Mirror, Mirror

by Robb, J. D.

  “They’ll be notified.” She had another weapon there, in the form of her commander. Once again she pulled out her ’link and contacted one of her detectives.

  “Jenkinson. I need you and Reineke on protection detail.” She briefed him as succinctly as she had Roarke, gave him the location and the destination. “Bring in EDD to set up the tap, and move it.”

  As she ended transmission, she turned back to Peabody. “Check in with the uniforms. See if we’re having any luck with the canvass.” And once again, she used the ’link, went through an admin, and quickly to Commander Whitney.

  “Sir—”

  “I’ve seen the alert, have the bare bones.”

  Saved time, she thought. “I’m having the parents moved to the Belmont with Jenkinson and Reineke on first shift. I’m going to order a tap on their electronics, considering the possibility of contact or ransom demand, though I believe both are low. BOLOs have been issued for the suspect and the vehicle she was driving—which belonged to the parents, the MacDermits, and was kept in a private garage. I’ve asked Dr. Mira to contact the suspect’s medicals in Sweden, and I enlisted the aid of a civilian consultant. Roarke knows the Prime Minister over there, and may help cut through some of the international red tape to information.”

  “I’ll arrange for the tap,” he told her. “I expect to be contacted by the feds at any moment.”

  “Yes, sir. I fully intended to contact the FBI. However, as the suspect may have entered the country illegally, or, in fact, may be wanted in Sweden, I considered this may be an international incident, with international repercussions. With that consideration I’m unsure whether to have a conversation with the FBI or the HSO or Global.”

  Whitney’s broad, dark face remained impassive, but she saw the acknowledgment in his eyes. “That is a consideration. The politics are complicated at this point. It may be best for me to contact the HSO, let the federal agencies hash out their food chain. I will, at this point, request Agent Teasdale out of HSO assist, if such assistance is warranted.”

  “Thank you, sir. I have the name of a police contact involved in the investigation, in Sweden, of the suspect’s father’s murder. A CPS contact, and a shrink as well.”

  “Give me what you have, and we’ll deal with the international red tape.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She listed the names. “I’ll continue the investigation as primary until further orders.”

  She caught Peabody’s smirk as she pocketed her ’link. “What?”

  “You’re riding the smart bus today. Angling for Teasdale on the federal side because we’ve worked with her before. We know she’s solid, doesn’t hot dog.”

  “And isn’t an asshole,” Eve finished. “Right now, it’s still all NYPSD.”

  “Nothing on the canvass yet,” Peabody reported.

  “Nothing more to do here now, and no time to waste. We’ll go check out the garage, see how she got in.”

  “Those kids have to be scared,” Peabody began as they walked out to Eve’s vehicle. “I know you said ransom’s unlikely, but what else does she want them for? Because you’re right. If she wanted to kill them or mess them up, she’d have done it in the house, left them like the nanny for her sister to find.”

  “Then the torture’s over. Dead’s dead, and ends it. Not knowing’s worse than knowing. But that doesn’t mean she won’t hurt them.”

  “Kill them, dispose of the bodies.”

  Eve shook her head as she drove. “I don’t know, but I can’t see why she’d have packed stuff for them if she wanted to end them right away. How did she find the sister? How long has she known where Tosha lives, about the kids? When did she get out of the institution and how? Once we get those answers we might have a better idea what she’s planning.”

  She pulled up at the garage, a three-level building. Two for vehicles, from the looks of it, she thought, and top-level apartments, maybe offices.

  “You’ve got the name Tosha gave us for the owner?”

  “Bing Francis.”

  “Contact him.” Eve studied the setup. Upscale security cams, swipe bar, scanner.

  She held her badge to the scanner, watched the red beam play over it.

  Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Identification verified. Please place warrant for entry on scanner.

  “I don’t have one. This is a police investigation. I need to know how an individual posing as Tosha MacDermit, registered owner of the 2059 Class-A Orbit Sedan, New York license number Tango, Echo, Victor, zero, six, one, gained entry to these premises and accessed said vehicle.”

  I am unable to process this information.

  “I bet. Listen—”

  Even as she geared up for a pissing match with the computer, Peabody signaled. “The owner’s coming down. He lives upstairs.”

  “Good enough. Disappointing,” she admitted, sneering at the scanner. “But good enough.”

  He came around the corner of the building, a big man, heavy in the belly and with a wide, Irish face, keen hazel eyes.

  “Bing Francis,” he said. “You just caught me. I was about to head out. What can I do you for?”

  “I need access to the garage.”

  “Well now, I sure want to cooperate with the police.” Still smiling broadly, he spread his big hands. “But I gotta ask why.”

  “You haven’t had the screen on this morning, Mr. Francis?”

  “Can’t say I have. Had my music going. Why?”

  Eve drew out Tosha’s ID photo. “You know this woman?”

  “Sure I do. Ms. MacDermit. Come on now.” He added a quick laugh. “She can’t be in trouble.”

  “She’s in serious trouble, and the person causing it got into this garage last night and took her car.”

  “Now, that can’t be. Ms. MacDermit took the car her own self.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, she forgot her swipe, and couldn’t remember her code. Just flustered, she was. So she asked me to let her in. People forget sometimes, it’s not a crime.”

  “No, it’s not. But it wasn’t Ms. MacDermit.”

  “I was looking right at her.” He tapped under his eyes with split index and middle fingers. “Close as I am to you.”

  “Did you ask her for ID?”

  “I know her.” Irritation pinked up in his face. “She and Mr. MacDermit have kept their car here for more than five years now.”

  “Did she ever forget her swipe and code before?”

  “No, but—”

  “It wasn’t Ms. MacDermit. It looked like her, but Ms. MacDermit was in New Zealand. That’s verified. And the person you let in killed Darcia Jordan and abducted Henry and Gala MacDermit.”

  “What are you talking about?” The pink faded to dead white. “Darcia? She’s dead? Somebody took those kids? I’m telling you it was Ms. . . . Oh sweet Jesus, sweet Jesus, was it a clone—that Icove thing? I saw the vid, and . . . you’re that cop! You’re those cops. The Icove cops.”

  “We’re New York City cops,” Eve corrected. “And no, she isn’t a clone. She’s Tosha MacDermit’s twin sister, and she’s dangerous. What time did she take the car?”

  “God almighty. I didn’t know she had a sister, much less a twin. If I had, I . . . I don’t know. This is awful. Those are the damnedest cutest kids. And polite, too. And Darcia . . .”

  “I know it’s a shock, Mr. Francis, but we need to know what time the woman posing as Tosha MacDermit got the car.”

  “I guess, yeah, yeah, it was just before seven last night. And now that I know, I see she was off.” Francis pulled a bandanna out of his back pocket, swiped it over his face. “Didn’t sound like Ms. MacDermit so much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The accent. The real one hardly has one, you don’t much notice. But the one yesterday, it was a little heavier. And she laughed different.” He rubbed his face again. “I gave her the start code for the car. She said how she just couldn’t remember a thing—long day at work. I didn’t think twice
about it. If I had . . .”

  “It’s not your fault,” Peabody told him. “You thought you were helping a client.”

  “Hand to God, I did, but those kids . . . Anything happens to them, I don’t know how I’ll live with it.”

  “I’d still like access.”

  With a nod at Eve, he used his own master swipe, coded in. “Anything I can do. Anything. She didn’t get the boosters out of the trunk.”

  “The boosters?” Eve asked as the big door slowly grumbled open.

  “Kid seats,” Peabody told her. “They’re young enough to need them.”

  “I figured maybe her and the mister were headed out for the night. Their slot’s right over . . . The car. She brought it back.”

  “I can see that.” Eve moved into the garage, and to the black sedan tidily parked between two others. “Do you have a log-in?”

  “Absolutely. Just give me a minute.”

  He hustled over to a wall comp.

  “Didn’t bother to lock it,” Eve observed as she opened the driver’s door. “Get the code, Peabody, let’s open the trunk.”

  She’d have sweepers process the car, but she wanted to take a first pass.

  “She brought it back at twelve forty-six this morning,” Bing announced, and shut his eyes as Peabody started to open the trunk. “Please, God, don’t let those babies be in there.”

  “Booster seats—one pink, one blue. Maintenance kit, spare, first-aid kit.” Peabody scanned the inside with a wand, then stepped back. “No sign of blood.”

  “She put them in the backseat.” Picturing it, Eve moved to search through the back. “She either doesn’t think she’ll need the car or didn’t have a secure place to keep it out of sight. But she’s got them somewhere reasonably close, somewhere she can drive to, secure the kids, and drive back in under a half hour. That’s good to know. Got a mini-disc here, sticking out of the backseat.”

  She drew it out carefully, frowned at it. “What the hell kind of disc is this? It’s got a monkey on it. A monkey in a bathing suit.”

  “For a kid’s toy. Like a kid’s PPC, sort of. Plays games, does some limited communication, like an old-style walkie-talkie sort of. Also limited Internet access, depending on parental guidelines.” Peabody shrugged. “Lots of kids have them. He probably lost the disc back there when he was playing with it.”

  “The car’s so clean you could eat off the floor.” Eve shook her head. “And it was stuck in the seat with just the edge sticking out. I think the kid planted it. How do we play this thing?”

  “We’d need the toy—another of the same kind. I think there are a lot of them on the market.”

  “A Jamboree!” Francis shouted it, and this time his face flushed red with excitement. “I’ve seen Henry with that a dozen times the last couple months. He got it for his birthday. It’s a Jamboree. My grandson has one. I got one upstairs. We play spy with them. I’ve got one.”

  “If you’d go get—”

  But he was already running.

  “Some luck.” Peabody studied the disc. “If the boy really did plant it there, if he’s got the toy with him, it could be a break.”

  “And she either doesn’t know what it is, or doesn’t know he has it. Get another team of sweepers on the garage and the vehicle, and let’s get a copy of the security feed from Francis. She didn’t take them far. She must have a place, a place she can keep two kids under wraps. Close by so she could case the house, get a sense of their routine maybe. That means she’s got money enough to buy or rent. Where’d she get it?”

  She stopped when Francis, breath heaving, ran back. Panting, he pushed a colorful little PPC into Eve’s hand.

  “You should sit down, Mr. Francis.” Peabody steered him back so he could at least lean against the trunk of a bright red Urban Mini. “Catch your breath.”

  Eve fiddled with the toy a moment, searching for controls, power, then slid the disc in.

  Giggling burst out, followed by singing—young voices, a boy and a girl. Eve felt her bubble of hope pop. It looked like Peabody had been right.

  Then an adult voice cut through, laughing as well.

  “Bedtime, you goofies! Henry, time to put that away.”

  “That’s Darcia,” Francis murmured.

  There was some negotiating, some protests, some begging for a story.

  “You already had your story tonight. A new story begins tomorrow! Let’s go brush our teeth.”

  There was a click, a beat of silence, then another click.

  “I wish I had a story now.” The boy’s voice, Eve thought, in a whisper. “Darcia said I could dream one, so I will. Mommy and Daddy will be home soon. I’m going to dream a pirate story. Good night, everybody.”

  Click. Pause. Click.

  This time the boy’s voice came on, a bare whisper, slurry, groggy—and music played over it.

  “I’m Henry. The evil witch has me and Gala. She killed Darcia. Tell Daddy to come get us. I don’t feel good. We had to drink it. It says second. Tell the good witch to come and bring Daddy. Please. We’re scared. Tell—”

  And silence.

  “There’s not much room on those little discs,” Peabody said quietly. “He probably ran out of space.”

  “Smart kid. Smart little kid.” Eve glanced over, saw Francis still leaning against the trunk. He’d covered his face with his hands as he wept.

  Eve jerked her head so Peabody would deal with him, and stepped out of the garage to play the recording again.

  “Smart kid,” she repeated. “You stay smart. We’re going to find you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Eve handed Peabody the Jamboree Francis had lent them as she got into the car. “Limited range, right?”

  “Yeah. I think probably a couple of blocks, maybe three or four tops.”

  “Hmm.” Eve used the in-dash ’link to contact Feeney—her former partner, her trainer, and current captain of the Electronic Detectives Division.

  He said, “Yo,” as his weathered, hangdog face came on screen.

  “What do you know about a toy—what is it—jumbalaya?”

  “Jamboree,” Peabody corrected.

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Nice little unit, some good features on it. Couple of the grandkids have them. I told them I could make them up something, but they had to have the store-bought.”

  “I bet you could,” she murmured. “Can you boost the range on one of them?”

  “Don’t see why not, if I had one to take apart and fool with. What’s this about? Is this about those kids who got taken?”

  “Yeah. The boy’s got his toy with him, and he left us a message disc in the car the kidnapper used to transport them. I need you on this, and I’m going to set up a command post at the crime scene. I think the kids are being held in the general area. Central’s too far to make this idea workable.”

  “Give me the address,” he told her. “I’ll clear the time, bring a couple of the boys along.”

  “Appreciate it.” She relayed the location, clicked off. “Peabody, pull in Baxter and Trueheart, and have them bring down what we need to set up at the crime scene.”

  “I bet if the boy got one of these for a gift, the girl’s got one. Twins,” Peabody pointed out. “It’s more fun to play if somebody’s got a second unit.”

  “We’ll look for it.”

  “Maybe there’s a way to find his frequency. We could try to contact Henry, use that to triangulate location.”

  “And if we do that when his crazy aunt’s around, she hears it, takes the toy—maybe hurts the boy. He needs to try to contact us, and we need to be ready when he does.”

  She pulled up at the house, in front of the sweepers’ van, and drew her signaling ’link out of her pocket. She scanned the text from Roarke as she got out of the car. “Good. It’s good. We’ve got some juice in Sweden, and Roarke’s got some data on the suspect. When Mira comes through, we’ll have a clearer picture.”

  “Baxter and Trueheart will put
things together and head in. It’s weird working out of the crime scene.”

  “We make do.” She walked in, skirted around the sweepers at work. “Go ahead and check the girl kid’s room for the toy.”

  Eve did a quick walk-through of the first floor and determined that the living area, despite the blood spatter and pool, provided the best space for the work.

  Still, she stepped off into the kitchen to read the data Roarke had accumulated.

  “Found it!” Peabody walked in, waving the second Jamboree. “The kids’ rooms are pretty tidy.”

  “Good. Feeney will have two to play with. Maj Borgstrom, incarcerated in institution for violent tendencies/criminal acts. She was treated by Dr. Dolph Edquist, deceased, and subsequently by Filip Edquist—looks like the first shrink’s son. He’s dead, too. Open case they’re calling a bungled burglary.”

  “Well, the evil witch couldn’t have had anything to do with the second Edquist’s death if she was locked up.”

  “She wasn’t. Two years ago she was, by the second Edquist, deemed ready and rehabilitated enough for a transfer to a halfway house. She had to wear a bracelet. Eighteen months ago, a week before Edquist was killed, she walked out of the new facility, leaving her bracelet behind in her room.”

  “Well, shit.”

  “Two days before his death, the recently divorced Edquist made a cash withdrawal in the amount of whatever three hundred and fifty grand in U.S. dollars is in Swedish money, and had arranged for a private shuttle to transport him and a companion to Argentina. False identification and documents listing Edquist as Artur Gruber were found on the premises. But none of the cash. Also missing were an estimated eighty-five thousand in jewelry and other easily portable valuables.”

  “And another scoop of shit. She vamped the doctor.”

  “That’s one way to put it.” Eve leaned back against the kitchen island. “It reads he fell for her, helped get her into a less-secure facility, and planned to run away with her to South America. So she killed him, took the money, and whatever false ID he’d had made for her, and at some point made her way here.”