by J. D. Robb
Eve flicked Peabody a glance.
“Can we sit down?” Peabody asked easily. “Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell us the details? For the report.”
“I talked to the policemen last night.”
“That’s good, but this is for the official report.”
“Okay. At approximately two hundred hours—” He paused, winced. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know you said don’t go out late like that, but I just had this feeling I needed to patrol, and I did. So at approximately two hundred hours, while traveling west on foot on Avenue A, I observed a male assaulting a female. It appeared he was attempting to steal her purse, and I also observed him strike said female—right in the face, Lieutenant Dallas. That’s not right.”
“No, it’s not right.”
“So I shouted, ‘Stop in the name of the law!’ Then pursued the individual when he ran. I chased him for a block then I knocked him down, and when he resisted, using harsh words, too, I punched him. And the lady, she called the police. When they came . . . Officers Rhodes and Willis, we talked to them, and they took the bad guy away. I walked the lady—her name was Cherry Pie—home so she’d be safe. It was only down the block.”
He smiled then. “It’s my first official arrest, and Officer Willis said I did okay.”
“Did you go anywhere afterward?”
“I went and had some coffee and wrote up my report. I like to write them up when it’s all fresh. You know how it is,” he said earnestly. “You don’t want to forget any details.”
“Right. Do you know Ledo?”
“Oh yeah, I know Ledo. He sells illegals, uses them, too. I’ve told him he has to stop or else, but he just says, fuck off, dickwad, or like that. I want to arrest him, but he mostly sells underground, and I don’t want to go down there. I promised my mom I wouldn’t. I don’t have the training.”
“That’s right,” Eve told him. “I don’t want anyone going down there without proper training. Have you been to Ledo’s flop?”
“No, sir, Lieutenant. I surveilled it a few times, but I never caught him dealing right there. I can take you there if you want to arrest him. I’d be happy and proud to back you up.”
“No, I don’t need to arrest him. Somebody killed him last night.”
Mason shook his head, a gesture that said the news was no more than expected. “He didn’t respect the law. People who don’t can come to a bad end.”
“Did you go over by his flop on patrol last night?”
“I was pretty tired after making the arrest and writing up the report, so I just came home. I can patrol that area for you after work—at the diner. I can do that.”
“That’s all right, the threat level is low now. How’d you spend the twenty-seventh? Two days after Christmas?”
“We had to go to work—the diner, not the real work. Mom works every day but Sundays, and I work Mondays and Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturdays. Sometimes Fridays. That day she had to work in the morning until the dinner shift, and I go in and work the lunch and the dinner shifts.”
He glanced at his mother for corroboration. “That’s right. You did the double.”
“Okay. Do you know Leanore Bastwick?”
“She’s dead. I read all the crime reports and watch them on screen. I knew who she was because she defended Jess Barrow, and he was one of your bad guys. I know all your bad guys. I keep a file. He has a right to an attorney, that’s the law.”
“Do you ever break the law, Mason?”
His gaze slid away on a little smile. “Maybe a little . . . dent.” And the little smile became a companionable grin. “You know how you have to do when you’re after bad guys. Justice is more important than a little dent. The good police know that. They gave you the Medal of Honor. I’d be good police. Not like my dad. But my mom says I’m all she’s got, and she worries.”
“Looking out for your mom’s as important as getting bad guys,” Peabody told him.
“I guess.” But he looked at Eve, doubtfully.
“Detective Peabody’s right on that. The thing is . . .” She thought she could make it work. “You’ve got a good perspective on the street from here,” Eve considered. “I’d like to give you an assignment.”
“For real?” His face flushed with color; eyes gleamed with delight. “Yes, sir, Lieutenant!”
“I’d like you to take position as observer. Here, and at the diner. Observer, Mason, and that means you don’t break cover, don’t interact with the bad guy. You observe and record. In the event a law is broken, you observe, record, and report. Understood?”
“Sure I do, but—”
“Having your eyes and ears will be of considerable help to the officers in this sector, and to me. I’d like to be able to count on you.”
“You can, Lieutenant. You can count on me.”
“Good. Meanwhile, I’d like a copy of all your files and reports.”
“I’ll get them right now.” He pushed up, hurried off.
“You think he might have something to do with these murders? I heard the crime channel, too. He’d never do something like that. Mason wouldn’t do that—because you wouldn’t.”
“I’m going to check out his alibi for December twenty-seventh, and I’m going to talk to the officers from last night. I can tell you I don’t believe, at this time, he had anything to do with what we’re investigating.”
“It was good of you to give him an assignment—one that makes him proud but keeps him off the street.”
“Any chance of steering him toward a different hobby or interest?”
“You think I haven’t tried? He’ll do what you told him—at least I think he will. Observe, record, report. That was a good one.”
“It seems like he’s got a knack for all three.”
“He does, honestly does. He never forgets a damn thing. Some things, like things his old man said to him, I wish he would.”
• • •
Eve studied the file bag Mason had given her before stowing it in the trunk. “He’s organized, detail-oriented, delusional, and obsessed.”
“And earnest as a cocker spaniel, Dallas. You don’t really think—”
“No, I don’t. But we check, and we’re going to have the uniforms that patrol this sector keep an eye on him. His father was a cop, a wrong cop, but a cop. He wishes he were a cop. You can bet he’s done some studying. He’s not stupid, and he admitted to knowing or knowing of both vics. We follow it through.”
She pulled out her communicator. “Check with the diner on the twenty-seventh. No point moving the vehicle, and it’s just a couple blocks west. You can work off more double-chunk.”
“Don’t say the words! Even the words add to my ass.”
“Walk it off. I’m going to reach out to the uniforms from last night’s arrest.”
Eve leaned on the car, put a hail out to either Officer Rhodes or Officer Willis.
She spent the next ten minutes hunched against the cold, discussing the incident and Mason Tobias. When she spotted Peabody quick-walking back, pink coat flapping at her knees, she got into the car, hit the temp control, then started the engine.
“Alibi holds,” Peabody said. “Why does there have to be winter for so long? I got you a hammy pocket.”
“A what?”
“It’s fake ham and a non-dairy product pretending to be cheese smooshed inside a bread-like substance. I ate mine—low-cal version—on the way back. It could have been worse. Plus.” She dug into her pocket, pulled out a small, crinkly bag. “Soy chips. I can’t eat them after the you-know-what, but if you eat them and I have a couple it’s not really eating any.”
“Because you’re just going to hold them?”
“No, I’m going to eat them, but it’s not really eating them because they’re yours. No one with ten percent—max—body fat is allowed to question my logic. He
worked his shift—straight through until eight. I’ve got a couple waitresses, a cook, and the manager vouching. Did you talk to the responding officers?”
“Both of them, and both felt Mason’s response last night—this morning, actually—was appropriate. They both know him, and have told him to mind his own in the past. They’ve busted him for trespassing when he followed a suspected bad guy into an apartment building. Cherry Pie’s a stripper, and I know that must be a shock. The bad guy in this case was some schmuck who tailed her from the club, wanting some free—and decided to rough her up, try for her purse.”
“Mason’s not our guy.”
“Doesn’t look like it.” But Eve glanced in the rearview after she pulled into traffic. “Still. He was calm, and controlled. If you cut out the sense he’d never do real violence, real crime, he hits a lot of the marks on Mira’s profile.”
She swung by the lab, more for form than expectations. And picking up nothing new, moved on to the morgue.
She spotted Morris in the tunnel, swiping a chart for one of the white coats. He wore a suit caught somewhere between red and orange—the boldest color she’d seen him wear since the death of Detective Coltraine, the woman he’d loved.
“Dallas, Peabody.” He gestured to Vending. “Can I buy you both some terrible coffee substitute?”
“Pass, thanks.”
“Is that hot chocolate anything remotely resembling hot chocolate?” Peabody wondered.
“It may inhabit the same continent, if not country.”
“I’ll risk it. I’ve completely blown my pre–New Year’s resolution today on diet and nutrition. Might as well finish it off.”
When she started to dig in her pockets, Morris brushed her arm. “Allow me.” Morris input his code, and they all watched an anemic stream of beige pour into a biodegradable cup.
“Well.” Peabody took it out of the slot. “It’s hot, so that’s half there.”
“Good luck with that. So, Ledo.” Morris gestured again, and they started down the tunnel. “Without his untimely end, he might have had another five or six years in him if he’d remained on the same course. Considerable liver and kidney damage from substance abuse. Ocular degeneration from the same. Bones and teeth show signs of very poor nutrition, and indeed his last meal was fried noodles and brew that was more chemicals than barley.
“His tox screen,” Morris continued as they went through his double doors, “showed a cocktail of funk, go-smoke, and downs. Enough downs his killer didn’t need to stun him. He’d have been out for another six hours regardless.”
“Couldn’t know that—unless the killer witnessed him ingesting.” Eve approached the body, studied the stun marks, the deep, jagged hole left by the cue. “Even then, why change routine, why take the chance? Careful, cautious, thorough.”
“The blow to the cheekbone was hard enough to fracture it, and likely came from above. Standing, straddling him. Right to left.”
“Most likely right-handed then, as we determined in Bastwick’s case.”
“Most likely. And the killing blow, again from above. Straight down, with force. The break on the cue was fresh.”
“Yeah, saw that, confirmed at the lab.”
“I picked several splinters out of the wound. Another message, I’m told.”
When Eve only nodded, he walked over, got a tube of Pepsi from his friggie.
“Thanks. Morris, I’ve got to ask. Have any of your people—the techs, the docs, the drivers, maintenance, anybody, shown a particular interest in my cases, my DBs?”
“You’ve had some noteworthy ones, so there’s been interest. But not undue, not to my mind. And no one who’s regularly or routinely taken one.”
“But you discuss, consult, coordinate.”
“Yes, we do.” He took the tube, cracked it himself, handed it back to her. “It’s hard what we do—murder cops, death doctors, and those who work with us. So you have to consider that, consider someone who’s signed on to do good may turn, and do what puts people on my table.”
And that, Eve thought, was exactly what she feared.
“He’s smart, Morris, and he’s skilled. Trained, I think, I really do. But he’s not as smart as he thinks because he thinks he leaves nothing behind.”
“And he leaves his words.”
“That’s right, and the words are his thoughts, his feelings, his motives. So that’s a lot to leave behind. I just have to figure out how to . . . read between the lines.”
She took a long drink, felt the caffeine slide in. “Now I have to go talk to the fucking media.”
“Be brave, my child.”
That got a snort of laughter out of her. “The slick and chilly high-powered defense attorney, and the low-life chemi-head. Is there a pattern there?”
She started to pace, tried to find it.
Morris glanced at Peabody. “How’s that hot chocolate?”
“I think it’s a small, pale island off the continent of hot chocolate, but it carries a faint whiff.”
“Time wise,” Eve said out loud, “I had my first, annoying meet with Bastwick the summer of ’58, my last with Ledo around January ’59. So that’s a possible timeline. Possibly chronological. That would be organized, efficient.”
And she shoved her hands in her pockets. “Which doesn’t give me much of dick, because I’ve gone around with a hell of a lot of people between early ’59 and now. He’s got two years, basically, to pluck from.”
“No physical altercation with Bastwick, but one with Ledo,” Peabody suggested. “Maybe an escalation of crimes—in the killer’s view.”
“Maybe. Maybe that’s something to look at. Ledo’s was an accident, so maybe I try to find something deliberate.” She rolled her eyes as she took another drink. “And again, how many people have taken a pop at me in the past couple years? Or, say, said fuck you, bitch cop—verbal disrespect escalating from Bastwick—maybe added a shove? And we won’t find him by trying to forecast his next victim.”
She shook that off. “The words, the pattern—that’s what he leaves behind. And the victims,” she added with another glance at Ledo. “There’s a guy named Carmine Atelli. He’s going to take care of the arrangements for Ledo.”
“A relative?”
“No, in a weird way a good Samaritan. He’ll be in touch.” She polished off the Pepsi, slowly rolled the tube. “What color do you call that suit?”
“Carnelian.”
“Isn’t that the animal who changes colors?”
“That’s a chameleon.”
“Okay. Well, I like the color so it’s good it doesn’t change on you.” She two-pointed the tube into the recycler. “Still got it,” she said, and headed out.
“That you do,” Morris agreed, then turned back to Ledo. “And she’ll use that to find who did this to you. If the killer doesn’t know that, he doesn’t know her as intimately as he believes.”
• • •
She got back into Central for a last quick briefing from Kyung.
“I know the drill,” she told him.
“You do, but if you’re annoyed and snap at me, you’ll get it out of your system before they start annoying you.”
He had a point. “I won’t lose my temper. If I go a round with some idiot reporter I could be putting a target on his back.”
All amusement faded from Kyung’s eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“I had,” Eve said, and walked out into the media briefing room to get it over with.
Cameras and recorders immediately started to hum. Those standing, jumped into chairs. A packed house, Eve noted.
“Leanore Bastwick was murdered in her apartment on the evening of December twenty-seventh. I’m primary on this homicide and am investigating it along with my partner, Detective Peabody. We are pursuing all avenues. Evidence to date shows that an unidentif
ied subject disguised as a delivery person gained access to Ms. Bastwick’s residence, stunning her with a handheld weapon, then strangling her. In her capacity as a criminal defense attorney, Ms. Bastwick received numerous threats over the years. We are looking into those threats.”
She ignored the few shouted questions. She’d damn well finish the statement first.
“In the early hours this morning, Wendall Ledo was murdered, also in his apartment. Mr. Ledo was a known illegals dealer who frequented the underground in the area known as the Square. His building was not secure. Evidence indicates his very simple locks were picked, giving the killer access. He was also stunned, then stabbed. I am also primary on this case, and we are actively pursuing all avenues.
“Evidence further indicates the same unidentified subject murdered both Leanore Bastwick and Wendall Ledo.”
She spotted Nadine in the back of the room, still in her traveling outfit—but she had a camera with her now.
“We connect these homicides through evidence, and due to the fact that messages were left at both crime scenes. All the evidence, including the messages written, will be processed and analyzed, studied, dissected, and used to identify and apprehend the person responsible for the deaths of Leanore Bastwick and Wendall Ledo. I will not discuss specific details of any of that evidence or any specifics of this ongoing and active investigation. You’d save us all time if you remember that before asking your questions.
“Go ahead.”
“Is it true the messages were addressed to you?”
“Not going to save time,” Eve concluded. “I will not discuss specific details.”
“Is it true you had altercations with both victims? There was bad blood between you?”
“No, it’s not. I interviewed Ms. Bastwick after the murder of her law partner, as is routine. Ms. Bastwick subsequently represented Jess Barrow, and I was his arresting officer. Mr. Ledo was an illegals dealer, and had more . . . interactions with the Illegals division of the NYPSD than with me. I interviewed him a few times, as a witness or person of interest on an investigation.”
