by J. D. Robb
“Did she have a boy?”
“Not especially. She kept it loose, because she needed to study. She dug on school.”
“Did she ever mention that somebody was hassling her? Maybe somebody who didn’t want to keep it loose?”
“I don’t . . . well, there was this guy we met at a club, and she went out with him once after, to like some restaurant he owns or something. But she said he was too grabby, and she shook him off. He didn’t like it much, and kept after her for a while. But that was like months ago. Before Christmas.”
“Got a name?”
“Diego.” He shrugged. “I don’t know the rest. Slick looking, fancy threads. Told her he was a cruiser, but he could dance, and she liked to dance.”
“The club?”
“Make The Scene. Up by Union Square on Fourteenth. He—did he mess with her before he put her in there?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“She was a virgin.” His lips trembled. “She said how she didn’t want to just do it to do it. I used to rag on her about it, just for fun, you know, because we were buds. If he messed with her.” The tears dried up, and his eyes went marble hard. “You gotta hurt him. You gotta hurt him the way he hurt her.”
Outside, Eve dragged a hand through her hair and wished for her sunshades. Wherever the hell they were.
“Broken leg,” Peabody informed her. “Jammed shoulder and some damage to the rotator cuff.”
“What?”
“Summerset. Roarke said they’re going to keep him overnight, and he’s making arrangements for in-home care as soon as he can be released. He racked the knee of the unbroken leg, so it’ll be a while before he’s on his feet.”
“Shit.”
“Oh, and Roarke says he appreciates your concern, and will communicate same to the patient.”
“Shit,” she repeated.
“And just to add to your joy, a communication came through, from Nadine’s representative. You have an hour to request and complete an interview, or a formal complaint will be filed by Channel 75 on behalf of Ms. Furst.”
“She’ll have to stew.” Eve plucked Peabody’s shades out of her uniform pocket, and put them on. “We need to notify Rachel Howard’s next of kin.”
The single thing Eve wanted when she reached Central was a shower. It was just one more thing that would have to wait. She headed straight to what the cops called The Lounge, a waiting area for interviewees, family members, potential witnesses who weren’t active suspects in an investigation.
There were chairs, tables, vending machines, a couple of screens to keep those who waited occupied. Nadine, her crew, and a sharp-looking suit Eve assumed was the rep were the only current residents.
Nadine surged to her feet immediately. “Oh, we’re going to go a round.”
The suit, tall, slim, male, with a waving mass of brown hair and cool blue eyes, tapped her arm. “Nadine. Let me handle this. Lieutenant Dallas, I’m Carter Swan, attorney for Channel 75, and here as representative for Ms. Furst and her associates. Let me start out by saying that your treatment of my client, a respected member of the media, is unacceptable. A complaint will be made to your superiors.”
“Yeah.” Eve turned away to one of the vending machines. The coffee here was crap, but she needed something. “Ms. Furst,” she began as she coded in her ID, then cursed under her breath when she was informed her credit was at zero. “Ms. Furst is a material witness in a criminal investigation. She was asked to come voluntarily for questioning, and was not cooperative.”
She dug in her pockets for coins or tokens, came up empty. “I was within my rights, and my authority, to have your client brought in, just as it was within her rights to bring your fancy ass in here to annoy me. I need the printouts, Nadine.”
Nadine sat again, crossed her long legs. She fluffed her streaky blonde hair, smiled thinly. “You’ll have to show your warrant to my representative, and when he’s verified its authenticity, we’ll discuss the printouts.”
“You don’t want to play hardball with me on this.”
Nadine’s eyes, a feline green, sparkled with temper. “Oh, don’t I?”
“Under state and federal law,” Carter began, “Ms. Furst is under no obligation to turn over any property, personal or professional, without a court order.”
“I called you.” Nadine spoke in a quiet voice. “I didn’t have to. I could have gone straight to Delancey, filed my story. But I called you, out of respect, out of friendship. And because you got there first . . .” She paused long enough to aim a hot glare at one of her crew. He seemed to shrink under it. “You shut me out. This is my story.”
“You’ll get your goddamn story. I just spent the last half hour in a pretty little row house in Brooklyn with the parents of a twenty-year-old girl, parents I watched fall to pieces, bit by bit when I told them their daughter was dead, when I had to tell them where she’d been all fucking night.”
Nadine got slowly back to her feet as Eve strode across the room. They stood now, toe to toe.
“You wouldn’t have found her if it wasn’t for me.”
“You’re wrong. It might not have been me, but somebody would’ve found her. Five, six hours in a recycle bin, ninety degree temps outside, a good one-twenty inside that box, somebody would’ve found her pretty quick.”
“Look, Dallas,” Nadine began, but Eve was on a roll.
“He probably thought of that when he shoved her in there, when he sent you the images. Maybe he got a kick out of thinking about the poor son of a bitch who found her, about the cop who’d have to wade around in there with her. You know what happens to a body after a few hours in that kind of heat, Nadine?”
“That’s not the point.”
“No? Well, let me show you what the point is.” She yanked the recorder out of her pocket, then marched over to plug it into the unit. Seconds later, the image of Rachel Howard, as Eve had found her, shot on-screen.
“She was twenty years old, studying to be a teacher, working at a 24/7. She liked to dance and collected bears. Teddy bears.” Eve’s voice slashed like a razor as she stared at what had become of Rachel Howard. “She has a younger sister named Melissa. Her family thought she was at the dorm where she had friends, pulling an all-nighter as she did once or twice a week, so they weren’t concerned. Until I knocked on their door.”
She turned away, looked at Nadine now. “Her mother went right down on her knees, collapsed like all the air had gone out of her body. You’ll have to run over there with your crew when we’re done. I’m sure you’ll get some good image for your story. That kind of thing, all that suffering, it really pumps the ratings.”
“This is uncalled for.” Carter snapped the words out. “This is intolerable. My client—”
“Be quiet, Carter.” Nadine reached down for her leather portfolio bag. “I want to speak with you in private, Lieutenant.”
“Nadine, I strongly advise—”
“Shut up, Carter. In private, Dallas.”
“All right.” She unplugged her recorder. “My office.”
She didn’t speak as they walked out, said nothing as they moved to the glide that would take them up to her division.
They moved into the bullpen, and the initial calls of greeting trickled into silence as both women moved straight through.
Eve’s office was small and spare, with a single narrow window. She shut the door, took the chair at her desk, and left the other, badly sprung chair, for Nadine.
But Nadine didn’t sit. What she’d seen, what she felt was clearly printed on her face. “You know me better. You know me better, and I didn’t deserve to be treated this way, didn’t deserve the things you said in there.”
“Maybe not, but you’re the one who pulled in a rep, you’re the one who jumped down my throat because I blocked you from a story.”
“Fuck it, Dallas, you arrested me.”
“I did not arrest you. I remanded you into custody for questioning. You’ve got no sheet out of this
.”
“I don’t give a damn about the sheet.” Sick and furious, she shoved at the chair. It was a gesture Eve understood and respected, even as the flying seat caught her on the shin.
“I called you,” Nadine spat out. “I notified you when I was under no obligation to do so. Then you cut me out, you haul me in, and you treat me like a ghoul.”
“I didn’t cut you out, I did my job. I hauled you in because you have information I need, and you were being pissy.”
“I was being pissy?”
“Yeah, you were. Christ, I need coffee.” She pushed up and bumped past Nadine to her AutoChef. “And I was feeling pissy, so I didn’t take time for our usual dance. But for treating you like a ghoul, I’ll apologize, because I do know better. You want a hit of this?”
Nadine opened her mouth, closed it again. Then let out a puff of steam. “Yes. If you respected me—”
“Nadine.” Coffee in hand, Eve turned. “If I didn’t respect you, I’d have had a warrant in hand when I came into The Lounge.” She waited a beat. “Are you making it with that suit?”
Nadine sipped coffee. “As a matter of fact. I made copies of the printouts for you before I headed to Delancey—where I would have been considerably earlier if Red hadn’t nipped the fender of another car.” She drew them out of her bag.
“EDD’s going to need your ’link.”
“Yeah. I figured.” The battle was over, and they stood facing each other. Two women scraped raw by the job.
“She was a pretty girl,” Nadine commented. “Great smile.”
“So everyone says. This was taken while she was at work. You can just see the candy display. This one . . . subway, maybe. And this, I don’t know. A park somewhere. They’re not posed. Just as likely she didn’t know they were being taken.”
“He stalked her.”
“Could be. Now this. This is posed.”
She held up the last printout. Rachel was in a chair set against a white wall. Her legs were crossed, her hands neatly folded just above the knee. The lighting was soft, flattering. She wore the blue shirt and jeans she’d been found in. Her face was young and pretty, lips and cheeks rosy. And her eyes, that strong green, were empty.
“She’s dead, isn’t she? In this picture, she’s already dead.”
“Probably.” Eve shifted the image aside, and read the text of the transmission.
SHE WAS THE FIRST, AND HER LIGHT WAS PURE. IT WILL SHINE ON FOREVER. IT LIVES IN ME NOW. SHE LIVES IN ME. TO RETRIEVE THE RECEPTACLE, GO TO DELANCEY AND AVENUE D. TELL THE WORLD, THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING. A BEGINNING FOR ALL.
“I’m going to tag Feeney, have him send somebody from EDD to pick up your ’link. Since we’re so full of respect here, I don’t have to tell you that certain details, such as the contents of this transmission, need to be kept out of the story entirely or played down during the investigation.”
“You don’t. And bulging with that respect, I don’t have to ask you to keep me in the loop, or for the series of one-on-ones we’ll conduct throughout this investigation.”
“Guess not. Don’t ask me for one now, Nadine. I’ve got to move on this.”
“A statement then. Something I can tag on that will show viewers the NYPSD is pushing forward.”
“You can say that the primary on this investigation is pursuing any and all possible leads, and that neither she, nor this department will stand by when a young woman is treated like garbage.”
Alone, she sat back down at her desk. She did need to get moving, and her first stop would be the ME. But right now she had another duty to perform.
She called Roarke’s private ’link, got the bland message he was unavailable at this location, and was bounced to his admin before she could cut the transmission.
“Oh. Hi, Caro. I guess he’s busy.”
“Hello, Lieutenant.” The pleasant face smiled. “He was just finishing a meeting. Ah, he should be free now. Just let me transfer you.”
“I don’t want to bother—damn.” She was bouncing again. She shifted uncomfortably as she heard the quick series of beeps. Then it was Roarke’s face on-screen. Though he, too, smiled, she could see he was distracted.
“Lieutenant. You just caught me.”
“Sorry I didn’t call in earlier. I haven’t had much breathing room. Is he, um, doing okay?”
“It’s a bad break, and he’s irritable. The shoulder and knee—and other assorted bumps and bruises—complicate it. He took a hard fall.”
“Yeah. Look, I’m sorry. Really.”
“Mmm. They’ll keep him until tomorrow. If he’s recovered enough to be released, I’m bringing him home. He won’t be able to get around on his own initially, so he’ll need care. I’ve arranged it.”
“Should I, you know, do something?”
This time the smile seemed more at ease. “Such as?”
“I have absolutely no idea. You okay?”
“Shook me up, considerably. I tend to overreact when someone I care for is injured. Or so I’m told. He’s almost as annoyed with me for dumping him in the hospital—as he called it—as you are under similar circumstances.”
“He’ll get over it.” She wanted to touch him, brush those lines of worry away that were haunting his eyes. “I mostly do.”
“He’s been the only constant in my life, until you. Scared me brainless to see him hurt that way.”
“He’s too mean to stay down for long. I’ve got to go. I don’t know when I’ll be home.”
“That makes two of us. Thanks for calling.”
She ended the transmission, and after one more pass, loaded the printouts in her bag. Heading out, she swung by Peabody’s cube. “Peabody, we’re moving.”
“I got the victim’s class schedule.” Peabody jogged to keep up with Eve’s ground-eating stride. “And a list of her instructors. Also the names of her coworkers at the 24/7. I haven’t started to run them yet.”
“Do it on the way to the morgue. Plug in photography and imaging. See if any of them have an interest.”
“I can tell you that straight off. One of her electives was Imaging. She was acing it, too. Hell, she was acing everything. She was really smart.” She dragged out her PPC as they headed down to the garage. “She had the Imaging course Tuesday evenings.”
“Last evening.”
“Yes, sir. Her instructor was Leeanne Browning.”
“Run her first.” She sniffed the air as they crossed the garage. “What’s that smell?”
“As your aide and boon companion, I must inform you, that smell is you.”
“Oh hell.”
“Here.” Digging in her bag, Peabody came out with a little spray bottle.
Instinctively Eve stepped back. “What is that? Keep it away from me.”
“Dallas, when we get in our vehicle, even with the air on full, it’s going to be tough to breathe. You are rank. You’re probably going to have to burn that jacket, and it’s too bad, because it’s mag.”
Before Eve could dodge, she aimed and fired, and kept firing even as her courageous lieutenant yelped.
“It smells like . . . rotten flowers.”
“The rotten part is you.” Peabody leaned closer, sniffed. “But it’s much better. You’ll hardly notice it from ten, fifteen feet away. They probably have really strong disinfectant at the morgue,” Peabody said cheerfully. “You could wash up, and maybe they’ve got something for your clothes.”
“Just button it, Peabody.”
“Buttoning, sir.” Peabody scooted into the car and began her run on Leeanne Browning. “Professor Browning is fifty-six. Affiliated with Columbia for twenty-three years. Married, same-sex style, to Angela Brightstar, fifty-four. Upper West Side address. No criminal record. Also second residence, the Hamptons. One sib, brother, Upper East Side, also married, one child, son. Twenty-eight years of age. Parents still living, retired, with residences Upper East Side and Florida.”
“Run criminals on Brightstar and the family.”
“
Brightstar’s got a little pop,” Peabody said after a moment. “Illegals possession twelve years back. Personal stash of Exotica. Pled guilty, did three months community service. Brightstar is a freelance artist, with a studio in residence. Brother’s clean, so are the parents, but the nephew’s got two tags. One illegals possession at age twenty-three, and one assault last spring. His current residence is Boston.”
“He may be worth talking to. Bump him up on the list, and we’ll see if he’s been visiting our fair city. Get Professor Browning’s class schedule. I want to work her in today.”
In the morgue, Eve strode down the white corridor. Yeah, they used strong disinfectant, she thought. But you could never quite hide it. The business of the place snuck into all the cracks and crept into the air.
As directed, she found Rachel Howard already on a slab, and ME Morris working on her. He wore a long green cover over his lemon yellow suit. His hair was pulled into a trio of ponytails that waterfalled, one over the other down his back. And somehow didn’t look ridiculous spilling out from his protective cap.
Eve stepped up to the body. She could see Morris’s work, and she could see the cause of death. The autopsy wouldn’t have put the tiny, neat puncture through the skin and into the heart.
“What can you tell me?”
“That the toast will always fall jelly-side down.”
“I’ll put that in my file. The heart wound do the trick?”
“It did indeed. Very quick, very neat. A stiletto, an old-fashioned ice pick or similar weapon. He wanted no muss, no fuss.”
“He? Was she sexually assaulted?”
“Using he in the general sense. No sexual assault. A few minor bruises, which may have been caused during transport. No muss, no fuss,” he repeated. “He bandaged the wound. I’ve got traces of adhesive around it. A nice, neat circle. Probably NuSkin, which he removed when he was done. And this.” He turned Rachel’s hand, palm up. “Small round abrasion. Most likely from a pressure syringe.”
“She doesn’t look like the sort to pop illegals, and that’d be a strange place to skin pop. He injected her with something. Tranq, maybe.”
