She walked over, gave the steel-reinforced panel two hard thuds. "On the door," she called, and walked away.
She was heading back to her office when she heard herself being hailed. Eve kept walking, and let Peabody catch up. "Dallas. Sir. Lieutenant!"
"There's paperwork in your cube. Deal with it. In my office in ten for a briefing. We head out in thirty."
"Sir, I've already been informed about the op. McNab nipped over to meet me when I came out of exam."
Good, Eve thought. Good for him. But she kept her cop scowl in place. "The fact that Detective Moron bypassed procedure does not negate the necessity for your briefing."
"He wouldn't have had to tell me if you had."
It was the mutter that did it. Eve swung into Homicide. "My office. Now."
"You put the thumb on Renquist last night." Peabody trotted behind Eve. "I should have been called in for the search. You bypassed procedure."
Eve shoved her door closed. "Are you questioning my methods or my authority, Officer?"
"Your methods, Lieutenant., Sort of. I mean, jeez. If he'd been home last night, you'd have him, and I'd've missed it. As your aide-"
"As my aide you do what you're told when you're told. If you're dissatisfied with this arrangement, put it in writing and file it."
"You worked the case last night without me. You held an op briefing this morning without me. The exam shouldn't have taken priority over my involvement in this case.".
"I decide what takes priority. It's done. If you have any more bitching and complaining to do about this matter, I repeat; do so in writing and file it through the proper channels."
Peabody's chin jutted up. "I have no wish to file a complaint, Lieutenant."
"Your choice. Complete the paperwork on your desk. Meet me in the garage in twenty-five. You'll be briefed en route."
It was going to be a long day,. Eve imagined, as she walked through Katie Mitchell's loft, just as she'd walked through the hologram. And a long night.
Wherever Renquist had tucked himself, he'd done a good job of it.
Your move, she thought, and gulped down more coffee.
She'd thrown a net over every hotel in the sector, but she hadn't found him. Even while she paced the loft, the search was widening.
She stepped up to the doorway of the office where Roarke and Feeney worked.
"Nothing," Roarke said, sensing her. "It's more likely he's using a private residence. Short-term rental. We're searching that area."
She checked her wrist unit once more. There were hours yet, and she couldn't risk going in and out of the building.
She walked back to the kitchen, poked at Mitchell's AutoChef.
"Restless?" Roarke said from behind her.
"I hate the waiting, doing nothing but going over and over it in my head. Makes me antsy."
He leaned down to kiss the back of her head. "So does having a spat with Peabody."
"Why do men always say women have spats?. Men don't, have spats. It's a stupid, weenie word."
He rubbed her shoulders. Because they were like rock, he made a mental note to schedule a relaxation treatment for her. Whether she liked it or not. "Why don't you ask her how the exam went?"
"She wants me to know, she'll tell me."
He leaned down closer, brushing his lips over her hair, then speaking directly into her ear. "She thinks she tanked it."
"Shit" Eve fisted her hands. "Shit, fuck, damn." She swung to the freezer, sorted through it, and confiscated a quart of Strawberry Fields Frozen Dessert.
She found a spoon, stuck it in, then marched off toward the bedroom.
"There's my girl," Roarke murmured.
Peabody sat on, the edge of the bed, studying the morning briefing on her PPC. She glanced up when Eve entered, nearly had her sulky look in place when she spotted the quart of ice cream.
"Here." Eve shoved it into her hand. "Eat this and stop pouting. I need you at a hundred percent."
"It's just... I think I fucked up, really bad."
"I don't want you to think. You put it out of your mind, all the way. You have to be focused. You can't afford to miss a move, miss a signal. In a few hours, you're going to be lying in that bed, in the dark. When he comes in, his whole purpose will be to kill you. He'll be wearing night vision goggles. He likes to work in the dark. He'll, see you, but you won't see him. Until we make the move, you won't see him. So you can't fuck that up, or you're going to get hurt. You get hurt, you'll really piss me off."
"I'm sorry about this afternoon." Peabody shoved in the strawberry icecream. "I had myself all worked up. I'd kicked my own ass as many times as I could on the way back from the exam. I just needed to kick somebody else's. And I started thinking, if you'd just called me in I wouldn't have taken that stupid, goddamn exam."
"You did take it. And tomorrow you'll know the results. Now put it aside and do the job."
"I will." She held out a spoonful of ice cream to Eve.
Taking it, Eve sampled. "Christ. That's just horrible."
"I think it's pretty good." More cheerful, Peabody took the spoon back and.dug in for more. "You're just spoiled because you get the real thing now. Thanks for not being mad at me anymore."
"Who says I'm not? If I liked you, I'd have sent somebody out for real ice cream instead of stealing a civilian's frozen crap."
Peabody just smiled, and licked the spoon.
Chapter 23
He'd be getting dressed now, Eve figured, as she looked out through the privacy-screened windows of Mitchell's loft. It would be full dark soon. Marsonini had always had a long, leisurely meal, with two glasses of wine, before a kill. Always an upscale restaurant, booking a corner table.
He could spend two, even three hours over it. Savoring the food, sipping the wine.-Ending with coffee and dessert. A man who enjoyed the finer things.
Renquist would appreciate that.
Eve could see him now, in her mind's eye. Buttoning a perfectly white, bespoke shirt. Watching his own fingers in the mirror. It would be a good room, well appointed. He wouldn't tolerate anything but the best-as Renquist or Marsonini.
A silk tie. Probably a silk tie. `He'd like-the way it felt in his fingers as he slipped it on, as he finessed the perfect knot.
He would take it off after his victim was subdued and restrained. Carefully hanging every article of clothing to avoid creasing. He wouldn't want creases any more than bloodstains.
But for now, he'd enjoy the act of dressing well, of good material against his skin, and the anticipation of the food and wine, and what followed it.
She could see him, Renquist, turning himself into Marsonini. Grooming the long red hair that was his pride and his vanity. Would Renquist see Marsonini's face in the mirror now? She imagined he would. The darker complexion, the less even features, the fuller mouth, the pale, pale eyes that would peer out from behind tinted shades. He would need to see it or the night wouldn't have the same flavor.
Now the jacket. Something in light gray, maybe, perhaps with a faint pinstripe. A good summer suit for a man of discriminating tastes. Then the lightest splash of cologne.
He would check his briefcase. Take a long breath to draw in the scent of the leather. Would he take out all of his tools? Probably. He would run his hands along the lengths of rope. Thin, strong rope that would leave painful grooves in his victim's flesh.
He loved the thought of their pain. Then the ball gag. He preferred the humiliation of that over cloth. The condoms, for his own safety and protection. The thin cigars and slim gold lighter. He enjoyed a good smokenearly as much as burning those tiny circles into his victim's skin and watching the agony scream in their eyes. The little antique bottle he'd filled with alcohol, to pour over the wounds for that extra panache.
A retractable bat, honed steel. Strong enough to break bones, shatter cartilage. And phallic enough to suit another purpose should he be in the mood.
Blades, of course. Smooth ones, jagged ones, in case he. found the woma
n's kitchen knives under par.
His music discs, the night-vision goggles, the hand blaster or the ministunner, his paper-thin clear gloves. He detested the texture and scent of Seal-It or any of its clones.
His own towel. White, Egyptian cotton, and his own fresh cake of unscented soap for washing up after' the -job was done.
And, lastly, the security codes, cloned the day before during, his visit to the loft. The jammer that would disengage the cameras so that he could stroll into the building without leaving a trace.
All neatly packed now, and locked into the elegant case.
One last look in the mirror, a full-length to show himself the entire effect. It had to be perfect. A flick of the finger over a lapel to remove a minute speck of lint.
Then he would stroll out the door, to begin his evening out.
"Where were you?" Roarke asked when her eyes changed, when her shoulders relaxed.
"With him." She looked over, saw he held two mugs of coffee. "Thanks," she said, taking one.
"And where is he?"
"Heading out to dinner. Soup to nuts. He'll pay cash. He always pays cash. He'll linger over it until nearly midnight, then he'll take a long walk. Marsonini didn't drive, and rarely took cabs. He'll walk here, juicing himself up, block by block."
"How did they catch him?" He knew, but he wanted Eve to say it, to talk it out.
"His intended victim lived in a loft, not so different than this. Makes sense. One of her friends had a major fight with her boyfriend, and came over to cry on Lisel's-that was her name-came over to cry on her shoulder or whatever women do."
"Eat strawberry ice cream."
"Shut up. So the friend finally cried it out and bunked on the sofa. It was the music that woke her up. She hadn't heard him come in-apparently they'd killed a bottle of cheap wine or brew. Something. Marsonini hadn't spotted her sleeping there, which was a break. So the friend goes-toward the bedroom to see about the music. Lisel wasalready bound, gagged, with a broken kneecap. Marsonini was naked. His back was to the doorway. He was climbing onto the bed, getting ready to rape Lisel."
She knew what had been in the victim's head,-swimming over the pain. She knew that the awful terror of what was to come was worse, so much worse than pain.
"The friend kept her head," Eve continued. "She ran back to the living room, called nine-one-one, then hurried back to the bedroom, picked up this bat he'd used to break Lisel's kneecap, and she whaled on him. Fractured his skull, broke his jaw, his nose, his elbow. By the time the cops got _there, Marsonini was unconscious and in a sorry state. She'd untied Lisel, covered her up, and was holding a knife to the bastard's throat, hoping-she said in her statement-he'd come around so she could stick it in his gullet."
"I'd say it stuck in his gullet that a woman stopped him."
Her lips quirked a little, because she understood. "I'm counting on it. He died in prison two, years later when an unidentified inmate or guard castrated him and left him lying in his own cage. Bled to death."
She breathed deep, found- it had helped to talk it through. "I'm going to make the rounds. You've got two hours to stretch your legs around here, then we tuck in. And we wait."
At midnight, she hauled a stool into the closet. She kept the door open to anangle that gave her a view of the bed, and Peabody's upper half.
The apartment was full dark, and silent.
"Peabody, check your communicator every fifteen, until I order radio silence. I don't want you nodding off in there." "Lieutenant, I couldn't fall asleep if you gave me a high powered soother. I'm revved."
"Do the checks. Stay icy." ,
What if I'm wrong? she asked herself. If he changed targets, changed methods, got a whiff of me? If he doesn't come tonight, will he kill randomly or just rabbit? Does he have a back door? An emergency route, emergency funds, and ID?
He'll come, she assured herself. And if he doesn't, I'll track him.
She ran through her own checks, got the all-quiet from the street teams, the house teams. After an hour, she stood up to stretch and keep herself limber.
After two, she felt her blood begin to pump. He was coming. She knew he was coming seconds before her communicator hissed in her ear.
"Possible sighting. Lone male, proceeding south toward building. Six-two, a hundred and ninety. Light-colored suit and dark tie. He's carrying a briefcase."
"Observe only. Don't approach. Feeney, you copy?"
"Loud and clear."
"McNab?"
"We're on it."
"Looks like a false alarm. He's moving past the building, continuing south. Wait... He's watching, that's what he's doing. Scoping things out, checking the street. He's turning back, approaching the building again. Something in his hand. Might be a security jammer. Turning in. He's heading in, Lieutenant."
"Stay in the vehicle. Wait for my command. Peabody?"
"I'm ready." -
Eve saw the slight movement in the bed, and knew Peabody had her stunner in her hand.
"Feeney, you and the civilian stay behind those doors until I clear it. I want him all the way in. McNab, I want that elevator shut down the minute he's through the door, and your team out and blocking the hall a second after that. Copy?"
"You've got it. How's my sex queen?"
"I beg your pardon, Detective?"
"Um... Question directed at Officer Peabody, Lieutenant!,
"No personal communications or stupid-ass remarks, for sweet Christ's sake. Give me a twenty on the suspect."
"He's using the stairs, sir. Moving between second and third floor. I've got a good clear view of his face, Dallas. Positive ID for Niles Renquist. Moving to your door now. Taking out a keycode. He's through, and -in."
"Move now," Eve said in a whisper. "All units close in now, and hold."
She couldn't hear him. Not yet. So she brought him into her head. Marsonini always removed his shoes before entering the bedroom. Shoes and socks. He would leave them neatly beside the entrance door, then take off the shades, put on the night- vision goggles. With them, hee could move through the dark like a cat. Then he could' stand over the victim, watching her sleep before he pounced.
Eve drew her weapon. Waited.
She heard the faintest creak of the floorboard, and willed him to come on, come on, you son of a bitch.
Then with her eyes long adjusted to the dark, she saw the shape of him, saw him stroke a hand gently over Peabody's back.
She kicked the door open. "Lights!" She shouted.
He whirled, with the goggles blinding him now. The bat was in his hand, and he swung out with it, toward the sound of her voice even as he ripped the goggles away.
"Police. Drop the weapon! Drop your weapon and freeze or I will drop you."
His eyes were huge, blinking madly. But she saw the instant he recognized her and understood. She saw all his plans, his victories, drain out of his head. "Filthy cunt."
"Come on then." She lowered her weapon, then stabbed a warning finger toward the doorway when Roarke shoved in with Feeney behind him. "Don't do it," she snapped at them.
Renquist howled, threw the bat at her, then leaped.
She shifted, let the. metal glance off her shoulder. Because it was more satisfying than a stun, she used her body, tucking to drive that same shoulder into his gut, her knee to his groin. And when he started to fold, her fist found its way to the underside of his jaw.
"That last one was for Marlene Cox," Eve muttered.
She planted her foot on the small of his back as she pulled out her restraints. "Hands behind you, you bucket of puke."
"I'll kill you. I'll kill all of you." Blood trickled out of his mouth as he struggled. His eyes went wide and wild when Eve yanked the wig away.
"Keep your hands off me, you revolting bitch. Do you know who I am?"
"Yeah, I know just who you are." She flipped him over because she wanted. him to see her. She wanted him to look at her face. The hate was there, the sort she'd seen before. The kind of bone-de
ep loathing she'd seen in the eyes of her own mother.
But seeing it ,now brought her only satisfaction.
"Do you know who I am, Niles? I'm the woman, the revolting bitch,' the filthy cunt who's kicked your sorry ass. I'm the one who's going to lock the cage on you."
J D Robb - Dallas 17 - Imitation in Death Page 37
