Promises in Death id-34

by Nora Roberts

  She nodded, went back to her time line. When she completed it, as she posted it on her board, her e-team walked in.

  She stared at Feeney. “What are you wearing? Not you,” she said to McNab. “I never expect otherwise from you.”

  “This is my lucky shirt.” Feeney jutted out his chin.

  The lucky shirt was sea-sick green, and covered with maniacally grinning pink flamingos. On his explosion of hair he wore a black ball cap that had another flamingo leering from the bill.

  “Jesus, Feeney, no man gets lucky dressed like that.”

  “Not that kind of lucky.” He shot Baxter a steely glare when the detective hooted. “I got a wife, don’t I? This shirt has a history. So far, it’s won me eight hundred and a quarter.”

  “It can’t be worth it. Never mind. Comp lab. Roarke’s already there. In brief,” she began, and gave them the bare bones.

  “I think that shirt burned my corneas,” she muttered when they left her office.

  “E-geeks. What can you do?”

  She glanced over at Baxter’s comment, and saw Morris, stationed beside him, smile. “Run that auto for a minute. Take a look at the time line.” She gestured to the board. “Alex Ricker contacts Roarke at seven-thirty. Summerset tells Alex Roarke will get back to him. Roarke contacts Alex at just after eight, and they set up the meet. Transmission runs eight minutes. Meet at Coney Island at ten. Meet lasts round about thirty minutes. According to Alex, he made two stops before returning to the penthouse. The first, his antique store in Tribeca, which is where I bet the unregistered was taken before our search. He left there approximately thirteen-thirty, and kept a business lunch appointment-verified-in midtown. He didn’t return home until sixteen hundred. He states Sandy was in the penthouse at that time. They talked briefly, and during that conversation Alex mentioned that the driver was having the car washed and serviced.”

  “Bet he started sweating,” Baxter said.

  “He can’t get to the driver until after seventeen hundred. He returns to the penthouse according to the time stamp on the security disc, at seventeen-forty-three. And yeah, he looks a little sweaty. He may have tagged his contact then, but he for damn sure did when Roarke contacted the penthouse and informed Alex that I’d be around the next morning with some follow-up questions. That’s at nineteen-oh-five. It’s too much. Too many things leaning in. Still, he doesn’t leave for another hour. Time to get instructions, grab what he needs most.”

  “You can’t know how much cash he might have had,” Morris pointed out. “His own, or what Alex might have had in the place.”

  “It couldn’t be much, couldn’t be enough. Alex keeps funds in the penthouse, in a safe, but it’s still there. Sandy couldn’t open the safe without it signaling Alex. It’s programmed. Enough, we’ll say enough, for him to get out of the city. Maybe hole up until he can access more, make arrangements. It’s all rushed, and he’s methodical.”

  Panic, panic, Eve thought again. What do I do, where do I go?

  “Maybe he has a credit account Alex didn’t know about, and we haven’t found yet. Maybe. Charge the transpo,” she calculated, “and into the wind. But if so, we’ll find it, and we’ll track him. He can’t function without funds.”

  “Reports have been coming in from the locals on some of the hot spots. No sign of him, no sign he’s come and gone.”

  Eve nodded at Baxter. “And I’m betting he’d leave one. He’s never had to run before, so he doesn’t know how. He’s lived a privileged life. He won’t last without the privilege.” She paused, frowned. “Where the hell is Trueheart?”

  “Ah, he was en route, but you know, Vegas. He’s making a quick detour. I’ve got to have proper attire, don’t I?”

  “You sent him to pack for you?”

  “I don’t need much. Anyway, Morris has it covered.”

  “Maybe you want to go to Vegas,” she snapped at Morris, then instantly winced. “Shit, I-”

  “It’s almost tempting,” he said easily. “That’s how confident I am in you. But no, not this time.”

  She sat at her desk again and began to pick her way through Sandy’s people. Parents, divorced, remarried-twice each. One sibling, one half sibling. According to Alex, Sandy wasn’t close to any of his family. Still, family was the usual well, wasn’t it, when you had to dip in for cash. She started the tedious process of contacting, questioning, intimidating, eliminating.

  She barely glanced up when Trueheart came in, but noted Baxter’s fresh, young apprentice had obviously dressed for the upcoming festivities. Pressed pants, casual shirt, good skids.

  She tried not to think just how Baxter might corrupt sweet and hunky Troy Trueheart in Vegas.

  She worked her way through family, current women, and out the other side of exes. She scowled when Summerset wheeled in a large table.

  “What?”

  “Lunch.”

  “Boy, I could eat.” Baxter sat back, skimmed his fingers through his hair. “Got nada, Dallas. And my eyes are starting to bleed.”

  “I’ll be using your kitchen,” Summerset informed her, “to order up what I’ve prepared.”

  She continued to scowl as Summerset walked by her desk, the cat hopefully at his heels.

  “When you find nothing,” Morris said, “it means you’re eliminating what surrounds the something.”

  “Is that a Zen thing?” Eve questioned.

  “If not, it should be.”

  Eve got to her feet as Roarke, Feeney, and McNab came in. From the opposite end of the room, Summerset pushed in a double-shelved cart she didn’t know she possessed.

  “I’ll give you a hand.” McNab made a beeline.

  “I have it, Detective. But there’s a second cart in the kitchen. If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Anything I can do that leads to food.” McNab all but danced his way on his knee-high purple airboots into the kitchen.

  Feeney circled his head on his neck, rolled his shoulders. Eve heard the pops from across the room. “Getting creaky.”

  “I’ve arranged for a pair of masseuses on board,” Roarke told him.

  “You are the man.” Baxter slapped his hands together.

  “Twins.”

  “Oh, my aching heart.”

  “Could use a rub. Strictly therapeutic,” Feeney added when he caught Eve’s beady eye. “We found the account. He buried it good. He’s no dope. Got himself twelve mil and change. Went traditional and used Zurich. Hasn’t touched it,” he said before Eve could ask. “But we did a little finagle or two. He checked on it-or somebody did-via ’link. The ’link trans came from New York, and the time of the check stamps at sixteen-fifty-five, EST.”

  “Before he talked to the driver,” Eve said, and rose to update her time line. “Starting to cover his bases. Worried.”

  “None of his accounts have been touched,” Roarke put in. “He has bank boxes in four locations.” He lifted his brows when Eve turned. “We finagled. He hasn’t signed in for any.”

  “Friends,” Feeney offered. “Family.”

  Eve shook her head “It’s not panning out.”

  Feeney glanced over at Morris, puffed out his cheeks. “We may have something that does, on Detective Coltraine. The ’link used to check the Zurich account. We dug in there and ID’d it. It’s registered to Varied Interests.”

  “Alex Ricker’s company.”

  “Yeah, company ’link-and we nailed it, and dumped the transes. We got them going to another ’link. Toss-away, can’t trace it for ownership, but we got the ID and frequencies. There are transmissions between the ’links, from New York to New York, the day before the murder, the day of, the day after.”

  “Can you pin it down any closer?”

  “Cheap toss-away, that’s how it reads. No bells, no whistles. It’s damn near impossible to get a read at all on those bastards. It’s got a filter on it. Had to be an add-on.” Feeney scratched the back of his neck. “But we’ve got its print. Same as a fingerprint. Good as DNA.”

/>   “And if Callendar gets that print, coming into Omega?”

  “We can match it.”

  “She’ll get it if it’s there.” McNab watched Summerset arrange trays of deli meats, bread, cheeses, fruit, vegetables, salads, with the same intense devotion as the cat. “She’s an arrow on that kind of thing. When she does, we may be able to put what she’s got and what we’ve got together and make more.”

  “It’s all there is to get with what we have,” Roarke told her. “We’re running an auto. If any of his accounts are opened-even for a check-or any of his bank boxes are called for, we’ll know.”

  “Okay. It’s good.”

  “So we eat.” McNab made the first dive.

  Cops, Eve thought, swarming like ants at a picnic. She started to go over to Morris, but saw Roarke move to him. It gave her heart a squeeze-a good one-to see him talking Morris over to the table.

  She went back to her desk, and while the chaos reigned, ran a probability to see if the computer agreed with her instincts. Moments later, Roarke came up behind her, rubbed her shoulders.

  “Morris okay?”

  “Better, I think.” Over her head, Roarke watched the activity at the table. “I’d say this is helping. Not just the work, the feeling of doing, but being here, with the others. You brought the murder board back in.”

  “I asked him first.”

  “No, I mean you brought it in. And he can see she’s the center of it. Even when they’re over there devouring sandwiches as if they’re about to be outlawed, he can see she’s the center of this. It would help.”

  “It won’t help if the comp and I are right.” She turned to face him.

  “I have to figure it two ways. Sandy’s been off the scope for nearly seventeen hours. One, he’s holed up somewhere, squeezed in a corner and sucking his thumb. Or two, he’s already dead.”

  “And you and the probability scan you just ran favor dead. So do I. He’s a liability alive. Ricker has no need to keep him breathing, and every reason to end him.”

  “Someone he trusted, like Coltraine trusted. It’s gone back to the squad. It’s one of them.”

  “You can’t do more than you’re doing. Let it sit, Eve, for just a while. Whoever it is feels safe, feels secure. He won’t run like Sandy.”

  “No, he won’t run. And as long as he’s valuable to Ricker, he’ll stay alive.”

  “Then let’s get something to eat before your cops chew up even the tablecloth. I still have some things to see to before we leave.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Twins?” she added as they headed toward what was left of lunch.

  “It seemed just the thing.”

  She built a sandwich, took the first bite. Through the thrum of guy talk and smacking lips, she caught the sound of female laughter.

  Peabody and Nadine, both wearing girlie dresses, popped in the doorway.

  “Mmmm, She-Body, look at you.”

  Love, Eve supposed, could cause even McNab to forget his stomach for a few seconds.

  He bounced over to her, spun her around, then dipped her while she giggled-actually giggled-before he planted one on her.

  “No! No! This is still a cop room. There is no dipping and kissing in a cop room.”

  Peabody simply sent her lieutenant a smile out of starry eyes. “Too late.” For good measure, she gave McNab’s ass a squeeze as he spun her back up.

  “Doesn’t this all look delicious?” Nadine fluttered her lashes. “And the food looks good, too.” She gave Eve’s cheek a pat as she passed, and brought a fiery blush to Trueheart’s as she sidled up to him. “Are you on duty, Officer?”

  “Give it up, darling.” Roarke rubbed a hand over Eve’s back. “Shift’s over.”

  And that, she supposed, was that.

  Peabody snagged a carrot stick. “I’m sticking with the rabbit food for now. We’ve got amazingly mag goodies for later. Ariel made them. I gained five pounds just carrying in the boxes. You can fill me in on all this.”

  “Later,” Eve decided. “We’re at a stop.”

  “Okay.” Peabody gave the carrot a happy crunch. “Nadine and I brought most everything. Mavis and Leonardo should be here any minute, and they have more.”

  “Yippee.”

  “Trina and her consultants will be here by four to start setting up.”

  “Joy and-what? Who? Trina? Why? What have you done?”

  “You said no silly games, and no strippers,” Peabody reminded her. “We’re doing the full-out girl party. Champagne, decadent food, body, hair, face treatments. Chick-vids, presents, gooey desserts. Big girl slumber party, followed by champagne brunch tomorrow.”

  “You mean…” The shock was sharp and cruel, a stunner blast against the heart. “Overnight? All night into tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.” Peabody grinned around her carrot. “Didn’t I mention that?”

  “I have to kill you now.”

  “Uh-uh. No games, no strippers. Those were your only rules.”

  “I’ll find a way to hurt you for this.”

  “It’s going to be fun!”

  “Hurt you until you squeal like a pig.”

  Eve spotted Roarke moving to his office, and dashed after him. “Wait, wait!” She rushed in behind him, shut the door.

  “You can’t go to Vegas.”

  “Because?”

  “Because you can’t leave me here. We’re married, and there are rules. I try to follow them. I don’t know all of them, but God knows I try. And this has to be a rule. You can’t leave me alone in a situation like this.”

  “What situation?”

  “All these women. And Trina. Trina,” she repeated, with considerable passion as she gripped his shirt. “And gooey dessert and body things and chick-vids. All night. Slumber party. Do you know what that means?”

  “I’ve had many dreams of them. Will there be pillow fights?”

  She spun him around so his back hit the door. “Don’t. Leave. Me.”

  “Darling.” He kissed her brow. “I must. I must.”

  “No. You can bring Vegas here. Because… you’re you. You can do that. We’ll have Vegas here, and that’ll be good. I’ll buy you a lap dance.”

  “That’s so sweet. But I’m going. I’ll be back tomorrow, and lay a cool cloth on your fevered brow.”

  “Tomorrow?” She actually went light-headed. “You’re not coming back tonight?”

  “You wouldn’t be in this state now if you paid attention. I’m taking a shuttle full of men to Las Vegas late this afternoon. There will be ribaldry, and a possible need to post bond. I’ve made arrangements. I’ll bring back this same shuttle full of men-hopefully-tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Let me come with you.”

  “Let me see your penis.”

  “Oh, God! Can’t I just use yours?”

  “At any other time. Now pull yourself together, and remember that when all this is over, you’ll very likely arrest a killer who’s also a dirty cop. It’s like a twofer.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “Best I have.”

  She hissed out a breath. “I’m going to find someplace in this house where nobody is. And scream.”

  “That’s a fine idea.” He nudged her toward the hallway door. “I’ll come find you before I go.”

  “It’s not four o’clock yet,” she said darkly. “Something could break.”

  “It may be your neck if you don’t get out and let me finish my work.” He gave her something closer to a shove, then for the second time that day, shut the door in her face.

  17

  SHE DIDN’T CONSIDER IT HIDING. MAYBE SHE was in a room she wasn’t entirely sure she’d been in before with the door shut. And locked. But it wasn’t hiding.

  It was working, Eve told herself. In a quiet place, where she wouldn’t be distracted. She could probably stay in here for the next twenty-four hours, no problem at all. She had a sleep chair, a workstation-a mini-unit, but very slick. She didn’t see a wall screen,
but when she booted up and requested one, the glass on the fancy mirror went black.

  A little playing around with the control panel netted her a mini-AutoChef and friggie when the counter under the window opened, and up they came.

  She poked into the attached bathroom and found all the necessities, including a shower designed like a little waterfall. Yes, she could be happy here. Maybe for years.

  She got coffee, settled at the workstation. Callendar first, she thought.

  “Yo,” Callendar said when she came on-screen.

  “Report.”

  “This place is a frigging hole, but it’s got some serious hardware. You’re caged here, you’re seriously caged. Security’s as tight as my uncle Fred on New Year’s Eve. Even with the clearance and co-op, it’s taken a while for us to get to the meat of the system. We’ve got our on-person communication devices because we’re cops and got the authorization. Otherwise, they’re held at docking.”

  “How far into the work are you?”

  “I’m working the trans, Sisto’s working the visitations. He’s goose egg so far. I’ve got many a little ding, but it’s a long way from a gong. It’s going to take some time.”

  “What kind of ding?”

  “It’s really more of a burp. Do you really want me to explain it to you?”

  Geek talk or party girls? Eve considered, decided they rated a toss-up. “I’ve got a minute.”

  “Let me put it this way. The burp may be a trans from here to New York, but I’ve got to go through half a zillion filters to nail that. I’m doing that because it’s reading, so far, like it hit New York the afternoon of Coltraine’s death-and it’s not logged. Could be one of the techs here made it, off log, ’cause he was calling New York for some ’link sex. But I’ve got a suspicious mind.”

  “I’ve got a print-or whatever the hell-from a toss-away ’link here. I need to know if it matches.”

  “I nail this down, I can verify a match. Easy-peasy.”

  “Do you have Ricker’s locations when the transmission was made?”

  “It’s still a burp, but the records have him in his cage. But the records also show that thirty minutes before the burp he was enjoying his daily hygiene privilege. Solitary shower, under full security. I’ve ordered A and V of that record, and the wheel’s grinding slowly.”