short counter, a stool behind it, a comp unit. There were four chairs and two cots covered with crisp white linens.
Under the counter were standard first-aid supplies. Packs of Nu Skin, cold packs, heat packs, temperature gauges, a home version of the suture wand the MTs carried. Gauze, swabs.
In a drawer, neatly stowed, were diagnostic aids for checking pulses, pupils, ears, throats. As innocuous as they were, she had to block a shudder.
Medicine in any form wigged her.
All drugs—kid-and adult-dose blockers, nausea remedies, fever reducers, cold tabs—were under lock in a cabinet that required a master like hers or a thumbprint and code.
Nothing inside fit her requirements. Though she did study the individually wrapped pressure syringes.
As far as she could see, Nurse Brennan ran a tight ship. Tight, safe, and secured.
Since the comp was passcoded, Eve tagged it for EDD.
“Kind of creepy in here, isn’t it?” Peabody said from behind her.
“Schools are always creepy. Anything fun in Mosebly’s office?”
“Nothing jumped, but I tagged the electronics, and boxed up her disc files. She had the blockers—case we saw her use earlier—and a couple of soothers in stock. Tagged her admin’s stuff, too. Just in case.”
“Good. Let’s go back through the lockers in the fitness area. And just for jollies, we’ll go through the kids’ lockers.”
“All of them? It’ll take hours.”
“Then we’d better get started.”
She could have called a team in, probably should have. They found a mountain of discs, a good chunk of them graphic novels rather than textbooks. Enough candy and salty treats to stock the shelves of a 24/7, memo cubes, comp games, moldy apples.
Flashlights, hairbrushes, lip dye, art supplies, an ancient sandwich of indeterminate origin. Doodles, sketches, empty wrappers, a number of mittens and gloves, neck scarves and caps.
Photographs, music vids, smelly socks, fashionable sunshades, broken sunshades, loose credits, and a forest of chewed-on pencils.
They also found a bag of poppers and three joints of zoner.
“Jesus.” Peabody shook her head. “Oldest kid in this place is barely thirteen.”
Eve noted down the locker numbers, confiscated the illegals. “Top dealer when I was in fifth, or maybe it was sixth grade was an eight-year-old named Zipper. You wanted it, he’d score it.”
“I never even saw a popper until I was sixteen.” Then Peabody waited while Eve answered her ’link.
“Dallas.”
“Reo. Warrant’s in on Mosebly. Took a little time as she tried to block. Still working on Straffo. He’s having a lot more luck bogging the works. You’re not going to get that one through tonight.”
“We’ll start with Mosebly. Thanks.” She clicked off. “Match the locker numbers with the students on those illegals, Peabody. Don’t file anything yet. We’ll talk to them first.”
“Parental notification?”
Eve shook her head. “We’ll talk to them first. Better, I’ll pass them to Detective Sherry in Illegals.”
“Ooooh, Scary Sherry.”
“Yeah, she’ll have them crying for their mommies and taking the pledge.” Eve checked her wrist unit, calculated the time. “Let’s call in a team to help with Mosebly’s.”
“Coming up to end of shift.” Peabody rubbed her hands together in gleeful anticipation. “Whose evening plans would you care to screw with?”
“Baxter and Trueheart just closed one. Tap them. And go ahead and tap McNab on the e-work there, if he’s clear.”
It infuriated Mosebly to have a small platoon of cops in her space. A very nice uptown space, Eve noted. Private-school brass did just fine, particularly when they were divorced with no kids of their own to pay to educate.
She had a female lawyer at her side who squinted at every word in the warrant, then made noises about police insensitivity and harassment.
It was interesting that under the conservative suits Mosebly—from the contents of her drawers—preferred sexy to slutty lingerie. Interesting that among the literature disc and collection of paper novels, she had a supply of popular romances.
And it was too damn bad they found no illegals, no poisons, no paralytics.
They trooped out with boxes of discs, electronics, and paper files. Eve handed the receipt to the lawyer, then heard, with some surprise, Mosebly burst into what sounded like genuine tears just before Eve closed the door behind her.
“Everything in my vehicle,” Eve ordered. “I’ll take it back to Central, log it in. Baxter, you and Trueheart are off the clock.”
“Let’s chow, my young apprentice.” Baxter slung an arm around Trueheart’s shoulders. “I know a place not far away where the food is questionable, but the waitresses are delicious.”
“Well…I co
uld give you a hand with the carting and logging, Lieutenant.”
Eve shook her head. “Go eat and ogle, Trueheart. I’ve got this. I’ll dump you and McNab at Central, Peabody.”
“Excellent.” She didn’t say it would make more sense for them to snag a radio car and haul the boxes downtown since her lieutenant lived only a few blocks away.
Eve tuned them out on the drive. Obviously her partner and the e-geek were off the clock, too. Their conversation was primarily about a vid they both wanted to see, and if they should go for pizza or Chinese.
“We’ll give you a hand with this, Dallas.” Peabody climbed out in Central’s garage. “We’re thinking of going for pot stickers, moo goo, and Chinese beer after. Our treat.”
God, was all Eve could think. She must look pathetic. “I got it, go on. I want to put a couple hours in while I’m here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“It’ll take you three trips, at least.” McNab pulled out his communicator. “I’ll tag a couple of uniforms for the hauling.”
Eve started to object, then shrugged. It would take her three trips, and that was a waste of time and energy.
“Sure you don’t want to grab a bite?” Peabody asked. “You didn’t even snag a brownie today.”
“I’ll grab something here.”
Peabody’s hesitation told Eve she wanted to push, but she backed off. “If you change your mind, the place we’re going’s only a couple blocks down. Beijing South.”
She wasn’t going to change her mind, but Eve found, after the evidence was logged, she wasn’t going to put in a couple hours either. She was done, finished, out of steam.
But neither could she face going home.
So she went where she supposed she’d known she’d end up. She went to Mavis.
It had been her apartment building once, and one Roarke owned. Just one more of the links between them, she supposed. Not long after she’d moved in with Roarke, Mavis and Leonardo had set up house in Eve’s old apartment. They’d worked a deal with Roarke months before, and had expanded their unit by renting the one next to it, and taking out walls, building more.
