by J. D. Robb
“I know how to block. Peabody’s father’s a sensitive, and he taught her how to filter. She’s anxious about it, but we’ve got to go in. I want to see his place, see his reactions before we bring him in.”
“He’s not working alone.”
“Thought of that. This is what we do, Roarke.”
He knew it, all too well. “It’s one thing when your body’s on the line. This is your mind as well, so have a care with both.”
“Plan to.” She separated from him in the garage, got into the car with Peabody.
“I’m a little nervous,” Peabody admitted. “What if he tries to put—”
“Don’t say whammy.”
“What if he tries to put the thing I’m not saying on us?”
“Think about sex with McNab.”
“Huh?”
“Didn’t you say your father told you to fill your mind with other thoughts, confused and jumbled? Do that. Nobody’s going to want to keep pushing in if all he gets is you and McNab and sex.”
Catching Peabody’s smile, Eve hissed. “Not now. Stop thinking about it now. It creeps me out.”
“Just practicing.” Happily, Peabody practiced all the way uptown.
Rather than search for a space, Eve flipped up her On Duty light and double-parked. She didn’t think this first stage would take above fifteen minutes.
“Wow, this place is really beautiful.” Peabody studied the wide, three-level townhouse as they approached. “It looks sort of European. I bet it’s on the historic register. One of those great old buildings from the nineteenth century that survived the Urbans.”
“We can admire the architecture later.” Eve had been studying it as well. Doors, windows, exits. She doubted her quarry would rabbit—a loss of control and power—but she wanted the layout.
“Cop face—no bullshit, straight out.”
“Sorry, I’m thinking about sex with McNab.”
“I could learn to hate you,” Eve threatened, and rang the bell.
Palm plate, cams, police locks, she noted. She stared stony-eyed ahead until the voice came through the intercom.
“Please state your business.”
Not a computer, she thought. Not with that squeaky tone. So, at least two to take on.
“NYPSD. We need to speak with Doctor Bright.”
“Doctor Bright’s unavailable. Go away, and come back later.”
“You can open the door, or I’ll stand right here until I get a warrant to open it myself.”
And if he didn’t, she’d use the warrant she already had. But the door opened a crack. She had to look down a half a foot to meet the eyes of the man with a wild thatch of brown hair. Those eyes had the pinkish tint of a funky junkie.
“The doctor can’t talk to you now.”
Eve solved the first problem by getting her foot in the door, nudging it open a little wider. “Who are you?”
“I’m Dorbert Mouse. Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Eve Dallas.” Dormouse. It suited. “Why don’t you tell Doctor Bright I’m here, along with Detective Peabody?”
“Because he can’t be interrupted when he’s communing with the Other Side!”
The quick excitability spoke of something in addition to the funk.
“He needs to commune with us.” Eve nudged the door wider still and saw the brightly colored painting of a hookah-smoking caterpillar curled on a toadstool.
“Nobody invited you! Go away!”
“Look Mouse—or is that Dormouse?”
His pink-rimmed eyes filled with rage. His nose twitched manically. “You can’t see my whiskers! They’re not for you to see.”
He kicked her, the move so unexpected his foot connected with her shin before she anticipated it. Then he ran, bolting up the steps.
“Shit. Call the e-team in for backup,” Eve ordered, and pulled her weapon as she gave chase.
He bounded up, with her and her aching shin in pursuit, and Peabody coming up behind her shouting for the e-team to move in.
He made a fast turn on the second-floor landing and vanished. But not before Eve caught the movement of a wall panel sliding shut.
She tugged at it, got nothing, then ran her fingers along the carved chair rail. When the panel slid open again, she grabbed a statue of a white rabbit with an oversized pocket watch and used it to prop the panel open.
Inside, in half light, she saw crooked steps leading up, and leading down. She closed her eyes for a moment, heard the sound of feet scrambling.
“Up,” she said. “Watch your step.”
She went up two at a time and caught sight of the shin-kicker darting down an oddly slanted corridor toward a closed door. Blue light leaked under it.
At a full run she hit the door seconds after he scurried through and went in low, weapon sweeping.
Mouse jumped up and down in the blue light, the blue fog, squealing about his whiskers. A woman with long, dark hair giggled and twirled just outside the fog. She stopped when she saw Eve, and her face filled with rage.
“Off with her head!”
To Eve’s bemusement, the woman hefted fisted hands over her head as if brandishing an axe, then charged.
Because there was yet another woman—older, sitting in a chair blanketed with that blue mist, her head cocked under a feathered hat, her eyes glazed and glassy, Eve took the quickest route.
Two short, hard left jabs put the charging woman down.
“Stay out of this blue stuff, Peabody.”
She caught a movement, saw through the blue curtain the tall, thin man in a purple top hat. Eyes wild, and yes, she supposed, mad with it.
She pivoted toward him as the world went as mad as his eyes.
Lights flashed, bright, multicolored lightning, while crazed laughter boomed. The floor seemed to tip right, then left, as she struggled to keep her balance. Images bloomed in the fog—a grinning cat, the caterpillar that puffed out more smoke, a fat white rabbit with a glinting pocket watch.
And the man in the top hat, who chortled gleefully while he poured tea into cups.
A pretty blue bottle sat on a table, a white light beaming on it. A large label dangled from it.
It said: Drink Me.
And it was tempting.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Peabody step forward, start to reach out. And snapping back, Eve grabbed her arm, yanked.
“Don’t.”
“But it says!”
She saw now they’d stepped too close, that the fog twined around them. Feeling light-headed, she shoved Peabody clear, stumbled back.
She thought she heard voices echoing, and running feet pounding. More coming to the party.
She barely swallowed down the giggle that rose to her throat and aimed her stunner at what she hoped was the man in the hat and not some illusion.
“Turn this shit off, now, or I’ll put you down.”
“No need,” Roarke said, and the flashing lights fell with a resounding crash—or so it seemed to Eve. The mist crawled back on tiny blue feet to be swallowed up by a gaping mouth in the floor.
“Shit. Shit. I inhaled.”
“You’ll be all right.” Roarke hauled the man in the hat away from some sort of computer. The computer became a fat cat that yawned and stretched, then curled up to sleep.
“Mind taking him?” Roarke passed the Mad Hatter to Callendar.
“No prob. Hey, asshole.”
“You’re not the White Queen.”
“No. I’m an e-bitch goddess. Illegals coming in, McNabber. I’m bringing in the wagon for this group.”
“Yeah, good.” He was on the floor, cuddling Peabody, who patted his cheek and smiled dreamily.
“Hi, sweetie! Want to have lots and lots of sex?”
“Yeah, that’d be frosty. How about we get
you some air first? What the hell’s in that stuff?” he asked Roarke.
“A wild trip, I’d say, but hardly fatal, as the three of these had their share. Best call in the MTs.”
“Aw, man, don’t call them.” Eve waved the idea away with her stunner; Roarke gently took it from her. “I’m fine, we’re all fine. Got the bad guys. Somebody oughta do something with the lady over there. She is out of it.”
“The MTs will see to her.” But his wife was Roarke’s priority.
“Okay, good. She prolly thinks she’s talking to a dead relative.”
Roarke put a supporting arm around her waist and led her out.
“I gotta secure the scene and investigate.”
“The Illegals detectives can handle that part now.” He thought about telling her to mind the stairs, then just solved it by picking her up.
“You’re so pretty. The mouse kicked me in the shin.” Giggling, she kicked her feet. “I fell down the rabbit hole.”
“So it would seem.”
“I didn’t like it. I like being here with you better.”
She was placid enough sitting on his lap while an MT examined her. And perfectly cooperative when he bundled her into the car. As he drove, he could see her start to come back by the way her body lost that pliancy and her eyes started to clear.
“And there you are. Take this.”
“What. Jesus.” She shoved at her hair, and the raging headache under her skull, knocking off the snowflake hat she knew she hadn’t put on for the trip to Bright’s.
“It’s for the headache the medicals promised you’d have when you started coming down. And drink this.” He passed her a bottle of water as he continued to drive downtown. “Just water. You’ll be dehydrated a bit.”
Her throat felt as though she’d swallowed sand. She took the stupid pill, guzzled the water. “Bright.”
“In custody. All three of them. You dealt with it, Lieutenant, impaired or not. That’s the cop in you.”
“What impaired me?”
“It’s quite a cocktail, according to the lab—as it’s the same, assuredly, as what Darlene Fitzwilliams inhaled. Fortunately, you and Peabody didn’t have more than a whiff or two.”
“Peabody.”
“She’s right here.”
Eve turned around at McNab’s voice, saw her partner curled up with her head on his lap, sleeping. “She’s okay?”
“They said she’d just sleep it off, and a single exposure like the two of you had wouldn’t have any lasting effects.” He stroked Peabody’s hair as he spoke. “But . . .”
“I contacted Louise—as you’d want her to know what happened,” Roarke continued. “She’s on her way into Central, as we are, and she’ll have a look at both of you.”
“I’m fine. I’m starving. I want . . .”
Roarke activated the AutoChef, which produced a large bag of soy chips.
“Oh yeah. Fucker drugged me,” she said with her mouth full of chips. “I hate that. He’s going to . . . Oh, Jesus Christ, there was a woman. In the chair.”
“Andrea Melton,” Roarke told her. “The MTs transported her to the hospital. She was heavily dosed, and likely routinely dosed. But they know what he used, and they’ll treat her.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Tomorrow, at least, for that.”
“Not for Bright, or whatever his name is. That’s for tonight.”
“And good luck with it.” Roarke pulled into Central. “Want a hand with her, Ian?”
“No, I— Well, maybe.”
Together, they got Peabody out, on her feet, where she smiled cheerfully. “Hi! Did we get ’em?”
“Yeah.” Eve led the way to the elevator. “We got them.”
“Yay! I feel really wooshy.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Are those soy chips? Can I have some soy chips?”
Eve gave her the bag as they got into the elevator. “Don’t you have a headache?”
“No, I . . .” Peabody’s entire face winced. “Ow.”
“Here we are.” Gently, Roarke slipped the pill between her lips and offered her the bottle of water he’d had in his pocket.
“Okay, thanks. He’s so pretty,” she said to Eve.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Mine, too. Sooo pretty. But my head hurts and I’m starving. I’m not supposed to be harsh about my body image, so I’m eating these chips.”
“Take her up to the crib,” Eve advised. “Louise can take a look at her up there. If she’s clear, take her on home. Good job all around, McNab.”
“Thanks.”
Too tired for the glides, Eve rode all the way to Homicide, gave her partner a last look, and got off so McNab could continue to the crib.
“I need to put all this together, then take on the Hatter and his crazy crew. I don’t need Louise.”
“I have some lines.” He kept hold of her hand as they walked. “And one of them is you’ll get checked by a doctor before you finish this. If you argue I’d be forced to mention to your division that you giggled.”
“I did not. Shit. I did. I half remember. Fine, fine. But I want coffee, and lots of it. And that’s my line.”
“Agreed.”
She decided it was just as well she’d made the deal, as both Charles and Louise were waiting in her office.
“Let me look at you. Sit.”
“Coffee.”
Roarke nudged her into her chair and went to the AutoChef while Louise opened her medical bag. She took Eve’s wrist in her hand. “Pulse is strong and regular. Follow this light with your eyes only.”
Eve rolled them first, then obeyed.
“Peabody?” Charles asked.
“Coming around. McNab took her up to the crib. We’re fine.”
But Louise still took out a bunch of tools that made Eve scowl. She poked, prodded, scanned, measured. Then nodded.
“You are fine.” She took Eve’s hand again. “Thank you. Thank you for myself, for Charles, for Henry.”
“I haven’t finished it yet.”
“But you will. He’s staying with us for a while—Henry. We can go home and tell him you have the person responsible. It’ll help. I’ll let you get to it. I want to see Peabody.”
Before they left, Charles leaned over, kissed the top of her head. “Thanks for everything, Lieutenant Sugar.”
“It’s the job.”
She blew out a breath when they left. “I probably need you to fill in some blanks spots. When he turned on the light show, I must have been disoriented enough to turn into that mist, just enough. But I had my stunner on him. I remember that.”
“You did. Callendar dealt with the other man—the little one—and McNab pulled Peabody out of the mist. You’d knocked her back—I saw that as I came in—but she stumbled into it again. I found the controls, shut down the program, and . . . restrained the suspect. I’m assuming you took care of the woman who was laid out on the floor, sporting a hell of a bruise on her face.”
“Yeah, and yeah, okay, I got it. Nice assist, pal. I need IDs on all of them.”
“No ID on record for the Hatter. The woman is Willow Bateman—a few minor bumps prior to 2054 when she lived in New Orleans, then off the grid.”
“I’m guessing that’s when she hooked up, one way or the other, with . . . Okay, the Hatter works.”
“The other man is Maurice Xavier. A number of bumps there, and some time in a cage for aggravated assault. He, too, drops off the grid, three years ago.”
“Same deal, most likely. I’m going to have the head guy brought up. I think the other two were heavily under the influence, so I’ll wait on them. You’re going to hang, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Figured. Let me set this up so I can box him in, then shut hi
m down.”
“Looking forward to it,” Roarke said. “I’ll take myself up to EDD, find the money, and help you close the door.”
“Have fun with that.”
“No question of it.”
EPILOGUE
After the Hatter was brought in, Eve took a few minutes in Observation to study him. Tall and skinny, long face, long body, he sat in his prison jumpsuit with a cagey smile on his face and eyes of so pale a gray they seemed almost colorless.
Confident and cocky, she concluded, at least on the outside, but she noted the way his fingers tapped, tapped, tapped on the table as if he played a tune on invisible keys.
“He figures his ability gives him an edge,” she said to Peabody. “That he’ll read us, and use that to tangle things up.”
“Or put the you-know-what on us.”
“You can skip this,” she reminded her partner. “I told McNab to take you home.”
“No way I’m missing this part. Should I think of sex with McNab again?”
“Whatever works.” She pulled out her ’link, read the detailed message from Roarke. “The man is good,” she murmured. “Three hidden accounts, three different names—all leading back to the Hatter—who, according to Feeney’s search, is actually Louis Carroll Ravenwood, born Devonshire, England, in 1999—one sibling, Alice.”
“So he was who he was until the sister self-terminated.”
“Prior to, he and the sister—big surprise—worked the carny circuit.”
Eve looked back through the glass. “Add the money and the false IDs to the whole bunch of drugs Illegals found in his house, and he’s not going to look so happy when we’re done. Let’s go wipe that smile off his face.”
He looked over as they came in, and his smile turned into a grin.
“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve and Peabody, Detective Delia entering interview with Ravenwood, Louis Carroll—”
“I’m Doctor Bright.”
Eve just kept speaking. “On the matters of case numbers . . .” She reeled off many as she took a seat across from him. “Mr. Ravenwood, you’ve—”
“I prefer Doctor Bright.”
“You’ve been read your rights,” she continued. “Do you understand your rights and obligations in these matters?”
“I understand perfectly, and so much more. How are you feeling?”
