Born in Death (19 page)

“I’ll have to speak to him about that. Was she seeing anyone else?”

“Tandy? Not our girl. One at a time for her, and they’d been tight for months and months. Bastard. Maybe she’s come back home, come back to confront him. I’ll ring up a few people. A girl wants to be home, doesn’t she, when she’s about to be a mum.”

“I appreciate the information. If you think of anything else, or find out anything about her whereabouts, contact me.”

Eve did a search for Aaron Applebee and got his number and address.

When she hit his voice mail, she did a standard run on him instead.

Applebee, Aaron, the computer recited, DOB June 5, 2030, Devonshire, England.

It listed his parents, and a complicated series of half-sibs through each side. He was employed, as Briar Rose had said, as a staff writer for the LondonTimes, and had been employed there for eight years. No marriage on record, no criminal. Several pings for traffic violations. He’d resided at the same address, in Chelsea, for five years.

His ID photo showed an attractive blond man with a long jaw. A height of five feet ten inches, a weight of one-sixty.

On the surface, he looked steady, ordinary. A regularbloke, she mused.

“Want to talk to you, Aaron.”

She tried his home ’link again, bounced to voice mail and clicked off. After looking up the name of the investigator on the like crime in Rome, she began to wind her way through the maze of the Italian cops until she found one in his unit who not only spoke perfect English but agreed to contact Inspector Triveti, and ask him to get in touch.

She updated her notes, then rose to add the printout of Aaron Applebee’s ID photo. When she turned toward the kitchen, Roarke stepped out of his office.

“No more coffee,” he said, definitively.

“Just one more hit. I’m waiting for a callback from Rome.”

“Then order a cappuccino—decaf—and make it two.”

She very nearly pouted. “Decaf’s got no punch.”

“The depth of the shadows under your eyes makes it look like you’ve already been punched. What’s in Rome?”

“A like crime, and a cop who I hope speaks English.” Since Roarke followed her into the kitchen, she couldn’t sneak real coffee. “I talked to Tandy’s stepsister.”

She relayed the gist of the conversation as the AutoChef served up two frothy coffees. “How are you on Brit slang?”

“Reasonably fluent.”

“I could’ve used you as an interpreter. What’s ‘bog standard’?”

“Boring, basically.”

“I wasn’t far off. She had this Aaron’s full name—it’s Applebee. He works for the LondonTimes, lives in Chelsea. Both parents married or cohabbed multiple times, but not currently with each other. Got a brood of half- and stepsibs.”

“Which might put a man off the idea of marriage or family.”

“Might. Reporters have a lot of sources. If he’d wanted to find Tandy, it seems he could and would have. Maybe he decided he wanted the kid, and they’re just off playing kissy-face. Or maybe he found out she was having it when he thought she wasn’t, and he came over pissed. Or he’s just at home, sleeping off a Saturday Night Special and not answering his ’link.”

“Or, it’s still possible she just walked away. She’d done it before, leaving London.”

“Yeah, there’s that.” And the probability run she’d done on that angle had given her a near fifty-fifty. “But I’m betting when she left London, she packed her things, all nice and neat. She gave her landlord and her employer notice. I already know she did none of those things here. No, she didn’t work all day, leave the shop, and decide somewhere between Madison and Fifth to just keep walking.”

“No.” Roarke laid a hand on Eve’s shoulder and rubbed. “She didn’t.”

“So.” She struggled with a yawn. “You getting anywhere with the numbers?”

“A couple of interesting things. I want to come at them from another angle, then I’ll put it together for you.”

“Sounds like a plan. Look, why don’t you pack it in for now, go on to bed? I’ll just wait for the Italian, then head in, too.”

“Not a chance. If I leave you on your own, I’ll come back in a few hours and find you facedown at your desk, snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Wake the dead.”

“I do not.” Did she?

He only smiled, then wandered off to study the Willowby side of the board. “You’ve gathered quite a bit in a short amount of time.”

“Nothing that points to where she is and why. In the Italian case, they never found the woman, or the kid.”

“They didn’t have you.” Nor had his mother, he thought. She’d had no one, and there was nothing that could change it. He turned to Eve. “Look at you. You’re running on empty, and pushing at two fronts.”

“It may already be too late for her.” She nodded at Tandy’s photo. “Pushing’s all I can do.”

When her ’link signaled, she spun around to answer. “Dallas.”

“Triveti. I am returning to you.”

His accent was thick and exotic, his face lean and handsome. “Thank you for getting back to me so quickly, Inspector.”

“I am pleased. My English,scuzi, it is small.”

“My Italian’s smaller.” She glanced toward Roarke. “I have someone with me who can help if we get in a bind. You investigated a Missing Persons case a couple years ago. A pregnant woman.”

“Sophia Belego. You have the same.”

“Tandy Willowby,” she told him, and gave him the bones of the case, with Roarke refining some of the details in Italian when the Inspector expressed confusion.

“Like yours, my Sophia, she had no close family, no ties to the city where she disappeared in. She left her—momento—her, ah banking account. It had not been used, or her credit cards, since the time of her disappearing. Her clothes, her possessions remained in her apartment. In this place, her neighbor speaks to her that morning when she is leaving. The statement says that Sophia was—what islieto ?”

“Happy,” Roarke translated.

“Si,she is happy and full of excite. She is going to see herdottore. ”

“Doctor,” Roarke translated.

“And she will shop for the baby. She sees thedottore, and is well. Healthy. Her spirits are good, and she makes theappuntamento ?”

“Appointment.”

“Appointment,” Triveti repeated, “in one week. She is very great with child, you see?”

“Yes,” Eve told him.

“But she does not shop for the baby, not in Rome. I am talking to everyone in these places. Some, they know her from other times, but not from that day. She is not seen after she leaves thedottore. There is none of her at transportation—bus, train, shuttle. There is no use of her passport, and I find it in her apartment. There are no messages, no communications that take me to leads.”

“Nothing in the hospitals, the birthing centers, the morgues?”

“Nothing. I look for the father of the child, but no one knows. Not in Rome, not in Florence. In all our efforts, she is not found.”

Using Roarke, Eve took Triveti through the steps again, squeezed out a few more details. She requested a copy of his file, and agreed to reciprocate with hers.

After, she sat frowning at the notes she’d taken. “I need to write all this up.”

“Sleep first.”

“I told the LT in MPU that I’d copy her all reports and notes. I need to—”

“You think she’s sitting by her comp waiting for your report at…” he glanced at his wrist unit, “…four forty-eight on bloody Sunday morning.”

“No, but—”

“Don’t make me haul your ass up and drag you to bed. I’m tired, and I might rap your head against the wall on the way. I’d hate to damage the paint.”

“Ha-ha. Okay, okay. Just let me try Applebee one more time. Listen, listen, if she’s gone off to see him, I can go to bed with a clear head.”

“You know damn well she hasn’t. One more, and that’s the end of it.”

“You get bitchy when you’re tired.”

“I get bitchier yet when I watch you run yourself into the ground.”

She tried Aaron again, and again got voice mail. “Damn it.”

“Bed. Sleep. Or being in a bitchy frame of mind, I might hold you down and pour a tranq into you.”

“You and what army?” She got to her feet, and the ensuing head rush told her he was right. She needed to put the circuits on pause for a few hours.

Two hours, she thought, three tops. And she glanced back at Tandy’s picture on her board as she walked out with Roarke.

“It’s harder than homicides,” she stated.

“Is it?”

“They’re already gone. You’re there to find who took their life, to find out why if you can, to build a case that will give the dead justice. But this, you just don’t know. Is she alive, dead, hurt, trapped, or did she just say screw it and walk? If she’s alive and in trouble, you can’t know how much time you have to find her. And if you don’t, not in time, she may end up being yours again, as a homicide.”

“We’re going to find her.”

Eve glanced at the bedroom clock. Seventy-one hours missing, she thought.

15

EVE CAME OUT OF THE BLANK BLACK OF EXHAUSTED sleep into a bright flash of white. There were babies crying, women screaming, and though they seemed to be all around her, she was alone in the white box. She pushed at the walls, but they were strong as steel, and all she managed was to smear bloody handprints against the white.

Looking down, she saw that her hands were covered with fresh blood.

Whose blood? she wondered, and reached for her weapon. But in her harness was only a small knife, already gorey. She recognized it—of course she did. She’d used that very knife to hack her father to death once upon a time.

If it was good enough for him, it would be good enough now.

Shifting it to a combat grip, she began to walk along the white wall.

Did they ever stop crying? she wondered. She supposed she couldn’t blame them. Babies were squeezed and pushed out of the nice, warm dark and dumped into the cold hard light of reality. With pain, she thought, and with blood. With their mothers screaming through it.

It was a tough start.

The wall angled, and she followed it as the box narrowed into a tunnel. Not unlike the morgue, she noted. Birth and death, the beginning and the end of the human journey.

Angling again, she saw Mavis stretched out on the floor.

“Hey! Hey!” But as she rushed forward, Mavis smiled, waved at her.

“I’m good, I’m fine. Next to magolicious. Just cooking the bun ’till it’s done. You better go help the others.”

“What others? Where are they?”

“That’s the big problem, right? You gotta fix it so you can get back before I pop. You remember all the stuff from the class?”

“I got an A.”

“Knew I could count on you. B-day’s coming, Dallas. Don’t be late. Tandy’s counting on you, too.”

A white stork flew overhead, a white sack swinging from its beak. Eve ducked and cursed.

“There goes another one!” Mavis laughed. “Maybe it’s Tandy’s. Better go after it, better hurry. Could be a COD!”

Eve started off at a jog, glanced back. Mavis was standing on her head, her feet propped on the white wall. “I’m keeping it in the oven until you finish.”

“That can’t be right,” Eve muttered, but chased after the stork.

In a cube built into the wall, Natalie Copperfield was tied to a desk. Her eyes were blackened and bloody and running with tears. There was a blue robe belt wrapped tight around her throat.

“It won’t add up,” she sobbed. “It won’t come out right. I have to make it right. That’s my job. They killed me for it,” she said to Eve, “but it still has to add up.”

“You have to give me more than that.”

“It’s all right there, all right there in the numbers that won’t add up. Haven’t you found her yet? Haven’t you found her?”

There was a door. Eve yanked at it, then kicked it in when it refused to give way. Inside was a white room, and Tandy, strapped to a labor/ delivery chair like the one used as a demo in the birthing class.

Blood stained the sheets, her face was shiny with sweat. Her engorged belly rippled obscenely.

“The baby’s coming,” she panted out. “I can’t stop it.”

“Where’s the doctor? Where’s the midwife?”

“I can’t stop it,” she repeated. “Hurry, hurry.”

Even as Eve ran forward, Tandy vanished.

The floor opened under her feet. As she fell, the babies were crying, the women screaming.

She landed hard, heard and felt the bone snap in her arm. The room was cold, so cold, and washed with a dirty red light.

“No.” Shuddering, she pushed to her hands and knees. “No.”

He was lying in a pool of his own blood, the same blood that dripped from her hands, from the blade of the little knife she still gripped.

And as she watched, her father turned his head, and those dead eyes smiled at her. “It always comes back to the beginning, little girl.”

She came out of it on a muffled cry to find herself wrapped in Roarke’s arms.

“Dreaming, that’s all. You’re all right. I’m here.”

“It’s okay.” She drew in his scent to steady herself. “I’m okay. It wasn’t bad.”

“You’re shaking.” He ordered the lights on low, and the fire on so the room glowed softly, and the flames burst into life in the hearth.

“It was just mostly weird. Weird and creepy.”

“Dancing numbers?” He kept his voice light, but held her close and tight. “Flying babies?”

“Not this time.” She ordered herself to relax, just relax against him. “Tangling up my cases,” she said after she told him of the dream. “And ended with the big finish. Bastard always manages to get in there.”

“Lie back down now. Let it go.”

She let him draw her back, let herself curl in. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, or to let it go. “There was this sense of urgency. I had to find Tandy, but even when I did, I couldn’t get to her. And there was Natalie Copperfield, and all I could think was that she deserved better from me. She’s trapped there, with those damn numbers, until I can fix it. Add it up. Make it come out right.”

“No point in telling you you’re spread too thin.”

“No, no point. Sorry.”

“Then let me remind you that you’re not alone in that white room, that white tunnel, or even in that goddamned room in Dallas. Not anymore.”

She tilted her head so she could see his face, lifted her hand so she could touch it. “Thank God.”

He kissed her forehead. “Well now, you managed a rousing three hours of sleep. Back on the clock, are we?”

She didn’t argue about eating a decent breakfast first. Instead she programmed a couple of whoppers herself while he dressed.

“And here’s my lovely wife, serving me breakfast on a Sunday morning.”

“You earned it.” She gave the cat a baleful stare as he meandered over from the spot of sunlight where he’d been curled. “You haven’t.” But Galahad sent her such a mournful look, she rolled her eyes, went back to the AutoChef and ordered him up some breakfast kibble and a small side of tuna.

“Played you,” Roarke said as he dug into his eggs.

“Maybe, but it’ll keep him from begging and sneaking while we eat. I’m thinking,” she began.

“As ever.”

“The Italian case, too close to mine for comfort. If they connect, it most likely puts this Applebee in the clear. And it points to someone who targets women in this situation.”

“Pregnant, no family to speak of, new city—toward the end of their term.”

“Right. And while I don’t pop out others that match just so, who’s to say there haven’t been others—women who weren’t reported missing. Or others that came through IRCCA that didn’t play out exactly the same way as these two. And if so, it could lean several ways.”

Considering, he cut into the short stack of pancakes he’d drizzled with syrup. “A long way from Rome to New York if you’re talking about someone who stalks women in this situation, abducts them. And Sophia Belego has never been found, leading to the assumption that the abductor then disposes of them.”

“Or disposes of the woman. Babies are a commodity.”

“Black market sales, slavery, illegal adoptions. Yes, a commodity they are.”

She forked up some pancakes, and though they were already swimming in syrup, dunked them in more. Across from her, Roarke actually winced.

“It should make your teeth hurt,” he commented.

“What? Oh, no it’s good.” She popped them into her mouth. “I like the sugar rush. Anyway, could be a psycho, who likes to travel, likes variety. Could be with enough digging I’ll find some strange connection between Tandy and Belego. Could be a business. Both had to be planned out. Women snatched off the street—in Belego’s case, in broad daylight. But there’s another connection. Both women started their terms in Europe.”

He watched, somewhat fascinated as she swished a slice of bacon through the pool of syrup. His steely-minded cop had the appetite of a five-year-old. “You think the root of it may be there rather than here.”

“It’s a thought. I’m going to let it circle around some while I write it up for Smith in MPU. Maybe she’ll have some thoughts on it. It’s more her area than mine.”

“Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll bring you up to date on my little project.”

“Run it by me now.”

“There’s one of the files that appears to add up, but doesn’t. Not when you peel it apart, shake it out. An outlay and an income that double back on each other, and a separate expense that pulls out of that same income again and gets funneled through yet another account—a nontaxable one, where it shouldn’t be. Not as far as I can tell, blindfolded as I am.”

“Your call.”

“So it was. There are repetitions of that, and subtle variations on it. Could be someone trying to tuck away a bit of the ready, someone hoping to avoid a bit of tax, or a little laundry.”

“How little?”

“I’m not sure yet. Thanks,” he added when she topped off his coffee, then her own. “It’s cleverly done, and I’ll need to peek under a few more covers. But it’s considerable.”

“Ballpark?”

“So far, mid–seven figures, for the time frame I’m working with.”

“Millions then?”

“So it seems.” He brushed a hand over her hair. “Motive enough, I’d think, for two murders.”

“A handful of credits dropped in the gutter’s enough motive for some. But yeah, for this type of thing, motive enough. Why don’t you let me have a look so I can match it with the client?”

“Why don’t you let me finish first?”

“You’re working blind, so I work blind, too?”

“Now, would I be that small and petty?” He considered a moment. “I might be, but in this case, I’d just rather put it all together first. Not as if you’ve nothing to do in the meanwhile.”

True enough, she thought. “I’m calling some more hands and eyes.”

“We work on Sunday, so everyone does?”

“Would I be that small and petty?”

He grinned, and this time patted her hand. “Peas and pods. If you’re pulling in troops, Lieutenant, I could make use of McNab.”

“You’ll have him,” she said, and sitting back laid a hand on her stomach. “I think I feel a little sick.”

“Small wonder after you sucked down a liter of maple syrup.”

“Couldn’t have been that much.” But she thought she could almost hear it swish inside her as she turned to her ’link.

She had a message from the garage manager on Fifty-eighth. The discs were wiped—that was a dead end.

She’d barely finished waking up cops and moving into her office when Mavis walked in with Leonardo.

“I knew you’d be working.” With shadows dogging her eyes, Mavis gripped Leonardo’s hand. “See, I told you she’d be working. Have you found anything?”

“I’m talking to people. I told you I’d let you know as soon as something broke.”

“I know. But…”

“She barely slept all night,” Leonardo put in. “She wouldn’t eat this morning.”

“I’m standing right here,” Mavis said irritably. “Don’t talk like I’m stupid.” She pulled away from him. “I can’t think about anything else. How could I? I should be able to help. There has to be something I can do.”

“You can go home and let me do my job.”

“Don’t you talk to me that way either,” Mavis snapped. “Like I’m defective or whatever just because I’m pregnant. Tandy’s my friend, and she’s in trouble. I’m not going to sit home and do nothing.”

“Why don’t you sit here then,” Roarke began, and she rounded on him.

“I don’tneed to sit. Do you see these?” She pointed down at purple gel-sole boots. “They call them feet, and I can stand on them. The next person, thenext who says I should sit down, or lie down, or eat is going to get bloody.”

There was absolute silence as three people eyed Mavis as if she were a homemade boomer with a questionable fuse.

“I’m strong and I’m healthy.” She took an audible breath. “And I’m not sitting home on my fat, knocked-up ass while Tandy’s missing. Look at you.” She jabbed her finger at Eve now. “You think I can’t look at you and see you haven’t slept either? You think I don’t know I asked you for a major? If you were in my place, you wouldn’t be brushed off either.”

“I can’t be in your place as I don’t have a fat, knocked-up ass to sit on. Yeah, you asked me for a major, and if you want me to come through on it, you’ll sit down, shut up, and let me work. Bitch.”

There was a second moment of humming silence as color flooded into Mavis’s face. Then she jerked up her chin. “That’s über bitch to you.” Now she sat, and the room seemed to sigh in relief. “I’m sorry.” Mavis pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I’m sorry. Multiple apologies all around. Don’t make me go home. Please.” She dropped her hands. “Please give me something to do.”

“You can write up the time line from my notes for my report. And you can make coffee.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“I could make the coffee.” Leonardo glanced at Mavis. “I’d like something to do, too.”

Mavis reached for his hand, then pressed it to her cheek. “Maybe you could make me one of your special breakfast frappés.” When he leaned down to kiss her, she took his wide face in her hands. “You’re the best thing that ever was, and I’m so sorry.”

“Now that we’ve all kissed and made up…” Eve began.

“I haven’t kissed you yet. Or you,” Mavis added with a flirty smile for Roarke.

He responded by crossing to her and brushing his lips over hers.

“Maybe we could all get something done,” Eve finished. “Roarke, I’ll pass McNab on to you as soon as they get here. Leonardo, make the coffee strong and black.” Eve rose as the men moved in opposite directions, then rolled her auxiliary computer to where Mavis sat.

“Thanks for calling me a bitch. I needed it.”

“Anytime.”

“Dallas, would you tell me what you know?”

Eve ran through it briefly while she set up the comp so Mavis could work.

“You found out so much already, so much I didn’t know. I guess Tandy and I were always talking about now, and tomorrow. She didn’t go into yesterday. Do you think…maybe do you think she and the baby’s father got together? Maybe they’re just taking a couple days alone?”

“I’m going to try to contact him again. We’ll find out.”

“Dallas? Whatever happens with this, I want you to know I’m really grateful. And I love you.”