Obsession in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “No, and at this time, the only thing that connects them is me. That’s the broken half of Ledo’s pool cue sticking out of his chest. We’re awaiting the sweepers’ report on the crime scene, but I don’t expect they’ll find anything.”

  “Ledo gave you a love tap with a broken cue.” Carmichael shifted as Eve paused, then shrugged her shoulders. “Hell, LT, you came in wearing the mouse.” She tapped under her eye. “And Peabody looked like she’d clawed her way out of a pit of crocks. You were still on the green side,” she added with a quick grin at Peabody. “Being a detective, I asked her how you got the bruise.”

  “Inadvertent love tap,” Eve qualified. “But yeah, he gave me one. That was two years ago. And last night someone killed him—claiming it was for justice.”

  She brought up the second message.

  “Getting pushy with this one,” Baxter murmured, and got Eve’s raised eyebrows. “The first one’s sick, too, but it’s more matter-of-fact. Justice, blah blah, and she fucked with you, I fucked with her. The second one pushes it more—strikes me as more demanding.”

  “Wants acknowledgment.” That came quietly from Santiago. “Your acknowledgment, Dallas. You don’t give it, he’ll kill somebody else to show you more devotion. You do give it, he’ll kill somebody else because you rewarded him.”

  She’d come to the same conclusion herself. Crazy rock, meet bloody hard place.

  “Can’t take yourself out of it,” Jenkinson considered. “Insult to him if you did it voluntarily; insult to you if Whitney pulled you. Anybody been messing with you, boss? More than usual?”

  “No. I’ve gone around that circle. Best chance is through the correspondence, and straight cop work. Knocking on doors, interviews, what the vics might tell us.”

  She paused again, dropped the biggest weight. “Highest probability with known factors is the UNSUB is in law enforcement or support, or wants to be.”

  She didn’t get curses, anger, even disgust, but a kind of silent and bitter acceptance. Yeah, she had a good, solid division.

  “We can cross the correspondence with people who tried for the cops and washed out. We can take that.” Santiago looked at Carmichael.

  “Yeah,” Carmichael agreed. “Santiago and I can work that.”

  “Trueheart and I can look for cross on retired law enforcement, or law enforcement terminated for cause.” Baxter looked at his young, still-in-uniform aide.

  “Sure. Um, Lieutenant?”

  “Officer.”

  “He uses the word ‘justice’ a lot. If, going over correspondence, we look for somebody who didn’t get justice—or feels that way. Maybe a vic or a connection to a vic, and Bastwick got the alleged perpetrator off, or cut the time, made a deal. And maybe this Ledo played a minor part. Sold illegals to the individual who got off, or to the vic or the UNSUB. It’s possible illegals plays some role in whatever’s set the UNSUB off.”

  “Always thinking,” Baxter said, not without pride.

  “That’s an angle we’re looking at, and you’re not wrong to bring it up,” Eve told Trueheart. “Problem is, it’ll be like looking for the crazy needle in a stack of needles. And nobody say ‘haystack,’” she warned. “Because that’s just stupid. I’ve run basic cross-searches for anyone connected to the two vics. So far, I got zip. If there’s a connection, it’s going to be nebulous at best.”

  “We got that one.” Reineke nodded at Jenkinson.

  “You’re on an active investigation,” Eve began.

  “All respect, boss, but that’s bullshit. We know how to juggle,” Jenkinson reminded her. “Everybody in this room’s been on the job long enough they can juggle standing on one foot with one eye closed. Just like everybody knows if it’s a cop doing this, or somebody attached to the cops—well, it doesn’t make two people more dead or less dead, but it means the sooner we shut it down the less crap’s going to fly on the department. And you, LT.”

  “I can take care of my own flying crap.”

  After a moment of silence, Reineke puffed out a breath. “He’s trying not to say bullshit to you twice in the same briefing, so I will. That’s bullshit, boss.”

  Baxter shook his head. “You want to get this done?” he asked Reineke, Jenkinson. “Use some smarts. You can handle your own crap, Dallas, but while you are, some’s bound to splatter on this division, on us. So we put in the time, and we minimize that. And maybe save a life because there’s nothing up there that says he doesn’t have another lined up.”

  “I shoulda thought of that,” Jenkinson muttered. “I shoulda had that one ready.”

  “You’re a slick one, Baxter.”

  He just grinned at Eve. “Slick and shiny. All the ladies like me that way.”

  “Juggle then—but nobody shuffles an active to the back for this. How old were those kids who got sliced up, Jenkinson?”

  His eyes went cool and flat. “Fifteen and seventeen. Brothers.”

  “They’re your priority.”

  “You got that, Dallas. We won’t be dropping any of the balls we got in the air.”

  “Peabody, see that everyone gets the necessary data.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If necessary, you can speak with Feeney and/or McNab for e-work, Mira for profiling or shrink shit. If you need a consult with the lab, Dickhead only, unless you run it by me. The lid’s going to blow on this, but the push on that isn’t going to come from this division. I don’t have to tell you, but I’m going to. If and when you’re approached by the media—or any fucking body—your line is it’s not your case, ask Lieutenant Dallas. Last . . . Slick and Shiny Baxter?”

  “Yo.”

  “The flying crap stops with me. It’s why I get paid the slightly less pathetic bucks than you. But . . . your help and your willingness to offer it—all of you—is appreciated and valued. Dismissed.”

  As they rose, Jenkinson got to his feet, cleared his throat. “Nobody fucks with our LT. Deal with it,” he told Dallas, then walked out.

  “That was kind of sweet, in a Jenkinson way,” Peabody commented.

  Eve just pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jesus. Let’s break this down.”

  Even as they finished, Trueheart poked his adorably earnest face back in the door. “Sorry, Lieutenant. Nadine Furst is here looking for you.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes, sir. Baxter detoured her from your office, so she planted outside the bullpen. We weren’t sure how you wanted to handle it.”

  “Are we clear here, Peabody?”

  “We’re clear.”

  “Send her in here, Trueheart.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She’s supposed to be in Nevis or somewhere with palm trees and sand—with some stud named Bruno.”

  “The one with the abs? Like mago abs? She told me about him at your holiday party.”

  “Apparently he has mago abs. I’ll deal with her. You can start on any names Mira might have sent along. And make sure everyone gets the data they need to start this thing.”

  “All over it.”

  Peabody started for the door when Nadine walked in on shiny thigh-high boots over black skin pants, a poppy-red sweater under an open vest, and some sort of furry coat tossed over her arm.

  “It’s twenty-three degrees out there, with the potential for an ice storm tonight. I left eighty-two and sunny. Your cops wouldn’t let me in, even with this.” She dropped a glossy bakery box on the conference table. “Double-chunk brownies.”

  Turning down baked goods? Eve thought. Her cops had decided to throw up full shields.

  “Peabody, take that into the bullpen when you go. No point in denying them chocolate.”

  “I’m getting mine before they trample me. Double-chunk!”

  “And probably still warm,” Nadine added. “Hi, Peabody.”

  “Hey, Nadine, good Chri
stmas?”

  “It wasn’t bad. You?”

  “Real good.” Catching Eve’s hairy eyeball, Peabody grabbed the box, got going. “See you!”

  Nadine tossed the coat on the conference table, set a purse in zebra stripes the size of a cargo freighter—a Christmas gift from Eve—beside it. “Got any real coffee in there?” she asked, gesturing to the AutoChef.

  “No.”

  “Hell.”

  “Where’s Bruno?”

  “Sulking. It may be time for a tasteful parting gift there. He’s a really nice distraction while I’m deciding if I want more distractions or a long haul. I’m pretty sure I’m still in distraction mode. Anyway, enough about me. What’s your status?”

  “There wasn’t any need for you to come back here.”

  Nadine reached into the enormous zebra, pulled out a file case. “Here I have correspondence to me regarding the book and the vid. I’ve already culled through it, eliminated those who couldn’t possibly be involved—such as a fourteen-year-old boy, a woman who recently celebrated her centennial by skydiving, and a scientist currently doing research in the Aleutians. Among others. I know how to do this, Dallas.”

  “Okay. You still didn’t need to cut your sexcation short and come back.”

  “Sexcation—I’m stealing that. As fun as that sexcation might have been, you’re my friend. And you’re a damn good cop. Put those in whichever order works for you. Then add, extremely big story when it hits. It’s going to hit, and soon.”

  “I know it.”

  “I help you, you help me. It’s what friends do. And really good cops and really good reporters. Tell me what you can, and I’ll work on it—on my own,” she added. “I may not be on sexcation, but I’m not back at work, officially. Just me—no team.”

  Eve thought longingly of the real coffee in her office—but she wasn’t taking Nadine there. Not this round.

  “We have a second vic.”

  “Another?” Nadine dived in the zebra again, pulled out a notepad and pencil. “No recorder—pen and paper—and nobody can read my notes. Name?”

  “Ledo, Wendall.”

  “Connection to Bastwick?”

  “None known. Smallest of small-time illegals dealer. Lived and worked in the Square.”

  “As far away from Bastwick as it gets. How was he killed?”

  “A really good reporter could find that out.”

  “Fine. Connection to you—unless you want me to dig for it.”

  “Occasional source, largely unwilling. Last altercation he accidentally smacked me with his cue stick—which I’d broken over some other asshole’s skull.”

  “I see, just another day in the life.” Nadine raised her eyes. “Are you telling me somebody killed him because he knocked you with a cue stick?”

  “That’s how it reads.”

  “Did the killer leave another message?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It’s enough for you to know it ran along the same lines as the first.”

  “I can help more if— Hang on.” Once again she reached in the bag, pulled out her ’link. Hissed, then looked back at Eve. “I set an alert. It just blew.”

  “Shit.”

  “Tell me what you can while you can—and what I can green-light.”

  “I can’t—” She broke off to pull out her own ’link. “Media liaison,” she told Nadine. “Dallas, privacy mode. Yeah.” She paced as she listened, paced as she gave short, terse responses. “Nadine Furst is here, with me. I know it. We want to keep this straight, this is how. I know that, too. Okay. Yes. Jesus, Kyung, remember how I said you’re not an asshole? Well, I’m not a moron. I’ll tell her.”

  She shoved the ’link back in her pocket. “He’ll tag you in two minutes, give you what can be given—from an unnamed source at the NYPSD.”

  “I can work with that.”

  “You can use the room till you’re done. I have to go.”

  “All right. Hey, hey. Dallas.”

  Eve turned, snapped, “What?”

  “Watch your six.”

  Eve blinked. “You’re standing there in shiny boots that come up to your crotch and carrying a zebra, and telling me to watch my six.”

  “Bruno’s into military thrillers. It’s the lingo.”

  “I know what it is. Watch your six,” Eve repeated, and for some reason left the room lighter.

  With little choice, Eve agreed to a media conference in the afternoon.

  It gave her time to do actual police work beforehand, starting with a visit to Peabody’s favorite pick from Mira’s refreshed list.

  “Mason Tobias,” Peabody reported as they got into the car in the garage. “Age twenty-six. Single—never married or cohabbed. Lives with his mother, currently employed as dishwasher/delivery person for Shakey’s Diner. Previous employment—stock clerk, janitorial assistant, delivery person for Midtown Pizza, and most recently mall guard. Criminal charges include multiple instances of trespassing, disorderly conduct, cyber bullying, resisting arrest, and one count of assault—dropped. He’s got a couple of restraining orders active against him.”

  “Did he do any time?”

  “Time served, community service, mandatory behavior rehab.”

  Eve managed to find a street-level slot less than a block from Tobias’s pitted prefab building.

  “Nothing violent on record but the dropped assault.”

  “Yeah, but he’s got a pattern,” Peabody countered. “And he’s written to you fifteen times in the last year. Four times the year before. His main theme is working with you for justice, righting wrongs, punishing those who disrespect the law. He sees you as partners, Dallas, with him working in the background, in the shadows—that’s his term—as your backup.”

  Considering, Eve approached the building, hit the buzzer for Tobias.

  “Yeah!” The voice was raspy and female. “Make it quick. I’m late.”

  “NYPSD.”

  “Ah, hell.”

  The main door buzzed. Eve shoved it open, eyed the toothpick width of the elevator, and opted for the stairs.

  “Four flights,” Peabody complained, toes curling in her pink cowboy boots. “Punishment for the double-chunk brownie.”

  “Suck it up.”

  “What I sucked up was a dietary power drink for breakfast since I ate about five million of my aunt’s painted sugar cookies over Christmas. Then there was the cream cake, and the trifle, and somewhere in there peppermint schnapps, which made me think I could eat all the cookies, the cake, the trifle. Then what do I do?” Peabody demanded as she hoofed up the steps. “I fall to the seduction of the brownie.”

  “What the hell is trifle anyway?”

  “A hundred zillion calories in one delicious dish. But I made up for it with the diet power drink until . . .” Peabody set her teeth. “The siren’s call of the double-chunk. I should climb twenty flights.”

  “Keep it up, and I’ll make you go up and down a dozen times.”

  As they turned onto the fourth floor a woman opened an apartment door. She had short golden-blond hair with spikes tipped in Christmas green. She wore a mustard-colored uniform and thick-soled white shoes.

  “You the cops?” she said, then went stiff as she got a good look at Eve. “Ah, shit. Shit, this can’t be good.”

  “Ms. Tobias?”

  “Yeah. I know who you are. What did he do? What did Mason do?”

  “What do you think he did?”

  “Hell, I don’t know.” She closed her eyes a moment, and when she opened them again they held resignation. “But whatever he did, he thought he was doing the right thing. He’s a good boy, he really is. He just has a hard time sticking in what’s real. You can’t arrest him—I mean you. If you were to do it, I don’t think he’d ever get over it
.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, he worships you, doesn’t he? You’re everything he wants to be. Everything he wishes his old man had been. His father was a cop. Knocked us both around plenty, until I cut loose. Knocked us around a time or two after till his partner finally broke ranks and put the fear of God in him. After that he mostly ignored us at best, made sure Mason knew he thought he was nothing at worst. Then you took him down.”

  “I took who down?”

  “My ex. Mason’s father. That whole thing—almost two years back now. Officer Roland Tobias—he was under Captain Roth. He was on the take.”

  So had been too many others, Eve remembered. And a good cop had died at the hands of dirty ones. But she didn’t remember Tobias, specifically.

  “Offed himself the summer after it came down. I’m not going to say I’m sorry he’s dead. But that’s when Mason started talking about you, and then writing to you, and all the rest . . .”

  She glanced behind her, and nerves showed as she twisted the chain with its little winged fairy she wore around her neck.

  “I know he’s a grown man, Lieutenant, but inside he’s still a kid who got the shit kicked out of him for not being the tough guy his old man wanted.”

  “We just want to talk to him.”

  “I don’t know how he’s going to handle it.” She stepped back in, rubbed the back of her neck. “Mason? Come on out. Somebody’s here to see you.”

  “Me?”

  He sort of lumbered out of a short hallway. The right height, Eve judged. Solid build, and that could fit. Short, almost military-buzz-cut hair shades lighter than his mother’s, a round, not quite homely face.

  His eyes, big and brown, stared into Eve’s as he nodded. “I’ve been waiting. You’re really busy, so I had to wait. You must’ve heard about it.”

  “Heard about what?”

  “How I arrested that guy last night.”

  “Oh, Mason,” his mother began.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I gotta do the work, and somebody had to stop the bad guy.”

  Eve slipped her hand inside her coat, rested it lightly on the butt of her weapon. “How’d you stop the bad guy, Mason?”

  “I had to chase him a ways, then knock him down pretty hard. Then I had to punch him. You’re not supposed to hit,” he said when his mother just sat down, cradled her head in her hands. “But he was resisting, and I was making a citizen’s arrest. I can do that. I read how I can. He was hurting that lady, and he was making her cry and yell.”