by J. D. Robb
“And there,” Roarke said smoothly, “we’re in perfect accord. And if I find your hands on what’s mine again, you’ll lose them. That’s a promise.”
“She’d have taken care of that herself if you’d been five minutes later. Shit, five seconds later. I want you to know that.”
“Eve’s fidelity was never in question.”
“Okay.” Webster felt part of the weight that had hung on him through the night lift. “I didn’t want you to get the idea that she . . . hell.” He raked a hand through his hair. “We have a professional problem, which I used to move on a personal one. A problem I have,” Webster elaborated. “I think I’m in love with your wife.”
“That’s indeed a problem. I have to admire your courage in saying that to my face.” Considering, Roarke chose a chair, took out a cigarette. He caught Webster’s quick glance at it, lifted a brow. “Would you like one?”
“I haven’t had one in five years. Three months, and . . . I think it’s twenty-six days. I’ve managed to lose track of the hours. Fuck it.” He took one, drew deep until his eyes all but crossed. “I don’t know you,” Webster continued, “but I know about you.”
“I can say the same.” Roarke replied. “Did you think Eve hadn’t told me you’d once had a night together?”
Doing his best to shrug, Webster sat as well. “It didn’t mean anything to her. I knew it then, and I know it now. I know your rep, Roarke. If you want to come after me, that’s what you’ll do. I’m up for that. I just didn’t want Dallas to take any heat for it.”
“An attempt like that to protect her would tempt her to kick your balls into your throat.”
For the first time, Webster smiled, then swore as the cut lip burned like fire. “Yeah, well.” He pressed a finger gingerly to his lip. “When I screw up, I don’t like anybody else catching the flak.”
“Whatever you know or think you know about me, know this: I don’t strike out at women, particularly when they’ve done nothing but be who they are.”
He thought of the way he’d handled her the night before, then ruthlessly pushed that aside again. For later.
“And going after you would make Eve unhappy. I might risk that, but I’ve no reason to.”
Webster stared down at his cigarette. “You’re not what I expected.”
“I could have been.”
“Could have beens don’t mean squat.” Biting back a sigh, Webster took one last drag. “It’s what is that counts. That’s ah . . .” He tapped his bruised cheek. “Something I needed to be reminded of.” He crushed out the cigarette before getting to his feet. Meeting Roarke’s eyes, he held out a hand. “I appreciate the time.”
Roarke rose. He felt a stir of pity, another of respect. Each as unexpected as the other. He accepted the hand, smiled. “I’ve a fucking bruise the size of a dinner plate on my ribs, and my kidney feels like it’s been slammed with a brick.”
Despite the split lip, Webster grinned. “Thanks.” He started for the door, turned back briefly. “You fit, you know, you and Dallas. Christ, the two of you fit.”
They did, yes, Roarke thought when the door closed. But the fit wasn’t always comfortable.
Commander Whitney didn’t explode when Eve relayed the information she’d come by, but it was a close thing.
“Can you verify?”
“No, sir, not at this time. But my information is accurate. My source unimpeachable.”
“And that source is?”
She’d considered this, debated it, and saw no choice. “I regret, sir, that I’m unable to reveal the name of my source.”
“I’m not a goddamn reporter, Dallas.”
“Commander, this information was given to me in confidence. I have no compunction about using the information but can’t name the source.”
“You’re making it more difficult for me to kick ass in IAB.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“I’ll hit them with it,” he continued, drumming his fingers on his desk. “They’ll deny, stall, prevaricate. If, as you relate, this operation has been in place some time, they’re going to be very reluctant to open it, even with this office.”
He sat back, eyes slitted with concentration. “Politics is a dirty little game. I’m very good at it.”
“Yes, sir.” Eve allowed herself the barest hint of a smile. “You are.”
“Be prepared to be called into The Tower to discuss this matter, Lieutenant,” he said, referring to the offices of the police commissioner. “I’ll start the wheel rolling.”
“I’ll be available, Commander. At this time, and until this area of my investigation is resolved to our satisfaction, I’ll be working with my team at my home office.”
He nodded, already turning to his ’link. “Dismissed.”
As she jogged through the garage toward her vehicle, Carmichael hailed her.
“Got a little something that might interest you. I’ve been through most of the witnesses on my list, and hit with one of the waitresses.”
“Hit what?”
“Seems this server did some short time for running scams. Nothing major, a little bait and switch. But it gave her a good eye for cops. She claims she made Kohli as one but didn’t think anything of it. Didn’t make much of the other cop who came in from time to time and sat at the bar sucking down whiskey sours.”
“What other cop?”
“Yeah,” Carmichael said with a grin. “That was my question. And the answer was the lady cop. The good-looking blonde. When I nudged her a little more, she gave me a pretty fair description of Captain Roth of the One two-eight.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah. The general description could have fit a few hundred women, but it rang bells. So I pulled some photos and had her do a match. She plucked Roth’s out, first shot.”
“Thanks. Keep this quiet, will you?”
“Can do. I was on my way up to drop the record of the interview on your desk.” Carmichael pulled a disc out of her bag. “Want it now?”
“Yeah. Thanks again.”
Eve jammed the disc in her pocket, hurried to her car. She was going to squeeze in time for a trip to the One two-eight.
“Peabody.” She tagged her aide on the run. “Pull up data on Roth and dig. Don’t worry about flags, I want them to wave.”
“Yes, sir. Your consult with Dr. Mira is set for your home office at ten-thirty.”
“I’ll try not to keep her waiting. Pull the data now, make it noisy.”
Eve didn’t expect a brass band welcome when she walked into the One twenty-eighth. What she got was a number of cool stares, muttered asides. One particularly inventive officer oinked.
Rather than ignoring it, she strolled over to his desk, smiled. “You’ve got a lot of talent there, Detective. Do you hire out for parties?”
He curled his lip. “I got nothing to say to you.”
“That’s good, because I don’t have anything to say to you, either.” She kept her eyes on his until he shifted, looked away. Satisfied, she made her way back to Captain Roth’s office.
It was a corner room, one Eve imagined had been hard won, with a pair of windows, a good solid desk, and a thriving vining plant on the sill.
The door was glass, and through it Eve saw Roth surge to her feet when their eyes met. Eve didn’t bother to knock.
“How dare you run my personal file without notification?” Roth began. “You’re over the line, Lieutenant.”
“One of us is.” Eve closed the door at her back. “Why are you worried about what I might find in your personal?”
“I’m not worried. I’m furious. There’s a matter of professional courtesy, which you’ve summarily ignored in some vendetta you have to smear my house. I intend to report your conduct to Commander Whitney and all the way up to The Tower.”
“Your privilege, Captain. Just as it’s mine, as primary on two homicides, to ask you why you concealed the fact from me that you had visited Detective Kohli at Purgatory—a number
of times,” she added when she saw Roth flinch.
“Your information is inaccurate.”
“I don’t think so. We talk about it here, Captain, or at Central. Your choice—as a professional courtesy.”
“If you think I’m going to let you ruin me, you’re mistaken.”
“If you think I’m going to let you hide behind your captain’s bars, you’re mistaken. Where were you on the night Detective Kohli was murdered?”
“I don’t have to answer your insulting questions.”
“You will if I pull you into Interview. And I will.”
“I was nowhere near Purgatory the night Kohli was killed.”
“Prove it.”
“Oh, I hope you rot in hell.” Roth marched around her desk, snapped her privacy screens into place to block the view from the bullpen. “My whereabouts on that night are personal.”
“Nothing’s personal in a murder investigation.”
“I’m a cop, Lieutenant, a good one. Better at the desk than on the street, but a goddamn good cop. My having a drink at a club now and then has nothing to do with Kohli’s death or my position as captain of this squad.”
“Then why did you withhold the information?”
“Because I’m not supposed to drink.” Her color came up, a flag of mortification. “I have a problem with alcohol, and have already been through rehab. But you know that,” she muttered and walked back behind the desk. “I’m not going to have a lapse in my recovery endanger my job. I didn’t know Kohli was moonlighting in Purgatory when I went in the first time. I went back because he was a familiar face. I didn’t mention it because it was irrelevant.”
“You know better than that, Captain.”
“All right, goddamn it, I was protecting myself. Why shouldn’t I?”
They were squared off again, with Roth planted behind the desk. Defending her territory. She’d do whatever it took to hold what she’d worked to win.
“I know damn well you’re trying to say Kohli was dirty, that Mills was dirty. You won’t say I am.”
“There have been a number of substantial deposits in your husband’s financial accounts.”
“Goddamn it. I’m calling my rep.” She reached for her ’link, then curled her hand into a fist. The room was silent as Eve watched her battle for control. “I do that, and this goes on record. You’ve got me by the short hairs.”
She took a deep breath, expelled it. “A few months ago I began to suspect my husband was involved with someone else. The signs were there. Distraction, disinterest, late arrivals, missed appointments. I confronted him, he denied. Some men have a talent for turning such an accusation around until you’re at fault. Even when in your gut you know better. Very simply, Lieutenant, my marriage was falling apart, and I found myself unable to stop it. You’re a cop, a woman, married. You know it’s not easy.”
Eve didn’t reply nor did Roth expect her to. “I was upset, edgy, distracted. I told myself it wouldn’t hurt to smooth out the nerves with a drink. Or two. And I ended up in Purgatory. Kohli was working the bar. We both pretended it was no big deal for either of us to be in there. Meanwhile, my marriage was crumbling. I discovered that my husband was not only rolling around on someone else’s sheets but had been steadily transferring funds from our account to one under his own name. Before I could stop it, he’d ruined me financially, had me heading right back into the bottle, and was adversely affecting my work performance.
“About two weeks ago, I pulled myself together. I kicked his lying, lazy ass out and put myself back into rehab. I did not, however, report my counseling, which is a violation of procedure. A minor one, but a violation. Since that time, I have not been back to Purgatory nor had I seen Detective Kohli outside of the job.”
“Captain Roth, I sympathize with your personal difficulties during this period, but I need to know your whereabouts on the night of Kohli’s death.”
“Until midnight I was at an AA meeting in a church basement in Brooklyn.” She smiled thinly. “Not much chance of running into anyone I know there, which was the point. After that, I went out for coffee with several of the other participants. We tell war stories. I returned home, alone, about two, and went to bed. I have no alibi for the time in question.”
Steadier now, Roth looked into Eve’s eyes. “Everything I told you is off record and inadmissible, as I wasn’t Mirandized. If you take me in, Lieutenant, I’m going to make it very hard on you.”
“Captain, if I decide to take you in, I can promise, it’ll be a lot harder on you.”
chapter twelve
She needed time to absorb and access, to let the new pieces shift into patterns. And she needed to consider, carefully, whether she wanted to damage another cop’s career before she was certain that cop had done more than be careless.
But under it she was afraid her own marital strain made her too sympathetic to another’s.
She would have her consult with Mira, input the new data, run probabilities. She would do it all by the book.
When she walked into her home office, she saw Mira sitting in a chair in the now tidy office, while Peabody and McNab worked back-to-back at their individual keyboards.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
“That’s perfectly all right.” Mira set aside a cup of what Eve assumed was tea. “Peabody explained you might be delayed.”
“Do you mind if we take this in another room?”
“Not at all.” Mira rose, elegant as always in a sleek suit of spring leaf green. “I always enjoy seeing parts of your home.”
Though she wasn’t sure if it was strictly appropriate for a consult, Eve led the way to one of the lounging rooms. Mira sighed in appreciation. “What a lovely space,” she murmured, studying the soft colors, the gracious lines of the furniture, the gleam of wood and glass. “My God, Eve, is that a Monet?”
Eve glanced at the painting, something in that same soft pallette that seemed to flow together and form a garden. “I have no idea.”
“It is, of course,” Mira said after she’d walked over to admire the painting. “Oh, I do envy you your art collection.”
“It’s not mine.”
Mira only turned and smiled. “I envy it nonetheless. May I sit?”
“Yeah, sure. Sorry. I’m sorry, too, that I’ve dumped so much data on you in such a short time.”
“We’re both accustomed to working under pressure. These killings have ripples radiating throughout the department. Being in the center of those ripples is a very difficult position.”
“I’m used to that, too.”
“Yes.” Something else here, Mira thought. She knew Eve too well to miss the small signs. But that would wait. “I concur with your analysis that both victims were killed by the same hand. The methodology notwithstanding, there is a pattern. The coins, the victims themselves, the brutality, and the knowledge of security.”
“It’s another cop,” Eve said. “Or someone who used to be.”
“Very likely. Your killer is enraged but controlled enough to protect himself by removing evidence. The rage is personal. I’d go as far as to say intimate. This may substantiate your cop-to-cop profile.”
“Because he believed Mills and Kohli were dirty, or because he is?”
“The former, I believe. This isn’t the act of someone protecting themselves but one of avenging. Your killer is systematic and sees himself as dispensing justice. He wants his victims marked as Judas, wants their crimes to be revealed.”
“Then why not simply expose them? The data’s there if you want to find it.”
“That isn’t enough. The loss of the badge, the disgrace. It’s too easy. Their punishment must come from him. He or she was punished in some way, very likely through the job, in a manner that is perceived as unjust. Perhaps he was falsely accused of some infraction. The system somehow failed him, and now cannot be trusted.”
“They knew him, or her.”
“Yes, I’m sure of it. Not only because the victims seem
to have been unprepared for the attack but because, psychologically, this connection only increases the rage. It’s very likely they worked with their killer. Possibly, some act of theirs was responsible, at least in the killer’s judgment, for the injustice that occurred to him. When you find him, Eve, you’ll find connections.”
“Do you see him in a position of authority?”
“A badge is a position of authority.”
“Of command, then?”
“Possibly. But not as one who’s confident of command, no. His confidence comes from his rage, and his rage, in part, from his disillusionment in the system he’s represented. In the system his victims had sworn to represent.”
“The system screwed him, they screwed the system. Why blame them?”
“Because they profited by its flaws, and he lost.”
Eve nodded. It jelled for her. “You’re aware now that the One twenty-eight is suspected of having a serious internal problem. The connection with organized crime. With Max Ricker.”
“Yes, your report to me made that clear.”
“I have to tell you, Dr. Mira, that it’s been established that Detective Kohli was clean, and part of an IAB operation attempting to uncover this corruption.”
“I see.” Her clear eyes clouded. “I see.”
“I don’t know if the killer is aware of this as yet, but I doubt it. What will his reaction be when he learns Kohli was clean?”
Mira got to her feet. Her training and her position made it necessary for her to put herself into the mind of murderers. As she did so, she wandered to the wide band of windows and looked out on the gardens where a sea of candy-pink tulips danced. She saw beyond them to the sweeps of shape and color, very much as Monet had reflected them in oil.
There was nothing so comforting, she thought, as a well planted garden.
“He will disbelieve it initially. He’s not a killer but a servant of justice. When he can’t deny it, he’ll turn to rage. It’s his salvation. Once again, the system has betrayed him and tricked him into taking an innocent life. Someone will pay. Perhaps someone in Internal Affairs, where it began. Perhaps you, Eve,” she said and turned back. “As you are the one who has, indirectly at least, shoved this horror into his face. He’ll be doubly fueled now. For himself, and for Kohli. Very shortly after he learns, and accepts, he’ll kill. He’ll kill, Eve, until he’s caught.”
