by J. D. Robb
“Respectfully, sir, my ass is with yours. If you expect it any other way, you’ve got the wrong aide.”
“I haven’t got the wrong aide. We might catch a little heat for this, Peabody, but I don’t think it’ll burn very hot or very long. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Donald and Sylvia Dukes lived in a tidy, two-story town-house. Eve noted frilly curtains at the windows and identical white pots of regimented red flowers standing on either side of the front door. Like soldiers, she thought, guarding the fort.
She rang the buzzer, took out her badge.
The woman who answered was small, slim, and as ordered as her flowers. She wore a blue-and-white checked dress and there was a white apron tied at her waist. She wore pale rose lip dye, earrings fashioned of three small pearls in a triangle, and spotless white canvas shoes.
Without the apron, she would have looked like a woman about to head out for a day of running errands.
“Mrs. Dukes?”
“Yes. What’s wrong? What do you want?” Her cautious gaze darted from Eve’s face to the badge and back again. Eve could hear the breathy sound of nerves in her voice.
“Nothing’s wrong, ma’am. I’d like to ask you some questions. Is it all right if we come in?”
“I’m in the middle of . . . I’m very busy. This isn’t a good time.”
“I could make an appointment, at your convenience. But I’m here now, and I’ll try not to keep you very long.”
“Who is it, Sylvia?” Donald Dukes came to the door. He towered over his wife, an athletically lean man of six feet two inches. His sandy hair was fashioned into a short military cut.
“The police,” Sylvia began.
“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD, and my aide, Officer Peabody. I have some questions, Mr. Dukes. If I could have a few minutes of your time.”
“What’s this about?”
He’d already shifted his wife aside, and stood blocking the doorway. It wasn’t only flowers guarding the fort now, Eve decided.
“It’s regarding the deaths of Chadwick Fitzhugh and Louis K. Cogburn.”
“That has nothing to do with us.”
“Sir, at one time you filed charges, on behalf of your son Devin, against both of these men.”
“My son Devin is dead.”
He said it so flatly, so coldly, he might have been speaking of the loss of his favorite tie.
“I’m sorry.” Eve heard his wife choke off a sob behind him. Dukes didn’t bat an eyelash. “Mr. Dukes, is this something you want to discuss in the doorway?”
“This is something I don’t want to discuss at all. Devin’s files are sealed, Lieutenant. How did you get our name?”
“Your names came up during the course of my investigation.” Hard-ass to hard-ass then, Eve decided, staring at him coldly. “Files can be sealed, Mr. Dukes, but people talk.”
“Dad?” A boy walked halfway down the stairs. He was tall like his father, his hair as rigidly shorn. He wore blue trousers, a blue shirt, both knife-edge sharp. Like a uniform, Eve decided.
“Joseph, go back upstairs.”
“Is something wrong?”
“This doesn’t concern you.” Dukes glanced back briefly. “Go upstairs immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I won’t have you disrupting my home,” he said to Eve.
“Would you prefer taking it down to Central?”
“You have no authority to—”
“Yes, sir. I do. And the fact that you’re reluctant to answer a few routine questions leads me toward exercising that authority. This can be simple or complicated. That’s your choice.”
“You have five minutes.” He stepped back. “Sylvia, go upstairs with Joseph.”
“I require Mrs. Dukes as well.”
Eve could see him struggle with fury. Hot color burned across his cheekbones, and his jaw worked. This wasn’t a man accustomed to having any order questioned, much less countermanded.
She could go head-to-head with him, or she could throttle back. She made an instant and instinctive decision to change tactics.
“Mr. Dukes, I’m sorry to bring this into your home, to disturb you and your family. I have to do my job.”
“And your job is to question decent citizens over the death of scum?”
“I’m just a foot soldier, following orders.”
She saw immediately it had been the right button. He nodded and without a word turned and walked into the living area. Sylvia remained standing, her fists clenched, her knuckles white as her apron.
“Should I . . . would you like some coffee, or—”
“They aren’t guests, Sylvia.” Dukes snapped it out. Eve saw his wife flinch as if from a blow.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Dukes.”
The living area was whistle clean. Flanking a sofa done in a pattern of muted blues were two identical tables. On each was a matching lamp. There were two chairs in the same pattern as the sofa, and the green area rug showed not a speck of dust or lint.
There was a vase holding yellow and white flowers arranged too precisely to be cheerful. It was set exactly in the center of the coffee table.
“I won’t ask you to sit.”
Dukes stood, clasping his hands behind his back at waist level.
Another soldier, Eve thought, prepared for interrogation.
Chapter 15
“Mr. Dukes, it’s my understanding that approximately four years ago, your son had occasion to purchase an illegal substance from Louis K. Cogburn.”
“That is correct.”
“And on learning of this, you reported same to the police, filing an official complaint at that time.”
“That is also correct.”
“Subsequently charges in this matter against Cogburn were dropped. Can you tell me why?”
“The prosecutor’s office refused to follow through.” He stayed at attention. “Cogburn was put back on the street where he could continue to corrupt young minds, young bodies.”
“I assume your son gave a full statement of the occurence, and with the illegal substance in evidence traced back to Cogburn, it seems unusual that the prosecutor wouldn’t press.”
Cogburn’s lips thinned. “The illegal substance had been destroyed. I would not have it in my home. It seemed my word, my son’s word, was not enough against the word of trash.”
“I see. That was difficult for you. Frustrating, I’m sure, for your family.”
“It was.”
It was interesting, Eve thought, that Dukes wore nearly the same blue uniform as his young son. The creases down the center of his trousers were so sharp they looked capable of cutting flesh.
More interesting were the waves of fury rolling off him. Hot, smothering waves of rage barely held in check.
“To your knowledge did your son continue to have dealings with Cogburn?”
“He did not.”
But Eve saw the truth on Sylvia’s face. The kid had gone back for more, Eve thought. And everyone knew it.
“I assume Child Services recommended illegals counseling for Devin.”
“They did.”
Eve waited a beat. “And did he complete the program?”
“I fail to see what this has to do with your investigation, Lieutenant,” he said tightly.
She changed tacts again. “Can you tell me about the events surrounding Devin’s experience with Chadwick Fitzhugh?”
“The man sexually molested my minor son.” The first crack showed in Dukes’s composure. But it wasn’t grief Eve saw so much as disgust. “He forced himself on my son and engaged in unnatural acts.”
“And this molestation took place in Fitzhugh’s home?”
“It did.”
“How did Devin come to be in Fitzhugh’s home?”
“He was lured.”
“Did Devin tell you how he was lured?”
“It doesn’t matter how. He was molested. It was duly reported to the police. The man responsible was not punished.�
�
“The charges were dropped? Why?”
“Because the law protected the predator and not the prey. Your time is up.”
“How and when did Devin die?”
Ignoring the question, Dukes started out of the living room toward the front door.
“I can get that information through public records.”
“My son killed himself.” Dukes stood with his hands fisted at his sides. “Eight months ago. He pumped his body full of garbage until he died. The system failed to protect him. It failed to assist me in protecting him.”
“You have another son. How far would you go to protect him?”
“Joseph will not be corrupted by the cancer that eats away at our society.”
“Cancer’s a kind of virus, isn’t it? You can kill a virus with a virus. Infect the host until the bad cells are destroyed. You’re a computer scientist, Mr. Dukes. You know about viruses.”
She saw it then—the acknowledgment, even a kind of pride that leaped onto his face, then off again. “I said your time is up.”
“So’s yours, Mr. Dukes,” Eve said quietly. “You’re going to want to start making arrangements for your wife and son for when you go down with the rest of Purity.”
“Get out of my house. I intend to call my lawyer.”
“Good idea. You’re going to need one.”
When they were back in the car, Peabody frowned back at the house. “Why did you tip him?”
“If he wasn’t smart enough to figure out I’m looking at him, and he is, whoever he’s going to report this visit to would be. I was tipping the wife.”
“You don’t think she’s part of it?”
“He never touched her, barely looked at her. She’s standing there with tears running down her face and he doesn’t so much as acknowledge her presence. No, this is his deal. What did you see in that house, Peabody?”
“Well, he rules.”
“More than that. It’s a fucking barracks, and he’s the commander. She answers the door before nine in the morning, dolled up like a woman in a screen ad for AutoChefs. Kid’s about fourteen, but he bolts back upstairs at the snap of Dukes’s finger. I bet all the beds were already made and you could bounce a five-credit coin off every one of them.”
Considering, she headed downtown. “How’s a former marine who demands everything around him be squared away going to handle having a son who’s corrupting his mind and body with illegals? That was his term, right? Just like unnatural acts was his term. A chemi-head, homosexual son. Boy, that had to burn his white-bread, homophobic ass.”
“Poor kid.”
“Yeah, and now his father can use him as a symbol, as an excuse to kill. There are all kinds of cancers,” she mumbled. “Dallas,” she said when her dash ’link beeped.
“In your vehicle?” Nadine asked. “You may want to pull over somewhere. You’re going to want to hear this.”
“I can hear and drive at the same time. I’m talented that way.”
“I’ve got another statement from The Purity Seekers. Going to air in fifteen.”
“Delay the broadcast. We need to—”
“I can’t hold the story for you, Dallas. I won’t. I’m giving you a heads up. I’ll also air whatever comment you want to make, whatever statement you or NYPSD wants to issue. But this is on in fifteen.”
“Damn it.” Frustrated, Eve swung toward the curb, cutting off a cab before she shot up a curbside parking ramp to the crowded second level. “Let’s have it.”
“ ‘Citizens of New York,’ ” Nadine read in perfect on-air pitch, “ ‘we wish to assure you of your safety and restate to you our promise to seek justice on your behalf. We are committed to our vow to protect the innocent while meting out the due punishment to the guilty that the shackled hands of the law cannot provide.
“ ‘We are you: your brothers, your sisters, your parents, your child. We are your family as we are your guardians.
“ ‘Like you, we are saddened by the tragic death of a New York Police and Security officer who died two days ago. Detective Kevin Halloway’s death during the performance of his duty is yet another example of the blight that plagues our city. We hold Louis K. Cogburn directly responsible for this despicable crime. If not for Louis Cogburn’s previous actions, which made necessary the punishment he received, Detective Kevin Halloway would be alive today, doing what he was allowed to do—within the limitations of our current laws—to serve this city.
“ ‘We ask you, the citizens of New York, to join us today in a moment of silence for the memory of Detective Halloway. And we offer his family, his friends, his fellow officers our condolences at this grievous time.
“ ‘Louis Cogburn has been punished. Justice has been served, and will continue to be served.
“ ‘We send out this warning to all who seek to harm our brothers, to all who prey on our children and the innocents, that our hand will be swift, it will be sure. You will no longer find sanctuary behind the law.
“ ‘We stand for purity.
“ ‘We stand for the people of New York.’ ”
“Smart,” Eve said when Nadine finished.
“Very smart. Make yourself one of the people so it doesn’t look too much like Big Brother’s watching you. Express regret over the death of a cop and point the finger at someone else. Restate your goals so your message is loud and clear, and leave it ringing in your audience’s ears that you stand for the people. It’s textbook PR.”
“Isn’t anyone hearing what I’m hearing?” Eve demanded. “ ‘Don’t any of you worry your poor silly heads over any of this. We’ll take care of it. We’ll decide who’s guilty, who’s innocent. Who lives, who dies. And if, gee, somebody gets caught in the crossfire, it’s not on us.’ ”
“No, you’re not the only one hearing it.” Nadine shook her head. “But a lot of people are going to hear just what they want to hear. That’s why this is textbook PR, Dallas. It works.”
“I’ll be damned if they’re going to use one of us as a symbol. You want a comment, Nadine, here it is: Lieutenant Eve Dallas, primary investigator on the Purity homicides, states that EDD Detective Kevin Halloway was killed in the line of duty by a terrorist organization calling themselves The Purity Seekers. This organization is suspected of being responsible for the murders of four civilians and a police officer. Lieutenant Dallas further states that she, the members of her investigative team, and every officer, every resource of the New York Police and Security Department will work to uncover, identify, and arrest all members of this terrorist organization so that they may be tried under the codes of this city and if found guilty, be punished to the full extent of the law.”
“Got it, got it. Not bad,” Nadine said as she turned back from her recorder. “How about a one-on-one followup?”
“No. I’m busy, Nadine. And I have to help bury a cop today.”
They memorialized Kevin Halloway in a bereavement facility downtown only blocks from Cop Central. It had often occurred to Eve when she’d had to pay her respects to other fallen cops there, that whoever had started the business had figured the location near a major cop shop would be a plus.
For Halloway, they’d opened the entire first floor, and still the place was packed. Cops always managed to find the time to wake another cop.
She spotted Mayor Peachtree, tucked in among his entourage as he shook hands and looked properly grim, sympathetic, or understanding.
Eve didn’t have anything against him personally, and he seemed to be doing the job with a minimum of fuss and self-aggrandizement. He might have been sincere.
He seemed sincere—sincerely pissed, she thought—when his sparkling gaze locked with hers through the crowd.
There was command in the single, sharp gesture that summoned her to him.
“Mayor.”
“Lieutenant.” He kept his voice low. It could have been mistaken for reverent in such a place, but she heard the annoyance beneath it. “Your record is impressive. Your superiors have comp
lete faith in your abilities. But you’re not simply a police official in this matter. You’re a public figure. Your statement to Furst at 75 was neither vetted nor authorized.”
“My statement was responsive and accurate.”
“Accuracy.” He seemed to draw himself in. “Accuracy isn’t the issue. Perception, image, and message are. Lieutenant, we need to be a unit, a team, during this crisis.”
He laid a hand on her arm. There was warmth in the gesture, a kind of practiced bonhomie, just as the slight curve of his lips was practiced. “I’m depending on you.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stepped back, was soon swallowed up by his people, and by others who wanted that brief contact with power and celebrity.
Eve preferred Commander Whitney’s quiet presence to Peachtree’s shining one. He’d brought his wife, Eve noted. If there was anything Anna Whitney excelled at it was the public and social areas of being a top cop’s wife. She wore black, a simple, understated suit, and ranged beside her husband she held a woman’s hand in both of hers.
“Halloway’s mother.” Feeney stepped up to Eve’s side. “I’ve already spoken to her. She asked specifically to meet you.”
“Man.”
“I know. I hate these things, too. Attractive redhead other side of the chief? Halloway’s girl. Name’s Lily Doogan. She’s pretty ripped up. There are badges here from every borough. That says something.”
“Yeah. It says something.”
“They got him in the next room. McNab’s in there.” Feeney let out a long breath. “Got him into a chair. Can’t stand easy for long yet. Roarke’s in there with him.”
“Roarke’s here?”
“Yeah.” Grief drenched him. “I couldn’t stay in there anymore. Just couldn’t do it.”
“Being here’s enough, Feeney.”
“Doesn’t feel like it. I’ll take you over to his mother.”
They made their way through the crowd of mourners, through the muted hum of conversation. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers, dim with the quiet light the grieving seemed to prefer.
