Vengeance in Death

by J. D. Robb

  "I bet she'd bring him a nice cup of tea and a sandwich with the crusts cut off while he was baiting traps in here. Then pray with him before she sent him off to kill."

  Feeney barely heard Eve's comment as he ran reverent hands over the equipment. "Have you ever seen the like of this, Ian McNab? This oscillator? What a beauty. And the cross-transmitter with multitask options. Nothing like this on the market."

  "There will be, by next spring," McNab told him. "I saw this unit down at Roarke's R and D division. More than half of these components are his, and nearly half of them aren't on the market yet."

  Eve grabbed his arm. "Who'd you talk to down at Roarke's? Who'd you work with. Every name, McNab."

  "Only three techs. Roarke kept it low-key, didn't want the whole department to know there was a cop sniffing around. Suwan-Lee, Billings Nibb, and A. A. Dillard."

  "Suwan, female?"

  "Yeah, tidy little Oriental dish. She was—"

  "Nibb?"

  "E-lifer. Knows everything. The teams joke that he was around when Bell called Watson."

  "Dillard?"

  "Smart. I told you about him. Got great hands."

  "Fair, green eyes, about twenty, five-ten, a hundred sixty?"

  "Yeah, how did you—"

  "Christ, Roarke's been paying the son of a bitch. Feeney can you get this equipment up and running, fully analyzed?"

  "You bet."

  "Let's go, Peabody."

  "Are we going to interview Mary Calhoun?"

  "Soon enough. Right now we're going to give A. A. Dillard his fucking pink slip."

  • • •

  A. A. had missed his shift. It was the first such incident, she was told by Nibb, the department manager. A. A. was a model employee, prompt, efficient, cooperative, and creative.

  "I need to see all his files, personnel, works completed, works in progress, status reports, the whole shot."

  Nibb—who wasn't quite old enough to have known A. G. Bell, but who had celebrated his centennial the past summer, crossed his arms. Behind a thick white moustache, his mouth went hard.

  "A great deal of those records include confidential material. Research and development in the electronics field is highly competitive. Cutthroat. One leak and—"

  "This is a murder investigation, Nibb. And I'm hardly going to sell data to my husband's competitors."

  "Nonetheless, Lieutenant, I can't give you files on works in progress without the boss's personal consent."

  "You have it," Roarke said as he walked up.

  "What are you doing here?" Eve demanded.

  "Following my nose—correctly, I see. Nibb, get the lieutenant everything she requested," he added, then drew Eve aside. "I reviewed the recording of the dustup in the lobby of the Arms again, then ran it through an analysis procedure we're working on here. Not to be technical, it assessed angles, distances, and so forth. The probability quotient that the killer was focused on McNab rather than the cop outside was very high."

  "So you asked yourself who might be connected to you, on some level, who would make McNab as a cop."

  "And the answer was someone in this department. I've just run a personnel scan. A. A. most closely fits the physical description."

  "You'd make a halfway decent cop."

  "I see no reason to insult me. I'd just accessed A. A.'s home address when the word came through we had cops sniffing. I assume our noses had caught the same scent."

  "What's the address? I want some uniforms to pick him up."

  "Saint Patrick's Cathedral. I doubt you'll find him nibbling his lunch there."

  "That's sloppy of your personnel department, Roarke."

  His smile was not amused. "Believe me, they'll be so informed. What have you got?"

  "He's Liam Calhoun, the son. And I've got his queen, Roarke. I've got his mama." She filled him in, watching as his eyes grew darker, colder. "Feeney and McNab are working on the equipment we found in Audrey's apartment. And they'll analyze the bugs we took from Summerset's quarters. Where is he now? Summerset."

  "Home. Bail was set and paid." His jaw set. "They put a bracelet on him."

  "The charges will be dropped—and it'll come off. I'll take care of it as soon as I get to Central. Whitney's meeting me to observe the interview with the mother."

  "I believe you'll find we manufacture the bugs here, and we're testing a new shield coat that protects them from detection from currently marketed scanners. I've been bankrolling his game all along. Wonderfully ironic."

  "We've got him pinned, Roarke. Even if he's been tipped somehow and he's running, we'll have him. We've got his mother. Every indication is he can't and won't function without her. He'll stay close. I'll take the data from here back to Central and key it in under my name and Feeney's only. You have a right to that protection under the law." She blew out a breath. "I'm going straight into Interview, and odds are it's going to be a long haul. I'll be home late."

  "Obviously I have quite a bit of work to do here. I'll probably be later. I spoke to the head of Pat Murray's medical team. He's regained consciousness. At this point he isn't able to speak or move his legs, but they believe with proper treatment, he'll make a full recovery."

  She knew Roarke would be paying for that proper treatment, and touched his arm briefly. "I've got two uniforms on his room. I'll get over there myself tomorrow."

  "We'll go." He spotted Nibb bringing a box of disc files. "Good hunting, Lieutenant."

  • • •

  In hour five of the interview with Audrey, Eve switched from coffee to water. The simulated caffeine the station house offered its weary cops tended to eat stomach lining on continued use.

  Audrey insisted on tea by the gallon, and though she sipped it hour after hour with delicacy, her polish was wearing thin. Her hair was losing its shape and starting to straggle. It was damp and sticky at the temples from sweat. Cosmetics were fading, leaving her skin overly pale, her mouth thin and hard without the softening color. The whites of her eyes were beginning to streak with red.

  "Why don't I encapsulate for this session? When your husband was killed—"

  "Was murdered," Audrey interrupted. "Murdered in cold blood by that street-rat bastard Roarke, murdered over a little harlot so that I lived a widow and my son lived without a father all his life."

  "So you wanted your son to believe. You fed him that, day after day, year after year, twisting his mind, darkening his heart. He was to be your tool for vengeance."

  "I told him nothing but God's truth from the day he was born. I was to be a nun, to go through my life without knowing a man. But Liam Calhoun was sent to me. An angel called me to him, and so I laid with him and conceived a son."

  "An angel," Eve repeated and leaned back.

  "A bright light," she said her eyes gleaming. "A golden light. So I married the man who was only an instrument to create the boy. Then he was murdered, his life taken, and I understood the purpose of his son. He wasn't born to die for sins, but to avenge them."

  "You taught him that. That his purpose in life was to kill."

  "To take what had been taken. To balance the scales. He was a sickly boy. He suffered to purify himself for his mission. I dedicated my life to him, to teaching him." Her lips curved. "And I taught him well. You'll never find him. He's too smart. A fine mind has my boy. A genius, he is. And a soul as white as new snow. We are," she said with a chilling smile, "beyond you."

  "Your son's a killer, a sociopath with a god-complex. And you made sure he got a good education, in the area you'd decided would be most useful."

  "His mind was his sword."

  And what of his soul? Eve wondered. If there were such things, what had she done to his soul? "You took nearly fifteen years to train him, to mold him, before you set him loose. You're a clever woman yourself, Mary Pat."

  "Audrey, my name is Audrey now. It says so on all my records."

  "He fixed that for you, too. Created Audrey for you. You had money, plenty of it to pour into your pro
ject. And you had patience, patience enough to wait, to plan, to fine down the details. He doesn't have as much patience as you, Audrey. What do you suppose he'll do now, without you to guide him?"

  "He'll be fine. He'll finish what he's begun. He was born for it."

  "You think you programmed him that well? I hope you're right because when he comes in for the next round, I'll break him. He's got more equipment stashed, hasn't he? Not far from here."

  Audrey smiled, sipped her tea. "You'll never find him in your big, filthy city. Your Sodom and Gomorrah. But he'll know where you are, you and your lover with the bloody hands. I did my part, God is my witness to that. I sacrificed, I offered it all up when I let that fool Summerset touch me. Not too much touching, for Audrey's a dignified woman, and I wanted the man to keep coming back. He wanted me, oh yes, he did. Quiet evenings in his quarters, listening to music and painting."

  "And you planting bugs."

  "Easy enough, he was blind where I was concerned. I told him the painting I gave him belonged on that wall in the bedroom, and so he put it there. And we could watch him, know what he did and when he did it. He made a fine pawn for my Liam."

  "Did you tell Liam to rig my car?" Eve smiled when she saw Audrey's lips thin. "I didn't think so. You're too subtle for such things, and you didn't want me taken out so early. He did that on his own. He's got a trigger that slips if you're not right there to control it. You're not there now."

  "He did penance for that. He won't stray from the path again."

  "Won't he? Or will he screw up now, walk right into my hands? It could get ugly, Audrey. He could be killed. You could lose him. If you tell me where he is, I can take him alive. I can promise you that he won't be hurt."

  "Do you think I want him living out his life in a cage, in an institution?'' She rose out of her seat, leaning forward. "I'd rather he die, like a man, a martyr, with righteous vengeance in his heart, with the blood of his father at last at peace. Honor thy father and mother. The wisest of the commandments, for they bring you life. He won't forget it. He won't forget it, I promise you. He'll be thinking of it when he finishes what he started."

  • • •

  "There's no moving her," Eve said to Whitney when Audrey was removed to a cell. "She won't give him up even to save him, and she'll cheer if he dies finishing what she started."

  "She'll be tested, most likely live out her life in a facility for people with violent tendencies and mental defectives."

  "She's not as crazy as she pretends, and it's not enough. The kid might have had a chance. You never know, he might have become something else without her ugly mothering."

  "There's no changing the past. Go home, Dallas. You've done all you can do tonight."

  "I'll just check in with Feeney first."

  "No need. He and McNab have that situation under control. If they break through and locate his other cache of equipment, they'll contact you. Go home, Lieutenant," he repeated before she could make an excuse. "You've got to be running on empty by now. Refuel, start again in the morning."

  "Yes, sir." It was after nine p.m. in any case, she thought as she headed down to the garage. She'd go home, eat, find out what Roarke had uncovered on his end. Maybe if they ran names again with Roarke's equipment they'd find a few probable locations.

  It was a big city for someone who wanted to hide. And if he didn't yet know about his mother…Eve engaged the 'link. "Nadine Furst, Channel 75."

  "This is Nadine Furst, I'm not in this location, please leave a message or contact me via e-mail or fax."

  "Transfer call to home residence. Damn it, Nadine, what are you doing taking a night off?"

  "Hello. This is Nadine. I'm unavailable right now. If you'd—"

  "Shit. Nadine, if you're screening, pick up. I've got a ratings buster for you."

  "Why didn't you say so?" Nadine's face popped on screen. "Working late, Dallas?"

  "Later than you."

  "Hey, humans occasionally take an evening off."

  "We're talking about reporters, not humans. You'll want to get this on air tonight. Police have made an arrest in the matter of the recent series of homicides. Mary Patricia Calhoun, also known as Audrey Morrell, is in custody tonight as an accessory to the murders of Thomas X. Brennen, Shawn Conroy, and Jennie O'Leary. She is also charged with accessory before and after the fact in the attempted murder of Patrick Murray."

  "Hold it, hold on, I've barely got my recorder going."

  "First and last chance," Eve said without sympathy. "Authorities are looking for her son, Liam Calhoun, in connection with these crimes. Call Public Relations at Cop Central if you want pictures of the alleged murderers."

  "I will. I want a one-on-one with the mother tonight."

  "Keep believing in miracles, Nadine. It's real sweet."

  "Dallas—"

  Eve ended transmission and smiled into the dark. If Nadine was up to par, the broadcast would play within thirty minutes.

  By the time she pulled through the gates and headed toward home her eyes were burning with fatigue, but her system was wired. She could put in another couple of hours on hard data, she decided. Just needed some food, maybe a quick shower, at most a power nap.

  She left her car in front and, rolling the kinks out of her neck and shoulders, walked up the steps. In the foyer, she shrugged out of her jacket, tossed it over the newel post. And sighed. She'd have preferred avoiding Summerset, but he deserved to know that he was completely off the hook. Normally he would have simply materialized, scowl first. "Sulking somewhere," Eve muttered and turned to the house screener. "Locate Summerset."

  Summerset is in the main parlor.

  "Sulking all right." She blew out a breath. "You heard me come in, bone ass. Much as I prefer the cold shoulder to your usual raft of complaints…" she began as she strode toward the parlor.

  Then she stopped. The hand that itched for her weapon rose slowly up, until she held both in plain sight, palms out.

  "A self-starter. I appreciate that." Liam smiled from behind the chair where Summerset was secured with cord. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, moving the thin silver tool he held a hairbreadth from Summerset's right eye.

  "No, but it looks efficient."

  "Laser scalpel. One of the finest medical tools currently in use. I've only to engage it to destroy his eye. And with him, a whoremonger, I'd keep going until I'd sliced right through the brain."

  "I don't know, Liam, his brain's pretty small. You might miss it."

  "You don't even like him." His grin widened as Summerset simply closed his eyes. For an instant, he was a young, attractive man with sparkling eyes and a smile full of charm and promise. "That was part of the fun I enjoyed the most. You worked so hard on his behalf, and you must hate him as much as I do."

  "Nah. I'm more ambivalent, really. Why don't you ease back on the laser? Unless you're into droids, good help's really hard to find these days."

  "I need you to take out your weapon, Lieutenant, using your thumb and index finger. Put it on the floor, moving very carefully, then kick it over here. I can see you hesitate," he added. "I should tell you I've adjusted this particular instrument. Its range is extended." Amused, he turned it, aimed it at her head. "It'll reach you, I promise, and go through your brain instead."

  "I hate doctors." She took out her weapon. But as she crouched down as if to lay it on the floor, she flipped it into her hand. A beam shot out from the scalpel, sending a line of fire burning across her biceps. Her fingers went numb, and the stunner clattered to the floor.

  "I'm afraid I anticipated that. I do know you well." He crossed the room as he spoke, picking up her weapon as Eve fought to rise over the pain and focus. "I'm told the pain from a laser incision is excruciating. We recommend anesthesia." He laughed and stepped back. "But you'll live. You may want to bind up that arm. You're getting blood all over the floor." Willing to oblige, he leaned over and ripped the sleeve off her shirt, dropped it into her lap. "Try that."

  He wa
tched her fumble to wrap it around the wound. Listened to her labored breathing as she fought to tie it with one hand and her teeth. "You're a tenacious opponent, Lieutenant, and fairly clever. But you've failed. You were doomed to fail from the beginning. Only the righteous triumph."

  "Spare me the religious crap, Liam. Under all that holy talk, it's all just a game to you."

  "Make a joyful noise, Lieutenant. Enjoying God's work is a tribute to His powers, not a sin."

  "And you've enjoyed this."

  "Very much. Every step you took, every move you made brought us here, tonight, where it was always meant for me to be. God's will."

  "Your god's an asshole."

  He struck her across the face, backhanded. "Don't dare blaspheme. Don't ever deride God in my presence, you whore." He left her curled on the floor and picked up the glass of wine he'd poured while waiting for her. "Jesus drank the fruit of the grape while sitting among his enemies." He sipped, calmed. "When Roarke arrives, the circle will be complete. I have the power of the Lord in my hands." He grinned down at the two weapons. "And the technology of the ages."

  "He isn't coming." Summerset's voice was slurred from the drugs Liam had pumped into him. "I told you he isn't coming."

  "He'll be here. He can't keep away from his harlot."

  Eve clamped down on the pain and managed to get to her knees. When she looked into Liam's face, she knew it was far too late for him. The madness his mother had planted in the child had rooted deep in the man.

  "How the hell did you let this Bible-thumping fuckhead into our house?''

  "Do you want me to hurt you again?" Liam demanded. "Do you want more pain?"

  "I wasn't talking to you."

  "I thought he was the police," Summerset said wearily. "He was driving a cruiser, wearing a uniform. He said you'd sent him."

  "Couldn't break the security field here, could you, Liam. Just a little over your head."

  "With time I would have." His face went sulky, like a child's denied a favored treat. "There's nothing I can't do. But I'm tired of waiting."

  "You missed the last two times, didn't you?" Eve forced herself to her feet, clamped her teeth together as the pain sang through her. "You didn't get Brian, and you didn't finish Pat Murray. He's going to make a full recovery, and he'll point across the courtroom at you at your trial."