J D Robb - Dallas 17 - Imitation in Death

by Imitation in Death(lit)

"What can you tell me about how he looked?"

  "Looked like a' repairman, is all. White man, or maybe mixed. Hard to tell as the sun was blasting. Don't know how old. Not as old as me. Thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, that's all the same when you hit your century mark, and I hit mine seventeen years ago last March. But I'd say thirty or forty as a best guess."

  "Congratulations, Mrs. Parksy," Trueheart said and she smiled at him.

  "You're a very nice young man. This other, he had a cap on, uniform cap, -and sunglasses. Dark ones. Had mine on, myself. Sun was blazing even though it was early. He saw me. Couldn't see his eyes, of course, but he saw me, as he sent me a big as life grin and gave me this little bow. Sassy's what.1 call it, and I just sniffed and looked the other way, as I don't hold with sass. Sorry about that now. Wish I'd watched after him more."

  "Which direction did he go?

  "Oh, he headed east. Spring in his step, like a man pleased with his morning's work. Bad business, bad business when a man can all but skip out the door and onto the sidewalk when he's killed a woman. Lois went to the market for me more than once when I was feeling poorly, and she brought me flowers to cheer me up. Always had a minute to chat. I wish I'd known what he'd done when 'I saw him. My grandson drove up just a minute or two later. He's always prompt. I' d've told him to run that murdering bastard down on the street. As God is my witness, I would've."

  She worked Mrs. Parksy until she was sure she had everything the woman could give her, then passed her to Trueheart, asking him to escort her to a uniform fortransport home..

  "Baxter, another minute-here." She dug in her-pocket and discovered she'd given Peabody all her credits earlier. "Got enough on you for a Pepsi?" -

  "What's wrong with using your badge number? You over your limit?"

  She gave him a disgusted look, with a sulk right on the edges. "I plug in my badge number, the machine will give me grief. The one up by our squad hates me, has a personal vendetta. -And they talk to each other,-Baxter, Don't think they don't communicate."

  He studied her for one long minute. "You need a vacation."

  "I need a friggin' Pepsi. You want an IOU?"

  He walked to the machine, keyed- in his badge number, ordered the tube.

  GOOD AFTERNOON. YOU HAVE ORDERED ONE EIGHT OUNCE TUBE OF PEPSI. IT'S ICED HAVE A SAFE. AND PRODUCTIVE DAY, AND DON'T FORGET TO RECYCLE.

  He tugged it out of the slot, walked back, and handed it to her. "My treat."

  "Thanks. Listen I know you've got backlog. I appreciate you taking the time for the canvass"

  "Just put it in your report. I could use the shine."

  She gave a head nod toward the doer, so they'd walk and talk. "Trueheart looks good. He steady enough?"

  "Doc cleared' him physically. Kid's healthy as a horse. Shrink gave him thumbs-up,-too. " I

  "I read the evals, Baxter. I'm asking you."

  "Truth is, I think what- happened to 'him--nearly happened-a couple weeks ago shook me more than him. He's solid, Dallas. He's gold. Gotta tell you, I never figured on taking on a rookie, or putting on a trainer's hat, but he's a gift."

  Baxter shook his head as they caught a glide. "Kid loves the job; Hell,; he is the job, like nobody I know except you. He bounces in each shift, raring. I tell you, he makes my fucking day."

  Satisfied, Eve headed down the hall with him. "Speaking of trainees," Baxter continued, "I hear Peabody's going to take the detective's exam in a few days." "Nothing wrong with your hearing."

  "Nervous,- Mom?"

  She shot him a narrow look. "Funny. Why should I be nervous?"

  He- started to grin, then they both turned at the high-pitched howl. A-skinny guy in restraints broke away from the uniform escorting him, sent another to his knees with a well-placed groin kick, then came flying toward the glide, eyes wild;: spittle.' flying:

  Since her Pepsi was in her weapon hand, Eve winged it. It caught him' between the. eyes with an audible thud. It surprised more than hurt him, so that he stumbled, righted himself, then lowered his head and charged her like a battering ram.

  She had just enough time to pivot. She brought her knee up sharply, connecting with his chin. There was a nasty crunching sound that she figured was either his jaw snapping or the cartilage in her knee shifting.

  In either case, he went down hard on his ass, and was immediately tackled by two uniforms and one passing plainclothes cop.

  Baxter rehoistered his weapon, scratched his head at the melee on the floor. "Want another Pepsi, Dallas?" What was left of hers was. making a brown puddle on the floor.

  "Goddamn it,. Who's in charge of this asshole?"

  "Me, sir." One of the uniforms staggered up. He was winded, and bleeding from the bottom lip. "I was taking him to holding for-"

  "Officer, why didn't you have control of your prisoner?"

  "I thought he was controlled, Lieutenant. He-"

  "Obviously, you thought incorrectly. It appears you need to refresh yourself on proper procedure."

  The prisoner bucked and kicked, and began to scream like a woman. To demonstrate proper procedure for controlling prisoners, Eve crouched, ignoring the twinge in her knee. She grabbed the screamer by a hank of his long, dark hair, jerked his head until his crazed eyes met hers.

  "Shut up. If you don't shut up, if you don't cease resisting immediately, I will pull your tongue out of your mouth, drag it around your neck, and strangle you with it."

  She saw from his eyes that he'd been enjoying some chemicals, but the threat got through, or maybe it was the tone that warned him she meant it, literally-'

  When he sagged, Eve rose and gave the uniform the same cold glare. "Add resisting and assaulting an officer to our guest's prize package today. I want to see: a-copy of your report before you file it, Officer..:" She deliberately scraped her gaze down and scanned his name tag. "Cullin."

  "Yes, Sir.,,

  "Lose him again, and I'll use his tongue to strangle you. Move."

  There was a scramble as a couple of uniforms moved in, a show of solidarity, to drag the prisoner up and haul him away.

  Baxter handed Eve a fresh tube of Pepsi. "Figured you'd earned this."

  "Goddamn right," she shot back, and limped into Homicide.

  She wrote her own report, and hand-carried it-to Commander Whitney. He gestured her to a chair, which she took, grateful to get off her aching knee.

  When she'd finished her oral briefing, he nodded. "Is your block on the media going to fuel him or frustrate him?"

  "With or without the media, he's-hunting again. While' his victims are random, they are deliberate, and the deliberation takes time. As for the media, I've fed a -few statements through the department liaison. They're concentrating on the first murder. It's flashier than the rape and murder of a sixty-one-year-old woman in her apartment. We're not going to be pressed too hard on that end until one of them gets the connection. They will eventually, especially if he hits again, but we've got some room."

  "You're misleading the media?"

  "No, sir. I'm just not leading them. I've given my statement to Quinton Post at 75, rather than Nadine Furst, as I felt that' would cool any mumbling about favoritism. He's sharp, but still a bit green. Once Nadine gets her teeth into this, she'll make the connection. Until then, I don't have to answer what isn't asked."

  "Good enough."

  "On another front, sir, I don't think, despite his claims, he cares overmuch about the media attention. Not at this time. He wants my attention, and he has it. Dr. Mira's profile confirms his need to dominate and destroy women. The female authority figure is his nemesis. That's me, that's why he picked me."

  "Are you a target?"

  "I don't believe so, not as long as he sticks to pattern."

  Whitney grunted, then steepled his fingers. "You should be aware that I've had complaints."

  "Sir?" , "One from Leo Fortney, who's crying harassment, and threatening a suit against you and the department. A second from the offices of Niles Renquist, intimating..
. displeasure at having the, wife of a diplomatic figure interrogated by a member of the New York; Police and Security, Department. And a third from the representative of Carmichael Smith, who ranted vigorously about the possibility of damaging publicity due to the hounding of his client by a... what was it? An insensitive, abrasive hotshot with a badge."

  "That would be me. Leo Fortney gave false information during initial questioning. He's changed his story, somewhat, during subsequent questioning by my aide, but it still reeks. Both Niles Renquist and his wife have been questioned, not interrogated. And while both were cooperative, neither was forthcoming. As for Carmichael, if anyone leaks his involvement in my investigation to the media, it would be him."

  "You intend to pursue each of these individuals as suspects in this investigation."

  "Yes, sir, I do."

  "All right." Satisfied, he nodded. "I have no problem fielding the complaints, but walk softly here, Dallas. Each of these people has considerable power in his own way, and all of them know how to spin the media."

  "If one of them is a murderer, I'll make the case. They can spin until they revolve to Saturn and back, but they'll do it from a cage."

  "Wrap them up then, carefully."

  Dismissed, she got to her feet. Whitney lifted an eyebrow as she started out. "What's wrong with the leg?'

  "It's just the knee," she said, annoyed she hadn't remembered to control the limp on the way out. -So she smiled, a little. "I ran into something stupid," she said, and closed the door behind her.

  She left later than she'd intended, and gar' stuck in some bad traffic. Instead of fighting it, Eve waited it out, using the time to think, to review her notes, to think some more.

  She had suspects, though she was thin on evidence. She had threads that wove through both murders. The notes, the tone of them, the imitation.

  She had no DNA, no trace evidence, and no evidence that led her to believe the killer had known his victims. Witness reports described a white or possibly mixed-race male, of indeterminate age and coloring. He used accents, she thought. Because his voice was distinctive?

  Renquist, with his British tones. Carmichael, with his famous ones.

  Possible.

  Then again, Fortney ran his mouth to the media and the public often enough. He might assume someone would recognize his voice.

  Or it could just be ego again, and any one of them. I'm so important, everyone will recognize me if I don't disguise myself.

  Look for the female authority figure, she told herself. That's the core and that's the key. What was the phrase?

  Cherchez la femme. She thought that was right..

  She stripped off her jacket on the-way from the car to the house. The air felt close, heavy, and just a bit electric. Maybe a storm coming. Rain couldn't hurt, she thought, and tossed the jacket over the newel. A good bitch of a storm might keep, her man inside, and off the hunt.

  Before she went back to work, back to her own hunt, she'd track down another man.

  The home locator told her Roarke was on the rear patio, off the kitchen. She couldn't figure out why he'd be out in the hasty air when the house was blissfully fresh and cool, and provided a room for any possible activity.

  But she walked the long stretch of it, and out the kitchen to find him.: Then simply stood, struck speechless.

  "Ah, good, you're here. We can get started."

  He, was wearing jeans-not his usual around-the-house attire--and a white T-shirt. He was barefoot, and a little sweaty, which appealed to her. The fact was, he would have appealedd to her, or any woman, regardless of his attire, or the fact that he was standing on a sun-baked patio on a September evening where the air quality index had simply waved the white flag and surrendered the field.

  But at the moment, she was more interested in the enormous, shiny silver contraption beside him.

  "What is that thing?"

  "It's an outdoor cooking system."

  Warily,. relieved she was still wearing her weapon just in can, she approached. "Like a barbecue deal?"

  "That, and more." He stroked one of his beautiful hands over the lid, as a man might stroke a woman who bewitched him.

  "Gorgeous, isn't she? Just arrived an hour ago."

  It was massive, and the glare of the sun off its surface nearly blinding. There was, she noted, more than one lid as it had extensions on either side, and some doored compartment beneath the main unit.

  There were countless buttons, controls, dials. She wet her lips. "Um.. It doesn't look exactly like the one the Miras used."

  "Newer model." He opened the main lid and revealed another; gleaming surface, this one full of shiny bars, with a bunch of silver, cubes beneath, and aa side surface of solid metal. "No reason not to have the latest.

  "It's really big. You could almost live in it"

  "After a couple of practice runs, I thought we might have a barbecue of our own. In a few weekends perhaps."

  "By practice run, I don't guess you mean you're going to drive it somewhere." She gave one of its big, sturdy wheels a quick, testing kick.

  "Totally under control. He crouched, opened one of the doors. "Refrigerator unit. We've got steaks, potatoes, some vegetables we'll put on these skewers."

  "We will?"

  "It's just a matter of shoving them on." He assumed. "And a bottle of champagne, to christen it. Though I thought we'd drink it rather than whack the unit with the bottle."

  "I can get behind that part. Have you ever cooked a steak?"

  He sent her a mild look as he opened the champagne. "I read the tutorial and I-watched how it was done at the Miras. It's hardly rocket science, Eve. Meat, heat."

  "Okay." She took the glass he'd poured for her. "What happens first?"

  "I turn it on, then according to the timetable in the tutorial, the potatoes would go first. They take the longest. While they're cooking, we'll sit in the shade."

  The idea of him turning on the monster unit had her taking a cautious step back. "Yeah, well, I'll just get started on the sitting in the shade part." Several buffering feet away.

  Still, she loved him, so she prepared to leap to his defense if the machine got testy. She watched Roarke arrange two potatoes on some of the smaller sections of grill, fiddle with controls.

  Whatever he did had a red light, like a single, unfriendly eye, beam on. Apparently this pleased him, as he closed the lid, patted it, then pulled a little tray of crackers and cheese out of the lower compartment:

  He looked pretty cute, she had to admit, carrying the tray, crossing the sunny patio in his bare feet, with his hair tied back as he often did for serious work.

  She grinned at him, popped a cube of cheese in her mouth. "You put all this together.".

  "I did. Very gratifying, too." He stretched out his legs, sipped champagne. "I don't know why I haven't fiddled about in the kitchen before this."

  The umbrella over the table broke the blast of the sun, and the champagne was ice cold. Not, she decided, such a bad deal after a long day. "So, how do you know when the potatoes are done?"

  "There's a timer. It also suggested we might want to jab them with a fork."

  "Why ?"

  "Something to do with doneness. I assume it'll be selfevident. What did you do to your knee?"

  Never missed a trick, she thought. "Some jerk in uniform let an asshole get away from him. I used my knee to discourage-said asshole from ramming me down the glide. Now he's crying because his jaw was dislocated, and he has a mild concussion."

  "Knee to jaw. Sensible. How'd he get the concussion?"

  "He says it was from the tube of Pepsi I pitched at him, but that's bogus. I figure he got it when a bunch of cops landed on him."

  "You threw your Pepsi at him."

  "It was handy."

  "Darling Eve." He picked up her free hand, kissed it. "Ever resourceful."

  " That, may be, but I had to waste time on more paperwork. Officer Cullen is going to rue this day." -

  "No doubt."


  He poured. more champagne, and they drank it in the shade. When she heard the distant rumble of thunder, she lifted her eyebrows, glanced toward the grill. "You may be rained+ out."

  "There's time yet. I'll just turn it up a bit, and put on the steaks."

  Fifteen minutes later, Eve sipped champagne and watched a little burst of flame erupt from one end of the grill. Since it wasn't the first, she was no longer alarmed by it.

  Instead, she watched Roarke fight his new toy, curse it in two languages, and eye it with frustration.