by J. D. Robb
It was a tidy system, Eve imagined. Old and established, and though it still bore some scars from the Urban Wars, it had rebuilt itself.
It wasn’t a sector where you’d want to take a stroll late at night, and a couple of blocks south or west you’d find the not-so-tidy communities of sidewalk sleepers and chemiheads, but on a sweltering summer morning, this slice of Delancey was all business.
She pulled up behind a double-parked delivery truck, flipped up her On Duty light.
With some reluctance, she left the cool cocoon of her vehicle and stepped into the hot, wet wall of summer. The smells hit her first—brine and coffee and sweat. The more appealing hint of melon from the fruit vendor was overpowered by the rush of steam gushing out of a glide-cart. It carried the distinct odor of egg substitute and onions.
She did her best not to breathe it in—who ate that shit—as she stood on the corner scanning.
She didn’t spot Nadine, or Peabody, but she did see a trio of what she took to be shopkeepers and a City Maintenance drone having an argument in front of a green recycle bin.
She kept an eye on them while she considered calling Roarke to check on Summerset. Maybe there’d been a miracle and the medical techs had glued his bone back together and he was, even now, on his way to transport. As a result of the morning trauma, he wasn’t taking three weeks vacation. But four.
And while he was gone, he’d fall madly in love with a licensed companion—who would have sex with that freak unless she was paid for it—and decide to settle down with her in Europe.
No, not Europe. It wasn’t far away enough. They’d relocate in the Alpha Colony on Taurus I, and never again return to this planet called Earth.
As long as she didn’t call, she could hold on to the silver threads of that little fantasy.
But she remembered the pain in Summerset’s eyes and the way Roarke had held his hand.
With a mighty sigh, she pulled out her pocket-link. Before she could use it one of the shopkeepers shoved City Maintenance. Maintenance shoved back. Eve saw the first punch coming even if Maintenance didn’t, and he ended up on his ass. She shoved the ’link back in her pocket and headed down the sidewalk to break it up.
She was still three feet away when she smelled it. She’d walked with death too many times to mistake it.
The living were currently rolling around on the sidewalk, being cheered on or berated by the people who popped out of storefronts or stopped their hike to work to watch the show.
Eve didn’t bother with her badge, but simply hauled the guy on top up by his shirt, and planted her foot on the chest of the one still on the ground.
“Knock it off.”
The shopkeeper was a little guy, and wiry with it. He jerked away, leaving Eve with a handful of sweaty shirt. The blood in his eye was from temper, but his lip was sporting the real thing. “This is none of your business, lady, so just move before you get hurt.”
“That’s Lieutenant Lady.” The guy on the ground seemed content to stay there. He was paunchy, he was winded, and his left eye was already swelling shut. But as she didn’t have any love for anyone in any sector of maintenance, she kept her boot weighted on his chest as she flipped out her badge.
The smile she sent the shopkeeper showed a lot of teeth. “You want to take bets on who’s going to get hurt here? Now back off, and shut it down.”
“A cop. Good. You ought to throw his sorry ass in a cage. I pay my taxes.” Shopkeeper threw up his hands, turning to the crowd for support like a boxer circling the ring between rounds. “We pay out the wazoo, and dickheads like this screw us over.”
“He assaulted me. I want to file charges.”
Eve spared a glance at the man under her foot. “Shut up. Name,” she demanded, pointing at the shopkeeper.
“Remke. Waldo Remke.” He fisted his bruised hands on his narrow hips. “I want to file charges.”
“Yeah, yeah. This your place?” She gestured toward the deli behind her.
“Been mine for eighteen years, and my father’s place before that. We pay taxes—”
“I heard that part. This your bin?”
“We paid for that bin twenty times over. Me, Costello, and Mintz.” While sweat ran down his face, he jerked a thumb toward two men standing behind him. “And half the time it’s broken. You smell that? You fucking smell that? Who’s gonna come in our places to do business with that stink out here? This is the third time one of us has called for repair in the last six weeks. They never do shit.”
There were mutters and murmurs of agreement from the crowd, and some joker called out: Death to fascists!
With the heat, the stink, and the blood already spilled, Eve knew the harmless neighborhood crowd could turn into a mob on a dime.
“Mr. Remke, I want you, Mr. Costello, and Mr. Mintz to step back. The rest of you people, get busy somewhere else.”
She heard the rapid clop behind her that could only be cop shoes on pavement. “Peabody,” she said without turning, “move this crowd along before they find a rope and lynch this guy.”
A little breathless, Peabody jogged up beside Eve. “Yes, sir. We need you people to disperse. Please go about your business.”
The sight of the uniform, even though it was already wilting in the heat, had most of the crowd sidling away. Peabody adjusted her sunshades and her hat, both of which had tipped during her jog up the sidewalk.
Her square face was a bit shiny with perspiration, but behind the tinted lenses, her dark eyes were steady. She shifted them to the bin, then to Eve. “Lieutenant?”
“Yeah. Name,” she said and tapped her boot on the city worker’s chest.
“Larry Poole. Look, Lieutenant, I’m just doing my job. I come out here in response to a repair call, and this guy’s up my ass.”
“When did you get here?”
“I ain’t been here ten minutes. Son of a bitch didn’t even give me a chance to look at the bin before he’s in my face.”
“You’re going to look at it now. I don’t want any trouble from you,” she said to Remke.
“I want to file a complaint.” He folded his arms, and curled his lip when Eve helped Poole up.
“They dump all kinda shit in here,” Poole began. “That’s the problem, see? They don’t use the proper slots. If you dump organic in the nonorganic side, it stinks up the whole business.”
He limped to the bin, then took his time strapping on his filter mask. “All they gotta do is follow directions, but no, they’d rather complain every five fricking minutes.”
“How’s the lock work?”
“Got a code. See they rent it from the city, and the city keeps the codes. My scanner reads the code, then . . . Crap, this one’s busted.”
“I told you it was busted.”
With some dignity, Poole straightened, and stared at Remke with his blackened eyes. “The lock and seal’s busted. Kids do that sometimes. It ain’t my damn fault. Who the hell knows why kids do the shit they do? Probably busted it last night, dumped some dead cat inside from the smell of it.”
“I’m not paying because your locks are defective,” Remke began.
“Mr. Remke,” Eve warned. “Save it. It’s unlocked, unsealed?” she asked Poole.
“Yeah. Now I’m gonna have to call a crew down here for cleanup. Damn kids.” He started to pry up the lid, but Eve slapped a hand down on his.
“Would you step back, please. Peabody?”
The smell was already making her queasy, but Peabody knew it was about to get worse. “Wish I hadn’t had that egg pocket on the way here.”
Eve got a grip on the lid, shook her head at her aide. “You eat that crap? What’s wrong with you?”
“They’re pretty good, really. And it’s a quick fix.” She sucked in a breath, held it. Nodded. Together they pushed up the heavy lid.
The stench of death poured out.
She’d been crammed into the organic side of the bin. Only half her face showed. Eve could see her eyes had been green
—a sharp, bottle green. And she’d been young, probably pretty.
Death, spurred on by the heat, had bloated her obscenely.
“What the hell did they put in there?” Poole pushed up, looked inside. Then immediately stumbled away to retch.
“Call it in, Peabody. Nadine’s on her way. She got hung up in traffic, or she’d be here by now. I want you to keep her and her camera back. She’ll give you lip, but you keep this block clear.”
“Somebody’s in there.” All the anger had drained from Remke’s face. He simply stared at Eve with horrified eyes. “A person.”
“I’m going to need you to go inside, Mr. Remke. All of you. I’ll be in to speak with you shortly.”
“I’ll look.” He had to clear his throat. “I might—if it’s someone from the neighborhood, I might know . . . If it’ll help, I’ll look.”
“It’s hard,” she told him, but gestured him over.
His face was pale, but he stepped up. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, then set his teeth, opened them. Even the faint hint of color drained out of his cheeks.
“Rachel.” He fought not to gag, and stumbled back. “Oh God. Oh God. It’s Rachel—I don’t know her last name. She, Jesus, Jesus, she worked at the 24/7 across the street. She was a kid.” Tears began to track down his white face, and he turned away to cover it. “Twenty, twenty-one, tops. College student. She was always studying.”
“Go inside, Mr. Remke. I’ll take care of her now.”
“She was just a kid.” He swiped at his face. “What kind of an animal does that to a kid?”
She could have told him there were all sorts of animals, animals more vicious, more deadly than anything in nature. But she said nothing as he walked to Poole.
“Come on inside.” He laid a hand on Poole’s shoulder. “Come inside where it’s cool. I’ll get you some water.”
“Peabody, field kit’s in the car.”
Turning back to the body, she clipped the recorder onto her lapel. “All right, Rachel,” she murmured. “Let’s get to work. Record on. Victim is female, Caucasian, approximately twenty years of age.”
She had the barricades up, and the uniforms who responded keeping the curious behind them. Once she had the body, the bin, the surrounding area on record, she sealed up and prepared to climb into the bin.
She spotted the Channel 75 van at the end of the block. Nadine would be steaming, Eve thought, from more than the humidity. She’d just have to wait her turn.
The next twenty minutes was grisly.
“Sir.” Peabody offered a bottle of water as Eve climbed out.
“Thanks.” She glugged down ten ounces before taking a breath, but couldn’t quite wash the taste out of her mouth. She used a second bottle on her hands. “Keep those guys on ice.” She nodded toward the deli. “I’m going to deal with Nadine first.”
“Did you get an ID?”
“Her prints popped. Rachel Howard, part-time student at Columbia.” She swiped at the sweat on her face. “Remke was right on the age. Twenty. Bag and tag,” she added. “I can’t get cause of death, hell I can’t get a gauge on time of death the way she’s been baking in there.”
She looked back at the bin. “We’ll see what the sweepers find, then let the ME have her.”
“You want to start the knock-on-doors?”
“Hold off until I talk to Nadine.” Tossing the empty bottle back to Peabody, she headed down the sidewalk. One of the gawkers started to call out to her, then shrunk back at the look on her face.
Nadine stepped out of the van, looking camera fresh and mad as a cat. “Damn you, Dallas, just how long do you think you can keep me blocked?”
“As long as it takes. I need to see those printouts. Then I need you down at Central for questioning.”
“You need? You think I give a rat’s ass about what you need?”
It had been an ugly morning. She was viciously hot, she stank, and the breakfast she’d so gleefully consumed was no longer settling well. The steam from the glide-cart where the operator was doing double his usual business thanks to the people who hovered, hoping to get a closer look at somebody else’s death, added another greasy layer to the heavy air.
It didn’t even occur to her to reign in her temper as she stared at Nadine, looking fresh as a spring morning, with a cup of iced coffee in her pretty, manicured hand.
“Fine. You have the right to remain silent—”
“What the hell is this?”
“This is your Revised Miranda warning. You’re a material witness in a homicide. You.” She jabbed her finger at a uniform. “Read Ms. Furst her rights, and escort her to Central. She’s to be held for questioning.”
“Why you stone bitch.”
“Got it in one.” Eve turned on her heel and walked back to confer with the ME.
Chapter 2
Inside the deli, the air was cool and smelled of coffee, of lox, of warm bread. She drank the water Remke offered her. He no longer looked like the human rocket about to launch. He looked exhausted.
People often did, in her experience, after violence.
“When’s the last time you used the bin?” she asked him.
“About seven last night, right after I closed. My nephew usually closes, but he’s on vacation this week. Took the wife and kids to Planet Disney—Christ knows why.”
With his elbows on the counter, he rested his head in his hands, pressed his fingers to his temple. “I can’t get that girl’s face out of my head.”
And you never will, Eve thought. Not completely. “What time did you get in this morning?”
“Six.” He let out a long sigh, dropped his hands. “I noticed the . . . the smell right off. I kicked the bin. God almighty, I kicked it, and she was in there.”
“You couldn’t have helped her, but you can help her now. What did you do?”
“I called it in. Reamed the operator. Costello and Mintz, they got here, I don’t know, about six-thirty, and we had a bitch session over it. I called back about seven ’cause nobody’d showed up. Called I don’t know how many times, worked myself up good, too, until Poole got here. That was about ten minutes, I guess, before I punched him.”
“You live upstairs?”
“Yeah. Me and my wife, our youngest daughter. She’s sixteen.” His breath shortened. “It could’ve been her in there. She was out last night until ten. That’s curfew. She was out with a couple of her friends. I don’t know what I’d do if . . . I don’t know what I’d do.” His voice cracked. “What does anybody do?”
“I know this is hard. Do you remember hearing anything, seeing anyone, last night? Anything that comes to mind?”
“Shelley got in right on time. We’re strict about curfew, so she walked in at ten. I was watching the game on-screen—mostly waiting up for her, though. We were all in bed by eleven. I had to open, so I turned in early. I never heard a damn thing.”
“Okay, tell me about Rachel. What do you know about her?”
“Not a lot. She’s been working at the 24/7 for about a year, I guess. Mostly days. Some nights, but mostly days. You’d go in, and if she wasn’t busy, she’d be studying. She was going to be a teacher. She had the sweetest smile.” His voice cracked again. “Just made you feel good to look at her. I don’t know how anybody could treat her like that.”
He looked back outside, to the bin. “I don’t know how anybody could do that to her.”
With Peabody at her side, Eve walked across to the 24/7. “I need you to get in touch with Roarke, find out how Summerset’s doing.”
“He went on vacation today. You had it set on your calendar, with a trumpet fanfare and shooting stars.”
“He broke his leg.”
“What? When? How? Jeez.”
“Fell down the damn steps this morning. I think he did it to spite me. I really do. Just check. Tell Roarke I’ll be in touch as soon as I sort through some of this.”
“And send your concern and support.” Peabody kept her face admirably sober w
hen Eve shifted her eyes and pinned her. “He’ll know it’s bogus, but it’s what people do.”
“Whatever.”
She stepped inside. Some sensible person had killed the chirpy music that played in every 24/7, on or off planet. The place was a tomb, filled with grab-it-and-go food, overpriced staples of everyday living, and a wall of AutoChefs. A uniform loitered at the entertainment disc display while a young male clerk sat behind the counter. His eyes were red and raw.
Another young one, Eve thought. Clerks at 24/7’s tended to be kids or seniors who would work ridiculous hours for stingy pay.
This one was skinny and black, with a shock of orange hair standing straight up off his head. He sported a silver lip ring, and a cheap knockoff of one of the more popular wrist units.
He took one look at Eve and began to cry again, silently.
“They said I couldn’t call anybody. They said I had to stay here. I don’t want to stay here.”
“You can go soon.” She jerked her head to send the uniform outside.
“They said Rachel’s dead.”
“Yes, she is. Were you friends with her?”
“I think there’s a mistake. I think there’s been a mistake.” He swiped a hand under his nose. “If you’d let me call her, you’d see there’s been a mistake.”
“I’m sorry. What’s your name?”
“Madinga. Madinga Jones.”
“There’s no mistake, Madinga, and I’m sorry because I can see you were friends. How long had you known her?”
“I just don’t think this is right. I just don’t think this is real.” He scrubbed at his face. “She came to work here last summer, early last summer. She’s going to college, she needed the job. We hang out sometimes.”
“You were close. Were you involved, personally involved?”
