Promises in Death id-34

by Nora Roberts

  “It’s not like I did anything. It’s wrecked, sure, but it was wrecked in the line. Fuckers.”

  “I agree. Fuckers.”

  The amusement in his tone was lost on her as she wallowed and stewed. “I hate playing it this way. It just gripes me. But I can’t get bogged down in this during an investigation. So, maybe you could come up with a couple of cases of prime brew, or VIP seats for the ball game. A really shiny bribe.”

  “I could, no doubt. But let’s try this instead.”

  He opened the front door.

  In the drive sat a vehicle of dull and somber gray. Its lines were too practical, too ordinary for ugly-so the best it could claim was drab. It did boast some shiny bits of chrome that glinted hopefully in the morning sun.

  “Peabody already took care of it?”

  “No.”

  She’d started to walk to it, struggling against the personal disappointment that it was much more humble in appearance than her old one-a lot more humble, so the shiny bits came off as pitiful as cheap lip dye on a homely woman. Then she stopped, frowned.

  “Don’t tell me it’s yours. You don’t have anything this ordinary in your toy box.”

  “It’s not mine. It’s yours.”

  “You said Peabody hadn’t…” Now who was a half step behind? “You can’t buy my official vehicle.”

  “There are no rules or regulations restricting you from driving your own vehicle on your official duties. I checked.”

  “Yeah. I mean no. I mean you can’t just give me a ride.”

  “Of course I can, and fully intended to. It was going to be your anniversary gift. And now I’ll have to come up with something else there.”

  “You were going to give me a cop ride for our anniversary in July. What, you’re a sensitive now and foretold my ride would get trashed?”

  “It was only a matter of time. But no. I thought it was a gift you’d appreciate. Now, it’s not a gift. Now, it’s a request. You’ll do a favor for me and take it, use it.”

  “I don’t get why you’d-”

  “It’s loaded,” he interrupted. “The internal data and communication, both primary and secondary, are state of the art. Its vertical and air are comparable to the new XS-6000.”

  “The XS… you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “As with much else, it’s what’s inside that counts here. It’ll go from zero to sixty-ground or air-in under one-point-three seconds.”

  “Sweet.”

  “It can achieve a fifteen-foot vertical lift within that same amount of time.” He smiled as she began to circle it, study it. Smile widened to grin as she opened the hood. She knew next to nothing about engines.

  “It’s really big and shiny under here.”

  “It’s programmed for solar, noncombustible, and combustible fuel. Its body is blast-proof, as are its windows. It’s a bloody tank that’ll move like a rocket. Auto-nav, of course, holo-map, voice or manual controls. It has an electronics detector that will notify you if anyone has rigged it-or attempted to. There’s an in-dash camera with a reach of a hundred and fifty yards in any direction.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Memory seats. Alarms, lights, and sirens as required by the department. A blast screen that can be activated between the front and back sections if you have a need to transport any suspicious characters. Let’s see, have I forgotten anything?”

  “Yeah, the twelve-disc tutorial that tells me how to run it. Roarke, I can’t-”

  “It’s programmed for your voice and print, no codes necessary.” She wouldn’t, he’d determined, get out of it that way. “For now, you just tell it what to do. It’s programmed for Peabody as well, as I know you very occasionally allow her to take the wheel. And for me. If at any time you want someone else to drive, you can authorize them.”

  “Okay, now hold on. This is worth five times-maybe ten times-what a department ride is. I’ve never actually bought a vehicle, so I’m ballparking here. I can’t drive around in something that costs more than all the rides in my department put together. Pretty much.”

  He thought she could be as skittish as a virgin when it came to money. “But I can bribe your fuckers and bastards with cases of brew and sports tickets.”

  “Yes. Not logical, but yes.”

  He just brushed a finger on the healing cut on her forehead. “Think of this. If you’d been driving this yesterday, you’d not only have avoided the accident, you’d have apprehended those in the van. You may very well have closed your case by now.”

  “Oh, that’s not-”

  “But more, I’ll say again. This isn’t a gift. It’s a favor to me. I’ll know when you’re in it, you’re safe. So I’m asking you to do this for me.”

  “It’s sneaky of you.” She hissed out a breath. “Damn sneaky of you not to get pissed or demand. Make it a favor. That you’re doing it as much for yourself as me.”

  With the soft spring morning around them, the homely ride beside them, his eyes met hers. “That would be the truth.”

  “Yeah,” she said after a moment. “Yeah, it would be. I can do you a favor.”

  “Thanks.” He touched his lips to hers.

  “Hey.” And she grabbed his lapels, dragged him back for a long one. “Pretty damn smart, aren’t you? You made it just ugly enough. Inconspicuous. Nobody looks twice.”

  “I have to admit, that was a hard one for me. I think one of the designers had a breakdown. Cried for an hour.”

  She laughed. “It’s good. It’s really good. You had it built for me. Jeez, it’s my first actually owned-by-me vehicle, and you had it built for me.”

  “It’s the DLE Urban-and one of a kind.”

  “DLE? What-oh.” It took her a minute, and pleased her absurdly. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”

  “And, as I said, there’s only one. We’re manufacturing others with the body type-for the economical range-but none will have the unique capabilities as this one.”

  “What’ll it do?”

  “I had it up to two-ten on the straight-road and air. But I’m a better driver than you, so don’t be pushing it.”

  “Man, it almost make me jones for a vehicular chase. Well, one day.”

  “No doubt.”

  “I can tell the bastards in Requisitions to get screwed.” The mere thought of it had her doing a hip-wiggling dance in the drive. “Hot damn! I’ve got to try it out, got to get to work, got to give Requisitions the finger.” She grabbed him again, kissed him again. “Thanks. It’s probably the best favor I’ve ever done for anybody. Catch you later.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  He watched her climb in, grin when her butt hit the seat. She pressed her thumb to the pad, and the engine rumbled to life.

  “Hot damn!” she shouted again, flashed him that grin. And shot off down the drive as if in pursuit of speeding felons.

  “Oh well, Christ. She could hit a brick wall in that and walk away whistling.”

  “I see the lieutenant likes her new vehicle,” Summerset said from the doorway.

  “She does. Ah, God.” He held his breath while she did a trio of 360s, obviously testing the maneuverability. Then went in sharp vertical to drive over the gates instead of through them. “She’s never had her own before. I don’t know why I forget things like that. For a bit, it’ll be like a new toy. Then she’ll settle down with it.”

  “Your first, boosted at about the age of twelve, ended up nose down in a ditch outside of Dublin.”

  Roarke turned around. “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

  Summerset only smiled. “Or that you’d managed to hide it in Mick’s uncle’s garage for the two weeks or so you had it before you got cocky and wrecked? You learned a lesson, didn’t you, and were more careful with the next one you boosted.”

  “It was a thrill. The stealing as much as the driving.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “The stealing? Now and then,” he admitted, knowing Summerset would understand. “Not as much as I
thought I might.”

  “It would be more, I’d say, if your life lacked other thrills.” When Roarke’s face broke into a grin, Summerset huffed. “Take your mind out of the gutter, boy. I’m speaking of the work you do, of your own and with the police. And this may pertain to one or the other, or both, but while you were showing the lieutenant her new toy, Alex Ricker called. I didn’t want to interrupt, and told him you’d get back to him.”

  “That’s interesting, isn’t it?”

  “Have a care. Ricker would have enjoyed bathing in your blood. His son may have the same sentiments.”

  “Then he’ll be just as disappointed.”

  Roarke went in to return the call, and wondered what sort of thrill the day might bring.

  12

  IT WAS HARD, BUT EVE RESISTED HITTING lights and sirens and smoking it all the way downtown. She didn’t resist doing a seat dance while she threaded through traffic, skimmed around maxibuses, beat out the competitive Rapid Cabs at lights.

  Schooling the elation out of her voice, she contacted Webster. She knew the minute he came on the sweet new dash screen of her sweet new ride, she’d rousted him from sleep.

  “IAB’s got choice hours.”

  He shoved the heel of his hand in his eye. “I’m not on the damn roll today.”

  “Like I said. Are you alone?”

  “No, I’ve got six strippers and a couple of porn stars in here with me.”

  “I’m not interested in your pitiful dreams. I’m pursuing another line. I need to know if any of Coltraine’s squad’s under, or was under, IAB watch.”

  “You want me to violate the privacy of an entire squad so you can pursue a line?”

  Eve nearly made a snide comment about IAB and privacy, but decided against it. “I have to consider the victim didn’t leave the house with her weapon and clutch piece to have a drink with friends. I have to consider she considered herself on duty at that time. I have to consider, from her profile, she wasn’t going on duty alone.”

  “Consider’s just a fancier word for guess.”

  “She was a team player, Webster. She was part of a squad. I have to consider one or more members of that squad killed her, or set her up for it. If so, I have to consider that individual or individuals may have caught the interest of IAB in the past.”

  “You could go through channels on this, Dallas. It’s a legitimate line of inquiry.”

  “I’m not even going to dignify that one.”

  “Shit. I’ll have to get back to you.”

  “Use privacy mode if and when,” she told him, then cut him off. Her next move was to contact Whitney’s office and request an appointment to brief and update her commander.

  Once she arrived at Central, she went straight to her office, intending to pick her way through new theories. She wanted to run several probabilities-hopefully with information pried out of Webster-before her meeting with Whitney. A second consult with Mira, she thought, pushing on the in-squad connection could add weight.

  She got coffee first, then saw the report disc from Baxter on her desk.

  She plugged it in, ran it while she drank her coffee. And weighing the information, sat back and mulled it over with more coffee.

  She’d started the probabilities without Webster when Peabody came in.

  “They announced Coltraine’s memorial,” Peabody told her. “Today at fourteen hundred, in Central’s bereavement facilities.”

  “Yeah, I got that from Morris. Get a divisional memo out, will you? Anyone not actively in the field or prevented from attending by duty needs to put in an appearance. No time lost. Dress blues preferred.”

  “Sure. I’ll just-”

  “Hold on. Question. What would you say to the fact that Alex Ricker paid one visit, and one only, to his father on Omega eight months ago. And there’s been no correspondence of any kind recorded between them during the father’s incarceration?”

  “Well… It could lean a couple of directions. Ricker might not want his son to go there, to see him in prison, powerless. He may have forbidden it after the first visit, and told his son to move on, not to contact him, but to focus on his own life.”

  “Do little pink fairies sing and dance in your world, Peabody?”

  “Sometimes, when it’s very quiet and no one else can see. But, I was going to say it’s more likely that the father-son relationship here isn’t a close one. May in fact be strained, even antagonistic.”

  “Yeah, if what Baxter dug up from the supervisors at Omega is fact, I’d go with option two-with the addendum being Alex Ricker’s chosen to distance himself from his father. For his own reasons. Wonder what they are.”

  “Bad for business.”

  “Why? Your old man’s a renowned, successful, badass bad guy. Yeah, he got that badass handed to him, but he had one hell of a run first. Built his criminal empire, and so on. People in that business are going to respect and fear the Ricker name,” Eve concluded, “the Ricker connection. The blood tie.”

  “Okay, maybe. Let’s back up a minute. You think maybe the data Baxter got is wrong?”

  “I think it’s very odd that there are virtually no communications listed to or from Max Ricker since he took up residence at Omega.”

  “None? As in zero? I know they’re strict up there, but inmates get a certain amount of communication allowance each month, right?”

  “They do,” Eve confirmed. “But with Ricker? Nobody calls, nobody writes. Bullshit. No visitors other than the single one documented from Alex. No, even in a world with dancing fairies, I don’t buy it.”

  Frowning, Peabody leaned on the doorjamb. “Then you’d have to ask why he-Max Ricker-would want to hide communications and visitors, keep them off the record. And how the hell he’d manage it at a place like Omega.”

  “Tune out those fairies, Peabody. Bribes are universal. He could manage it, and we’ll be looking into that. As to why? To conceal communication and connections with the aforesaid criminal empire. Maybe the son’s covering for the father, or happy to take the top spot in a figurehead mode, while Dad continues to pull the strings.”

  “The name stays strong,” Peabody calculated, “and the son gets the glory while Daddy still gets to play. It’s good.”

  “It might be. Bringing it back to business at hand, maybe Coltraine knew more about that than made either father or son happy once the relationship ended. I vote for Dad if it moves that way. Alex didn’t know Coltraine was going to be hit. He’s too smart to put himself on the suspect list for a cop killing.”

  “But see, you’re thinking he’s too smart, so it makes it a solid.”

  “People come up with the lame when they think cops are idiots. He doesn’t. They come up with the lame when they’re smug and want to play games. He’s careful. Everything I’ve got on him says he’s careful.”

  She swiveled around to face her murder board. “The only incautious step I see him making anywhere, anytime, is becoming personally involved with a cop. He padded layers on that, but it was still incautious. Coming to New York days before the hit, staying on through that hit? That’s just brainless.”

  She glanced at the time, cursed Webster. “I have to go brief the commander. Keep going on these probabilities. And start files on each individual member of Coltraine’s squad, including her lieutenant.”

  “Man.”

  “It gets worse. I’m expecting a return from Webster, privacy mode. Beep me if it comes through while I’m out.”

  Eve pulled out her communicator as she strode out of Homicide and to the glides. Feeney answered with a “Yo.”

  “What’s the best way to find out if someone on Omega is blocking or altering visitation and communication records?”

  “Go there, run it through on-site.” He gave her a long, hard stare. “Not doing it, kid, not even for you.”

  “Okay, what’s the second best way?”

  “Get somebody young enough to think it’s exciting, smart enough to do the dig, and shoot them off to that
godforsaken rock.”

  “Who can you spare that fits those requirements, and can go now?”

  Feeney blew out a breath that vibrated his lips. “Since this is gonna be connected to Coltraine’s murder, you’d want young, smart, and already familiar with the investigation. I can pull Callendar off, send her.”

  “What kind of authorization do you need to-”

  “Hey. Captain’s bars here.”

  “Right. Can you send her asap? I can see she gets fully briefed while en route. Don’t send her alone, Feeney. Send some muscle with her, just in case. Do you have any muscle up here?”

  “Geeks have muscle, too.” He flexed his own biceps as if to prove it. “Get me the why we need to dig, and I’ll put it through.”

  “Thanks.” She switched to Peabody. “Get Feeney the data from Baxter, and write up my take on why it’s bullshit. He’ll be sending Callendar and geek muscle to Omega to check this out.”

  “Jeez, not McNab.”

  “Would you characterize McNab as geek muscle?”

  “He’s… okay, no.”

  “Push it, Peabody. I want her on her way quick, fast, and in a hurry.”

  “On it. Privacy-coded message just came through.”

  “Okay.” She shoved her communicator away, pulled out her pocket ’link. It took her a few minutes to remember how to transfer a keyed transmission from her desk unit to a portable device, so she had to slow her pace.

  She scanned the readout on the move, scrolling through for the highlights. She saved it, rekeyed it, then put her ’link away before going into Whitney’s office.

  She gave her report on her feet while Whitney sat at his desk.

  “Detective Peabody is continuing the probabilities. Further-”

  “You don’t believe Alex Ricker’s presence in New York, his reconnection with Coltraine the night before her death, is a coincidence?”

  “No, sir. I fully intend to interview him formally, here, at Central. I believe that reconnection may have been part of the motive, and the timing. I don’t believe he himself murdered Coltraine, or ordered it done. In fact, I believe had he known about the hit, he’d have taken steps to stop it, or would have warned her.”