The In Death Collection 06-10

by J. D. Robb

  Roarke joined them, set the box between him and the boy. “Dig in.”

  Kevin’s hand darted toward the box then jerked back as though he was wary of a trick. “I can have anything?”

  “Whatever you can stomach.” Roarke nipped out a fry for himself and noted that the cart was gone. “Is she always so unpleasant?”

  “Uh-huh. The big kids call her Snitch Bitch ’cause she’s always calling the beat droid on them. She keeps a zapper in her cart, too. She was scared of you, though, and you didn’t even try to steal anything.”

  Roarke took another fry, only lifting a brow as he watched Kevin mow through the chocolate. Life, he thought, was much too uncertain for some to risk saving the best for last.

  “Tell me about the man who asked you to wait for Lieutenant Dallas.”

  “He was just a guy.” Kevin dug out another soy dog, splitting it in two. Boy and cat ate with the same ferocious concentration and lack of finesse. Then Kevin froze as two black-and-whites turned the corner, sirens screaming. Behind them was an NYPSD crime scene van.

  “They won’t hassle you,” Roarke said quietly.

  “Are you a cop, too?”

  Roarke’s huge, gut-level laugh had Kevin grinning uncertainly. He would have liked to have slipped his hand into Roarke’s again as the cops streamed by, but he was afraid to be thought of as a pussy. He contented himself by scooting just a little closer, and thought fleetingly that the man smelled good, almost as good as the food.

  “I needed that.” Sighing hugely, Roarke ruffled the boy’s hair. “A good laugh after a miserable morning. What I am, Kevin, is a grown-up street brat. Here, drink some of this to wash that down before you choke.”

  “ ’Kay.” Taking the tube, Kevin sucked up sparkling orange. “The guy, he talked like you.”

  “How?”

  “You know, like singing. The way the words go up and down.” He mashed a handful of fries into his mouth.

  “You can take the boy out of Ireland,” Roarke murmured. “What did he look like?”

  “Dunno. Kinda tall maybe.”

  “Young, old?”

  Kevin’s answer was a grunt and a shrug followed by a happy belch. “He musta been hot.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He had a big long coat on, and a hat, and a scarf thing and gloves. He smelled really sweaty.” Kevin held his nose, rolled his eyes, then, giggling, dug for more food.

  “Close your eyes,” Roarke ordered and nearly smiled at the speed with which Kevin complied. “What kind of shoes am I wearing? No peeking.”

  “Black ones. They’re shiny and they don’t hardly make any noise when you walk.”

  “Good. What kind was he wearing?”

  “Black ones, too, with the red swipe. Hightops, like the big kids want all the time. They were beat up some. They’re better when they’re beat up some.”

  “Okay. What color are my eyes?”

  “They’re really, really blue. Like in a picture.”

  “What color were his?”

  “I . . . green, I think. Sorta green, but not like Dopey’s. Maybe they were green, but they were mean. Not mean like yours were when you talked to Snitch Bitch. His were more scared mean. That’s worse, ’cause they hit you more when they’re scared mean.”

  “So they do,” Roarke murmured and draped an arm around Kevin’s shoulders. “That was well done. Lieutenant Dallas would say you’d make a good cop.”

  Kevin belched again, shook his head. “Shit work.”

  “Often,” Roarke agreed. “Who blackened your eye, Kevin?”

  He felt the boy pull back, just an inch. “Walked into something.”

  “I often had that problem when I was your age. Will your mother be looking for you?”

  “Nah. She works late, so she sleeps mostly. She gets pissed if I’m around when she’s sleeping.”

  Gently, Roarke took the boy’s chin in his hand until their eyes met. He hadn’t saved Jennie, he thought, and would have to live with that. But there were lost children everywhere.

  “Do you want to stay here, stay with her?”

  To Kevin, the man’s face looked like an angel’s. He’d seen one on screen once when he’d snuck into a vid-den. “I got no place else.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking you,” Roarke said quietly. “Do you want to stay here with her, or do you want to go with the CPS?”

  Kevin swallowed hard. “The CPS, they put you in a box, then they sell you.”

  “No, they don’t.” But it would seem like that, Roarke knew. As a child he had chosen his father’s fists over the system. “Would you like to go somewhere else entirely?”

  “Can I go with you? I can work for you.”

  “One day maybe.” Roarke ran a hand over the boy’s hair. “I know some people you might like. If it’s what you want I can see about having you stay with them. You can take some time to make up your minds about each other.”

  “Dopey has to go, too.” Kevin would give up his mother with her unhappy eyes and quick slaps, but he wouldn’t give up the cat.

  “Of course.”

  Kevin bit his lip, turned his head to look up at the building. “I don’t have to go back in there?”

  “No.” Not as long as money bought freedom and choices. “You don’t.”

  When Eve came out onto the street she was surprised, and a little annoyed, to see Roarke and the boy were still there. They were a few yards up the street, talking with a woman. From the navy blue suit, side arm zapper, and sour expression, Eve pegged her as the social worker for this section of the city.

  Why the hell isn’t she moving the boy along? Eve wondered. She’d wanted the kid and Roarke gone before the body was brought out and transferred to the morgue.

  “All the bagged evidence is stowed, Dallas.” Peabody stepped up beside her. “They’re bringing the victim out now.”

  “Go in and tell them to hold for five minutes.”

  She started toward them, relieved when she watched the social worker walk off with the boy. To her surprise the kid turned, flashed a killer smile at Roarke, and waved.

  “CPS took their time, as usual.”

  “Neglected children are plentiful—and no more than a chore to some.” He turned and disconcerted her by kissing her long and deep. “And some find their way alone.”

  “I’m on duty here,” she muttered, casting a quick look over her shoulder to see if they’d been observed. “You should catch a cab, go on home. I’ll be heading there shortly, but I’ve got some stuff—”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Go home, Roarke.”

  “She’s already dead, Eve. It won’t be Jennie they bring down in a bag, just what once contained her.”

  “All right, be hardheaded.” She pulled out her communicator. “Continue transport.” Still, she did her best to distract him. “So, what were you huddled with the social worker about?”

  “I had some . . . suggestions as to Kevin’s foster care facility.”

  “Oh?”

  “I thought Richard DeBlass and Elizabeth Barrister would do well by him.” He watched Eve’s brows draw together. “It’s been nearly a year since their daughter was murdered, since they had to deal with the cancer that had eaten away at their family. Elizabeth mentioned to me that she and Richard were thinking about adoption.”

  It had been the DeBlass case that had first brought Eve and Roarke together. She thought of that now—the loss and the gain. “Life cycles, I suppose.”

  Roarke saw the morgue team roll out the body bag. “What choice does it have? The boy needs a place. His mother knocks him around—when she’s around. He’s seven—at least he thinks he is. He doesn’t know his birthday.”

  “How much are you . . . donating to CPS?” Eve asked dryly and made him smile.

  “Enough to ensure the boy gets his chance.” He touched Eve’s hair. “There are too many children who end up broken in alleys, Eve. We have personal experience there.”

  �
�You get involved, it’s your heart that gets broken.” But she sighed. “A lot of good it does to tell you when you’ve already made up your mind. He had a great smile,” she added.

  “He did.”

  “I’ll have to interview him. Since you’re going to see that he gets shipped off to Virginia, I’d better put it higher on my list.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need him. He told me everything he knew.”

  “He told you?” Her mouth went grim, her eyes hot and hard. Her cop look, Roarke thought with admiration—and a surprising tug of pure lust. “You questioned him? Goddamn it, you questioned him about an open case? A minor, without parental permission or a CPS rep present? What the hell were you thinking of?”

  “A young boy—and a girl I once loved.”

  Eve hissed out a breath and tried to pace off the worst of the heat. After two swings up and down the sidewalk, she felt more controlled. “You know damn well I can’t use anything you got. And if the kid opens his mouth about talking to you, we’re in hip-deep shit. The primary investigator is married to you, the prime suspect is in your employ and has your friendship and loyalty. Anything you got the kid to say is tainted.”

  “And well aware you would take precisely that view, I took the precaution of recording the entire conversation.” From his pocket he drew a microrecorder. “You’re welcome to take it into evidence, and you yourself have witnessed that I haven’t had the time or opportunity to doctor it.”

  “You recorded your conversation, with a minor, on an open homicide case.” She threw up her hands. “That caps it.”

  “You’re welcome,” he retorted. “And though you may be reluctant to take it into evidence—though I have no doubt you could get around the letter of the law there—I don’t believe you’re stubborn enough to ignore it.”

  Seething, she snatched the recorder out of his hand and jammed it into her pocket. “First chance I get, very first chance, I’m heading to midtown and horning in on one of your board meetings.”

  “For you, darling Eve, my door is always open.”

  “We’ll see if you say that with a smile when I fuck up one of your billion-dollar mergers.”

  “If I can watch, it would be worth it.” Still smiling, he took something else out of his pocket and offered it. “Here, I saved you a chocolate stick—which was, under the circumstances, no easy task.”

  She frowned at it. “You think you can bribe me with candy?”

  “I know your weaknesses.”

  She took it, yanked down the wrapper, and bit in. “I’m still pissed at you.”

  “I’m devastated.”

  “Oh, shut up. I’m taking you home,” she said over the next bite. “And you’re staying out of my way while I talk to Summerset.”

  “If you’ll listen to the recording, you’ll see that the man Kevin described wasn’t Summerset.”

  “Thank you for your input, but I’ll just muddle along here. The chances of me getting the commander to take the word of a seven-year-old kid—who no doubt had chocolate breath—over hard evidence is just slightly less likely than me dancing naked in Times Square.”

  She started off at a loping stride. “If Times Square intimidates you,” Roarke began, “perhaps you could practice the naked dancing at home.”

  “Oh, bite me.”

  “Darling, I’d love to, but you’re on duty.”

  “Get in the goddamn car.” She jerked a thumb at Peabody, who was currently doing her best to pretend she was deaf and blind.

  “Please, Eve, these public displays of affection must stop. I have a reputation.”

  “Keep it up, ace, and I’ll give you a public display of affection that’ll have you limping for a week.”

  “Now I’m excited.” Smiling, Roarke opened the front passenger door, gestured to Peabody.

  “Ah, why don’t I sit in the back?” Where it’s safer, she thought.

  “Oh, no, I insist. She probably won’t hurt you,” he murmured in Peabody’s ear as she ducked in front of him.

  “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  “Just be grateful I don’t put up the cage,” Eve snapped when Roarke settled in to the backseat.

  “I am. Constantly.”

  “Was that a snicker, Peabody?” Eve demanded as she pulled away from the curb.

  “No, sir. It’s, ah, allergies. I’m allergic to marital disputes.”

  “This isn’t a marital dispute. I’ll let you know when I’m having a marital dispute. Here.” She shoved the last of the chocolate stick at Peabody. “Eat that and keep it buttoned.”

  “You bet.”

  Still fired, Eve’s eyes met Roarke’s in the rearview mirror. “And you better hope Summerset has an alibi for this morning.”

  He didn’t, and all Eve could do was pull at her hair. “What do you mean you went out?”

  “As usual I rose at five A.M. and went out for my morning constitutional. As it was market day, I then returned, took one of the vehicles, and drove out to the Free-Agers’ market for fresh produce.”

  Eve sat down on the arm of a chair in the main parlor. “Didn’t I tell you not to leave the house, not to go anywhere alone?”

  “I’m not in the habit of taking orders on my personal routine, Lieutenant.”

  “Your personal routine is going to include group showers where even your bony ass will get plenty of attention if you don’t start listening to me.”

  His jaw muscles fluttered. “I don’t appreciate your crudeness.”

  “And I don’t appreciate your bitchiness, but we’re both stuck. This morning at approximately nine A.M., the body of Jennie O’Leary was discovered, hanged at a location on West Forty-third.”

  The high color fury had brought to his cheeks drained. He reached out blindly for support when his knees buckled. Through the buzzing in his head, he thought he heard someone swearing bitterly. Then he was being pushed into a chair and a glass was pressed to his lips.

  “Just drink,” Eve ordered, thoroughly shaken. “Drink it down, get a grip, because if you faint on me, I’m leaving you where you fall.”

  It had the effect, as she’d hoped, of snapping him back. “I’m perfectly fine. I was simply shocked for a moment.”

  “You knew her.”

  “Of course I knew her. She and Roarke were close for a time.”

  “And now she’s dead.” Eve’s voice was flat, but her heart settled back into place as she scanned Summerset’s face and judged him composed again. “You’d better be able to take me through every step—where you were, what you did, who you saw, who you spoke with, how many goddamn apples you bought. Right now I’m the best friend you have in the world.”

  “If that’s the case, Lieutenant, I believe I’d like to call my lawyer.”

  “Fine, great, you do that. Why not fuck it up all the way?” She whirled away to stride around the room. “You listen to me. I’m going out on a limb here because you matter to him. The evidence against you is only circumstantial, but it’s piling up. There’ll be pressure from the media, which translates into pressure on the department. The PA’s going to want to tag someone, and the pile’s just big enough on you for orders to come down to hold you for questioning. It’s not enough to book you, not yet.”

  She paused, frowning into middle distance. “But once the PA comes aboard, there’s a very strong chance they’ll pull me off. Either way, I figure we got another week, tops, to nail this down. After that, you’re likely to be dealing with another cop.”

  Summerset considered, nodded. “Better the devil you know.”

  With a nod, Eve took out her recorder, set it on a table between them, then sat. “Let’s do it, then.”

  “I bought a half bushel of apples, by the way.” He very nearly smiled, making Eve blink in surprise. “We’ll be having pie.”

  “Yum,” she said.

  Ninety minutes later, Eve carried her discs and a screaming headache up to her office. She nearly groaned when she spotted McNab lounging at her desk, his f
eet up, ankles crossed to show off flower-patterned socks.

  “Make yourself at home, Detective.” To accent the invitation, she gave his feet a hard shove.

  “Sorry, Lieutenant. Just taking a little break.”

  “I’m up against the wall, McNab, which means your butt’s right up there with mine. We don’t have time for little breaks. Where’s Peabody?”

  “She’s using one of the other rooms in this castle to run your latest victim, and performing other official acts. Tell me, is she really all regulation, or does some of it come off with her uniform?”

  Eve walked over to the AutoChef, ordered coffee, hot and black. “Are you considering an attempt to divest Officer Peabody of her uniform, McNab?”

  “No. No.” He stood up so quickly the quartet of silver wands in his ear clanged together musically. “No,” he said for a third time. “It was a matter of some curiosity. She’s not my type.”

  “Then why don’t we dispense with the inappropriate chatter, and get down to work?”

  He rolled his eyes behind Eve’s back. As far as he could tell, both female officers were ear high in regulations. “The equipment Roarke had sent over is beyond mag,” he began. “It took some time to get it installed and programmed, but I’ve got it doing an auto search and trace on the incoming from this morning. Oh, nearly forgot, you had a couple of ’link transmissions come through while you were out.”

  Helpfully, he punched in Recall. “Nadine Furst, she wants a meet asap. And Mavis, no last name given. She says she’ll be coming by tonight.”

  “Why, thank you for taking such an interest in my personal communications.”

  He let the sarcasm pass. “No problem. So this Mavis, she’s a pal of yours, huh?”

  “And she cohabitates with a guy who could break you into very small pieces one-handed.”

  “Well, scratch that. So, maybe I could get some lunch while I wait for—” He broke off when the trace unit began to send out high beeps. “Solid.” He all but leaped behind the desk, tossed his flowing tail of hair over his shoulder, and began to whistle as paper spilled out of the machine. “Clever bastard, damn clever. Bounced the waves all over hell and back again twice. Zurich, Moscow, Des Moines for Christ’s sake, Regis Six, Station Utopia, Birmingham. Gotta love it.”