Witness in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “It’s not for me to say.”

  “Admirably controlled,” he repeated. “She fucked it up. Through her disregard for your authority, your orders, the chain of command, and all reasonable common sense, she botched the entire situation, is responsible for dozens of civilian injuries, thousands in property damage, offered the suspect the opportunity to flee, and put one of my men in the hospital.”

  He leaned forward, spoke through his teeth. “Do you think I am not pissed?”

  “You are admirably controlled, sir.”

  He let out a short blast of sound that might have been a laugh. “Did you advise Captain Stuart that you were in command, that you were on the scene, and had said scene under control, that all weapons were to be set to low stun and there was to be no discharging of same without extreme circumstance?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “Captain Stuart will be dealt with, I promise you. She’ll be lucky to work System Control when the internal investigation is complete. Be satisfied with that.”

  “Trueheart’s twenty-two years old.” And it weighed on her, like a stone on the heart.

  “I’m aware of that. I’m aware of how it feels to have a man go down under your hand. Suck it in, Lieutenant, and do the job. Sit down.”

  When she obeyed, he set her written report aside. “When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “When we’re done here, you’ll take two hours. That’s an order. Anja Carvell,” he began. “Do you consider her an essential element in this case?”

  “She’s a loose thread. Any thread that isn’t knotted off is an essential element.”

  “And her alleged relationships to Kenneth Stiles and Richard Draco?”

  “The number of connections crossed in this case result in too many triangles to be ignored. It appears that Stiles arranged for Draco’s murder, and as a result, Linus Quim’s. However, there are a number of others with motive and opportunity. It isn’t absolute that Stiles acted, more, that he acted alone. Before I moved on him, I was on the point of requesting a warrant to break the seal on Carly Landsdowne’s adoption.”

  “Take your two hours, then try Judge Levinsky. Most judges are reluctant to open seals on private adoptions. He may be your best bet, particularly if you catch him after he’s had breakfast.”

  • • •

  She intended to follow orders. Finding a flat surface and sprawling over it would help clear her mind.

  She closed the door to her office, locked it, then simply stretched out on the floor. Before she could close her eyes, her palm ‘link beeped.

  “Yeah, what?”

  “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

  “No nagging,” she muttered and pillowed her cheek on her hand. “I’m lying down right now.”

  “Good.” Roarke studied her face. “Though you’d be better off in a bed than on your office floor.”

  “Do you know everything?”

  “I know you. Which is why I decided to contact you. I neglected to pass on some information last night. The name of the birth mother in Carly Landsdowne’s file.”

  “What’re you talking about? I told you to leave that alone.”

  “I disobeyed. I’ll look forward to you punishing me later. It’s listed as Anja Carvell. She gave birth at a private woman’s clinic in Switzerland. The adoption was preset and legal. She was given the mandatory twenty-four-hour period to withdraw her decision, stuck with it, and signed the final papers. She listed the father as Richard Draco, and included, per law, a sworn document that he had been informed of the pregnancy, her decision to complete it, and the adoption. The document was verified by voluntary truth testing.”

  “Was he notified of the live birth?”

  “Yes. The file’s complete, and as efficient as one expects from the Swiss. He was aware he had a child, a daughter. Mandatory DNA testing verified he was the father. He made no objections to the adoption.”

  She shifted to her back, let the information slide into her brain. “The adoptive parents are entitled to all this information except for the names. They’re given medical histories of the birth parents, their cultural and ethnic backgrounds, intellectual, artistic, technical skills. All that can paint a pretty clear picture. The adoptee is also entitled to all this data upon request, including the legal names of the birth parents.”

  “I didn’t find any request for that data from the adoptee,” Roarke told her.

  “There are ways around it. Carly could have known. She could have put it together and suspected Draco was her father. There’s physical resemblance if you know to look for it. How much did she know?”

  “You’ll find out. Get some sleep.”

  “Right. Remind me to slap you around later for electronic trespass.”

  “I’m excited already.”

  She drifted off, thinking of fathers and daughters, of deceit and murder.

  And woke with the old nightmare screaming in her throat, her skin bathed with the sweat of it and a violent pounding in her head.

  She rolled over, pushed up to her hands and knees to struggle against the nausea. It took her several trembling seconds to realize not all the pounding was in her head. Some of it was at her door.

  “Yeah. Hold on. Damn it.” She rocked back to her heels, forced herself to breathe. She pushed to her feet, braced a hand on the desk until her legs were steady again.

  After flipping the locks, she yanked open the door. “What?”

  “You didn’t answer the ‘link,” Peabody said in a rush. Her face was still flushed from the morning chill. “I was—are you all right? You look—” Haunted, she thought, but followed instinct and amended the word. “Out of it.”

  “I was sleeping.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Peabody unbuttoned her coat. In her latest attempt to lose weight, she’d taken to getting off the subway five blocks from Central. Winter had decided to come back for another kick that morning. “I just got in, and ran into the commander on his way out. He’s heading to the hospital.”

  “Trueheart?” She gripped Peabody’s arm. “Did we lose him?”

  “No. He’s conscious. The commander said he surfaced about twenty minutes ago, and here’s the best part, he’s responding to stimuli. There’s no paralysis, and they’ve upgraded him to guarded condition.”

  “Okay.” The relief shuddered through her on bat wings. “Okay, good. We’ll stop by and see him when we go in to interview Stiles.”

  “The squad’s chipping in for a flower arrangement. Everybody likes Trueheart.”

  “All right, put me down.” She sat behind her desk. “Get me some coffee, will you? I’m punchy.”

  “You didn’t go home at all, did you? You said when you sent me off that you were going home.”

  “I lied. Coffee. I’ve got some information from an anonymous source. We’re going over to re-interview Carly Landsdowne.”

  Peabody sniffed and stalked over to the AutoChef. “I guess your aide’s not supposed to ask the name of the source?”

  “My aide’s supposed to get me coffee before I bite her throat.”

  “I’m getting it,” Peabody muttered. “Why Carly, at this stage of the investigation?”

  “I’ve just verified Richard Draco was her father.”

  “But they were…” A dozen emotions flew across Peabody’s face. “Oh, yuck.”

  “In words of one syllable.” Eve grabbed the coffee. “I want a formal request put in to Judge Levinsky to break adoption seal. We have to make it official. Meanwhile—” She broke off when her desk ‘link signaled an incoming.

  “Homicide. Dallas.”

  “Lieutenant Eve Dallas?”

  Eve studied the woman. “That’s right.”

  “Lieutenant Dallas, my name is Anja Carvell. I’d like to speak with you on a very important matter, as soon as possible.”

  “I’ve been looking for you, Ms. Carvell.”

  “I thought you might be. Would it be possible for
you to meet me at my hotel? I’m staying at The Palace.”

  “Popular spot. I’ll be there. Twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you. I think I can help you clear up a number of matters.”

  “Jeez.” Peabody snagged her own coffee when Eve broke transmission. “We look for her all over hell and back, and here she just drops into our laps.”

  “Yeah, nice coincidence.” Eve shoved away from the desk. “I don’t like coincidence.”

  • • •

  TO BE OPENED IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH

  Yes, that had a nice ring, a dramatic touch. One never wants to lose one’s sense of style, even under pressure. Particularly under pressure. The pills are where they can be easily reached, should they be needed. A last resort, of course, but they’ll be quick. They’ll be gentle.

  “Do not go gentle into that good night.” Well, what the hell did he know? If it comes down to death or prison, death is preferable.

  Life is a series of choices. One twists into the next, and the path shifts. It never really rides straight, unless there are no joys, no sorrows. I would always prefer the road that wanders. I made my choices, for better or worse, they were mine to make. I take full responsibility for the results of those choices.

  Even Richard Draco. No, especially Richard Draco. His life was not a series of choices, but a compilation of cruel acts, small and large. Everyone he touched was damaged somehow. His death does not weigh on my conscience. What he did, knowingly, deliberately, viciously, deserved extermination.

  I only wish there had been pain, great waves of pain, huge sweeps of knowledge, of fear, of grief in that instant before the knife pierced his heart.

  But in planning his execution, I had self-preservation in mind as well. I suppose I still do.

  Should I be given the opportunity to do it over again, I would change nothing. I will not feign remorse for disposing of a leech.

  I have some regret for luring Linus Quim to his death. It was necessary, and God knows he was an ugly, cold-hearted little man. My choice could have been to pay him off, but blackmail is a kind of disease, isn’t it? Once the body is infected by it, it spreads and returns at inopportune moments. Why risk it?

  Still, it brought me no pleasure to arrange his death. In fact, it was necessary to sedate my nerves and anxiety. I made certain he felt no pain, no fear, but died with the illusion of pleasure.

  But that, I suppose, doesn’t negate the act of ending yet another life.

  I thought I was so clever, staging Richard’s murder in front of so many, knowing that all those surrounding him had reason to wish him harm. There was such a whippy thrill at the idea of having the knife Christine Vole would plunge into the black, miserable heart of Leonard Vole be a real one. It was so beautifully apt.

  I regret and apologize for causing my friends and associates any distress, putting them, even for the short term, under any suspicion. Foolish of me, foolish to have believed it would never go this far.

  No one, I told myself, cared about Richard. His death would be mourned by no one who knew him except with crocodile tears turned to glimmer on pale cheeks for the audience.

  But I miscalculated. Lieutenant Dallas cares. Oh, not about Richard perhaps. She has certainly unearthed enough truth about him by this time to stir her disgust. But she cares about the law. I believe it’s her religion, this standing for the murdered dead.

  I realized that very soon after looking into her eyes. After all, I’ve spent my life studying people, measuring them, mimicking them.

  In the end, I’ve done what I set out to do, what I believe with all my heart and soul I had to do. I have, ruthlessly perhaps, righted incalculable wrongs.

  Isn’t that justice?

  *** CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ***

  Anja Carvell was beautiful, with the curvy body style women sweat or pay for. And men fall for. Her mouth was full, sensuous, and painted with the gleam of polished copper. Her skin had the delicate sheen of gold dust so that with the smoked red of her hair, the tawny eyes, she resembled a flame barely banked to simmer.

  She sent Eve a long, level look, shifted her gaze briefly to Peabody, then stepped back, widening the door into her modest suite.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly. I realized after we spoke that I should have offered to come to you.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  “Well, you’ll forgive me, I trust, for not knowing the proper procedure in such matters as this. My experience with people in your profession is severely limited. I’ve ordered a pot of chocolate.”

  She gestured to the living area where a white pot and two matching cups sat on a low table. “Would you care to join me? It’s so cold and gloomy out. I’ll just get another cup for your assistant.”

  “Don’t bother.” Eve heard, and ignored, Peabody’s soft, windy sigh at her back. “You go ahead.”

  “In that case, shall we sit down?”

  Anja led the way to the sofa, smoothed her long bronze colored skirts, then lifted the pot. There was quiet music playing, something with a bird trill of piano. A squat vase of cabbage roses stood beside the lamp. Their fragrance, and the woman’s, perfumed the room.

  It was, Eve thought, a pretty and civilized scene.

  “I came to New York only last night,” Anja began. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoy the city. The rush and energy of it. The heat of it, even in this endless winter. You Americans fill all the spaces and still find more.”

  “Where did you come in from?”

  “Montreal.” She sipped her chocolate, balanced the cup with the same female delicacy Eve had often admired in Mira. “Lieutenant, I’m afraid Kenneth wasn’t completely truthful with you during your discussion with him. I hope you won’t blame him for it. He was thinking of me.”

  “Ms. Carvell, I need your permission to record this conversation.”

  “Oh.” After one disconcerted blink, Anja nodded. “Yes, of course. I suppose it must be done officially.”

  “Record on, Peabody.” As Eve recited the standard rights and obligations, Anja’s eyes widened with surprise, then warmed again with what might have been amusement.

  “Am I a suspect then?”

  “It’s procedure. For your protection. Do you understand the rights and obligations I’ve outlined for you?”

  “Yes, you were quite clear.”

  “Ms. Carvell, why did you come to New York from Montreal yesterday?”

  “Kenneth…Kenneth Stiles contacted me. He needed to see me. He was quite distraught and anxious. He believes you think he killed Richard Draco. Lieutenant Dallas, such a thing is not possible.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Kenneth is a kind and gentle man.”

  “The kind and gentle man put Richard Draco in the hospital twenty-four years ago after a violent assault.”

  Anja made an impatient sound, and her cup clicked into her saucer. “The rashness of youth. Must a man be hounded by a single foolish act committed so long ago? An act committed out of love and concern?”

  “Whatever we do follows us, Ms. Carvell.”

  “I don’t believe that. I’m proof a life can be changed through will.” Her hand curled tight a moment, as if making a fist of that will. “Lieutenant Dallas, when I saw Kenneth last night, he was frightened and upset. I can swear to you, he would never have called me if he had indeed done what you suspect he has done.”

  “When did you see him last?”

  “About eight o’clock. We met in a little club. I believe it was called Alley Cat.”

  “Yes, I know it.”

  “We spoke over drinks. It was then he told me he’s given you my name, that you would look for me in regard to my one-time relationship with Richard.”

  Her smile bloomed as beautifully as the roses beside her. “He wanted to warn me, you see, so that I could hide myself, spare myself the discomfort of a meeting such as this. I calmed him as best I could and told him I would speak with you.”

  “He hasn’t contacted y
ou again?”

  “No. I hope to speak with him after we’re done here, hope to be able to reassure him that you no longer believe he could have done this thing.”

  “Kenneth Stiles attempted to leave the city last night.” Eve watched Anja carefully as she spoke. “When an attempt was made to detain him, he fled and was injured during apprehension.”

  “No. No, no.” Anja’s hand shot out, gripped Eve by the wrist. “Injured? How badly? Where have you taken him?”

  “He’s in the hospital. His condition is stable. His doctors expect a full recovery. Why, Ms. Carvell, does an innocent man attempt to flee?”

  She released Eve’s wrist, rose to walk to the shielded window. Her hand pressed against her lips, as if to hold words back, then dropped to twist around the top button of her dress. When she spoke again, her voice wasn’t so cool, wasn’t so steady.

  “Oh, Kenneth. Perhaps you’re right, Lieutenant. Perhaps what we do echoes back to us the whole of our lives. He did it for me, you see. Just as before.” She turned back, stood framed by the gray sky. There were tears glimmering in her eyes, but they did not spill onto her cheeks. “Will I be allowed to see him?”

  “Possibly. Ms. Carvell, was Kenneth Stiles aware that you carried and gave birth to Richard Draco’s child?”

  Anja’s head snapped back, as if struck by Eve’s fist rather than her words. She gave a shaky laugh. Then, composing herself, she walked back to sit. “I see you’re very thorough. Yes, Kenneth knew. He helped me through a very difficult situation.”

  “Is he aware Carly Landsdowne is that child?”

  “He would not have the name the child’s parents gave her. The files were sealed. I told no one but the attorney who drew up the documents where the child was placed and with whom. That is the point of sealed files, Lieutenant. What does this child—no, she would be a young woman now—have to do with this matter?”

  “You’ve had no contact with Carly Landsdowne?”

  “Why would I? Ah, you think I’m a liar or coldblooded.”

  Anja topped off her cup of chocolate. But she didn’t drink. Her only outward sign of distress was the restless fingers at her throat.