by J. D. Robb
“Tell me again.” He drove himself into her in one violent stroke. “Damn it, tell me again. Now.”
She fisted her hands in his hair, needing to anchor herself, fighting to hold on, just to hold on for one moment more. And looked into those wild blue eyes. “I love you. Always. Only. You.”
Then she wrapped herself around him, and gave him the rest of her.
A weekend with Roarke, Eve thought, could smooth out the rough edges of broken glass.
The man was amazingly . . . inventive.
She’d intended to work on Sunday, but before she could roll out of bed, she was being plucked out and carried off to the holo room. The next thing she knew, she was buck naked on a simulation of Crete. It was a little difficult to complain about warm blue water, dusky hills, and baking sun, and when he implemented multifunctions and conjured up a lush, eye-popping picnic, she gave up and enjoyed herself.
New York was buried under two feet of snow. Jet ski patrols were handling any threat of looting, and medi-vac teams were scouting out the snow wrecked. All but emergency and necessary city personnel were ordered to stay home.
So why not spend the day at the beach eating fat purple grapes?
When she woke Monday morning, she was limber, clear-headed, and refueled. She kept one ear tuned to the news on the bedroom screen as she dressed. Reports were that all major streets had been cleared. Although she didn’t believe that for a minute, she thought she could risk taking her own vehicle to Central.
When the ’link beeped, she finished buttoning her shirt, scooped up her coffee, and answered.
“Dallas.”
Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Report to Sleeper Village, Bowery. Reported homicide, Priority One. Uniforms on scene.
“Notify Peabody, Officer Delia. I’ll pick her up en route. I’m on my way. Dallas out.” She broke transmission, exchanged her coffee for her weapon harness. “Goddamn it. He got another one.” Her eyes were flat and cold as she looked at Roarke. “He wanted it on my watch. He’s made it personal.”
“Watch your back, Lieutenant,” Roarke ordered as she strode out. Then he shook his head. “It’s always personal,” he murmured.
It didn’t lift her mood to see the uniforms on scene were Bowers and Trueheart. She fought her way to the curb on the streets that were lumpy and slick with snow. Then gave herself time for one long breath.
“If I look like I’m going to deck her . . .”
“Yes sir?”
“Let me,” Eve snapped and pushed out of the car. Her boots sank into the snow, and she kept her eyes on Bowers as she plowed through it. The sky overhead was as hard and cold as her heart.
“Officer Bowers. Your report?”
“Subject female, undetermined age and identity.” Out of the corner of her eye, Eve saw Trueheart open his mouth, then shut it again.
“We found her in her crib, as with victim Snooks. However, there is considerable blood in this case. As I am not a medical technician, I cannot verify which piece of her was removed, if any.”
Eve scanned the area. Saw that this time there were more than a dozen faces, pale, thin, with dead eyes staring over the line of police sensors.
“Have you questioned any of these people?”
“No.”
“Do so,” she ordered, then turned to start toward the crib that had been marked with blipping police sensors.
Bowers jerked her head at Trueheart, sending him on his way, but fell into step beside Eve. “I’ve already filed another complaint.”
“Officer Bowers, this is not the time or place to discuss interdepartmental business.”
“You’re not going to get away with calling me at home, threatening me. You stepped way over, Dallas.”
Both baffled and irritated, Eve stopped long enough to study Bowers’s face. There was anger, yes, and resentment, but there was also a sticky kind of smugness in her eyes. “Bowers, I didn’t contact you at home or anywhere else. And I don’t make threats.”
“I’ve got my ’link log as evidence.”
“Fine.” But when Eve started forward again, Bowers grabbed her arm. Eve’s hand curled into a fist, but she managed to keep it from ramming into Bowers’s face. “Officer, we are on record, and you are interfering with my investigation of a reported homicide. Step back.”
“I want it on record.” Bowers shot a glance at the lapel recorder on Peabody’s uniform. Excitement was pumping through her, and the control was slipping greasily out of her hands. “I want it on record that I’ve gone through proper official channels to report your conduct. And that if appropriate action isn’t taken by the department against you, I’ll exercise my right to file suit against both you and the department.”
“So noted, Officer. Now, step back before I start exercising my rights.”
“You want to take a swing at me, don’t you?” Her eyes glittered, her breath began to heave. “That’s how your type handles things.”
“Oh, yeah, I’d love to kick your arrogant ass, Bowers. But I have something a little more pressing to do at the moment. And since you refuse to follow orders, you are relieved of duty as of this moment. I want you off my crime scene.”
“It’s my crime scene. I was first on scene.”
“You’ve been relieved, Officer.” Eve jerked her arm free, took two steps, then swung around, teeth bared, as Bowers made another grab. “You lay hands on me again, and I’ll kick your face in, then I’ll have my aide place you under arrest for interfering with an investigation. We’ve got a personal problem here, fine and dandy. We can handle it later. You can pick the time and place. But it won’t be here; it won’t be now. Get the fuck off-scene, Bowers.”
She waited a beat, straining to hold her own snapping temper in check. “Peabody, notify Bowers’s lieutenant that she has been relieved and ordered from the scene. Request another uniform to be sent to our location to assist Officer Trueheart in crowd control.”
“I go, he goes.”
“Bowers, if you are not behind the sensors in thirty seconds, you will be put in restraints and charged.” Not trusting herself, Eve turned away. “Peabody, escort Officer Bowers back to her vehicle.”
“My pleasure, sir. Horizontal or vertical, Bowers?” she said pleasantly.
“I’m going to take her down.” Bowers’s voice shook with rage. “And you’re going with her.” Already composing her follow-up complaint, Bowers stomped through the snow.
“You all right, Dallas?”
“I’d be better if I could’ve pounded on her a while.” Eve hissed a breath out through her teeth. “But she wasted enough of our time. Let’s do our job.”
She approached the crib, crouched, pulled back the tattered plastic that served as a doorway.
Blood, rivers of it, had spilled, pooled, congealed. Reaching into her field kit, Eve took out Seal-It. “Victim is female, black, age between ninety and one ten. Visible wound in abdomen appears to be cause of death. Victim has bled out. There are no apparent signs of struggle or sexual abuse.”
Eve inched into the crib, ignoring the blood that stained the tips of her boots. “Notify the ME, Peabody. I need Morris. At a guess, I’d say her liver’s gone. Jesus, but he wasn’t worried about being neat this time. The edges of the wound are straight and clean,” she added after she fixed on microgoggles, bent closer. “But there is no clamping as evidenced on other victims. No sealing to prevent bleeding.”
She was still wearing her shoes, Eve noted, the hard, black slip-ons many of the city’s shelters handed out to the homeless. There was a miniplayer beside the thin mattress and a full bottle of street brew.
“No robbery,” she murmured and continued to work. “Time of death, calculating lowest ambient temperature is established on scene at oh two-thirty.” She reached out, found an expired beggar’s license.
“Victim is identified as Jilessa Brown, age ninety-eight, of no fixed address.”
“Lieutenant, can you move your left shoulder? I need to give a full body
shot for record.”
Eve shifted to the right, eased in another inch, and felt her boot scrape something under the pool of blood. Reaching down, she closed her sealed fingers over a small object. And drew out a gold pin.
The coiled snakes of the caduceus ran with blood.
“Look what we have here,” she murmured. “Peabody, on record. A gold lapel pin, catch apparently broken, was found near the victim’s right hip. Pin is identified as a caduceus, a symbol of the medical profession.”
She sealed it, slipped it into her bag. “He was very, very sloppy this time. Angry? Careless? Or just in a hurry?” She moved back, let the plastic fall back into place. “Let’s see what Trueheart knows.”
• • •
Eve wiped the blood and sealant from her hands as Trueheart reported. “Mostly they called her Honey. She was well liked, kind of motherly. No one I’ve spoken with saw anything last night. It was rough out here, really cold. The snow finally stopped about midnight, but the winds were vicious; that’s why we’ve got all these drifts.”
“And why we’ll never get any casts worth a damn.” She looked at the trampled ground. “We’ll find out what we can about her. Trueheart, it’s up to you, but if I were in your shoes, I’d request another trainer when I got back to your station. When the dust clears some, I’m going to recommend your transfer to Central, unless you have other ideas.”
“Sir. No. I’m very grateful.”
“Don’t be. They work your butt off at Central.” She turned away. “Peabody, let’s go by Canal Street before we head in. I’d like to see if Jilessa Brown was a patient there.”
Louise was out in the medi-van doing on-site treatments for frostbite and exposure. Her replacement in the clinic looked young enough to have still been playing doctor in the backseat of a souped-up street buggy with the prom queen.
But he told her that Jilessa Brown was not only a patient, but a favorite at the clinic. A regular, Eve mused as she fought traffic and clogged streets on her way to Central. One who’d come in at least once a week just to sit and talk with others in the waiting room, to charm some of the lolly-tape the doctors kept in a jar for children.
She’d been, according to the doctor, a sociable woman with a sweet tooth and a mental defect that had gone untreated during her prime. It had left her speech slurred and her mental capacity on level with an eight-year-old.
She’d been harmless. And she’d been receiving treatments over the last six months for cancer of the liver, advanced stage.
There had been some hope for remission, if not reversal.
Now there would be neither.
Her message light was glowing when she stepped into her office, but she ignored it and tagged Feeney.
“I’ve got another one.”
“So I hear. Word travels.”
“There was a lapel pin at the scene—it’s this medical symbol. I took it by the lab, sat on Dickhead until he verified it was gold. The real thing. Can you run it for me? See if you can find out who sells them?”
“Will do. You talked to McNab?”
“Not yet.” Her stomach hitched. “Why?”
He sighed, and paper rattled as he reached into his bag for his favored almonds. “London, six months ago. Funky-junkie found in his flop. He’d cooked for a few days before they found him. Kidneys were missing.”
“That’s what we had with Spindler, but this scene was a mess. Blood everywhere. He was either in a hurry, or he doesn’t care anymore. I’ll tag McNab and get the details.”
“He’s on his way over there. Send the pin back with him, and I’ll run it.”
“Thanks.” Her ’link beeped incoming the minute she ended transmission. “Dallas.”
“I need you in my office, Lieutenant. Now.”
Bowers was all Eve could think, but nodded briskly. “Yes, Commander. On my way.”
She hailed Peabody on her way out. “McNab’s on his way over with details on a potential victim in London. Work with him on it. Use my office.”
“Yes, sir, but—” She broke off, and decided not to be undignified and complain to her lieutenant’s back. “Hell.” Prepared to spend an irritating hour or so, Peabody gathered her things and hurried toward Eve’s office. She wanted to get there before McNab claimed the desk.
Whitney didn’t keep Eve waiting but cleared her straight through. He was at his desk, his hands folded, his eyes neutral. “Lieutenant, you had another altercation with Officer Bowers.”
“Yes, sir. On record at the scene this morning.” Goddamn it, Eve thought, she hated this. It was like playing tattletale with the school principal. “She became difficult and insubordinate. She laid hands on me and was ordered off scene.”
He nodded. “You couldn’t have handled it differently?”
Biting back a retort, Eve reached into her bag and pulled out a disc. “Sir, this is a copy of the record from the crime scene. You look at it, then tell me if I could or should have handled it differently.”
“Sit down, Dallas.”
“Sir, if I’m to be reprimanded for doing my job, I prefer to be reprimanded while I’m on my feet.”
“I don’t believe I have reprimanded you, Lieutenant.” He spoke mildly, but he rose himself. “Bowers had already filed another complaint before this morning’s little incident. She claims that you contacted her at home Saturday evening and threatened her with physical harm.”
“Commander, I have not contacted Bowers at home or anywhere else.” It was difficult, but she kept her eyes flat and her voice cool. “If and when I have threatened her—after provocation—it’s been face to face, and on record.”
“She’s introduced a copy of a ’link log, on which the caller identifies herself as you.”
Eve’s eyes chilled. “My voice print is on record. I request that it be compared with the print from the ’link log.”
“Good. Dallas, sit down. Please.”
He watched her struggle, then sit stiffly. “I have no doubt the prints won’t match. Just as I have no doubt that Bowers will continue to make trouble for you. I want to assure you that the department will handle this, and her.”
“Permission to speak frankly?”
“Of course.”
“She shouldn’t be on the street, she shouldn’t be in uniform. She’s dangerous, Commander. That’s not a personal jab, it’s a professional opinion.”
“And one I tend to agree with, but it’s not always as simple as it should be. Which brings me to another issue. The mayor contacted me over the weekend. It appears he was contacted by Senator Brian Waylan with a request that the investigations, over which you are primary, be reassigned.”
“Who the hell is Waylan?” Eve was on her feet again. “What’s some overfed politician have to do with my case?”
“Waylan is a staunch supporter of the American Medical Association. His son is a doctor and on staff at the Nordick Center in Chicago. It’s his belief that your investigation, and the resultant media, has impinged the medical community. That it may start a panic. The AMA is concerned and willing to fund its own, private investigation into these matters.”
“I’m sure they would, as it’s clear it’s one of their own who’s killing people. This is my case, Commander. I intend to close it.”
“It’s likely that you’ll get little cooperation from the medical community from this point on,” Whitney continued. “It’s also likely that there will be some political pressure brought to bear against the department to shift the nature of the investigation.”
He indulged himself briefly with the faintest of scowls, then his face slipped back into neutral. “I want you to close this case, Dallas, and quickly. I don’t want you distracted by a personal . . . irritant,” he decided. “And so I’m asking you to let the department handle the Bowers situation.”
“I know my priorities.”
“Good. Until further notice, this case, and all related data, are blocked from the media. I want nothing new to leak. Any and all data rela
ting is to be on a need-to-know basis, with full copies encoded to my attention.”
“You believe we have a leak in the department?”
“I think East Washington is much too interested in our business. Put together a team, keep it Code Five from this point,” he ordered, blocking any unsealed interdepartmental reports and adding a media block. “Put this one to bed.”
chapter twelve
“I can run a probability scan back in EDD in half the time it’s going to take you to put it through this reject from the ark.”
“You’re not in EDD, McNab.”
“You’re telling me. And if you want a full run on the London victim done right, I should be doing it. I’m the E-detective.”
“I’m the primary’s aide. Stop breathing on me.”
“You smell pretty good, She-Body.”
“You’re not going to have a nose to smell with in about five seconds.”
Eve paused outside her office door and rapped her fists against the sides of her head. This was her team, squabbling like a couple of five-year-olds while Mom was away.
God help her.
They were glaring at each other when she stepped in. Both jerked back, shifted attention to her, and struggled to look innocent.
“Recess is over, kids. Move it into the conference room. I tagged Feeney on my way down. I want all data on all cases streamlined and cross-checked by end of shift. We need to bag this bastard before he adds to his collection.”
After she’d turned on her heel and strode out, McNab broke into a grin. “Man, I love working with her. You think we’ll headquarter in her home office on this one? Roarke’s got the best toys on the block.”
Peabody only sniffed and began to gather discs and files. “We work where the lieutenant says we work.” She rose, bumped into him, and felt her nerves sizzle. She stared dolefully into his cheerful green eyes. “You’re in my way, McNab.”
