Indulgence in Death (26 page)

“Fucking A.”

“Ditto. I’ve got some lines out to bullwhip experts and instructors. There’s more of them than you’d think.”

“Go to Australia.”

“Thanks. I’ve always wanted to.”

“On the C&D. The whip was kanga-fucking-roo. Maybe Dudley took his lessons from whoever made the bastard. Add in handmade kanga-fucking-roo bullwhips.”

“I’ll run a search now, but it’s going to be close, Dallas, if you want me in here for the briefing.”

“Get it started, but be here. Put everything you’ve got together, and make it succinct. We’ve got some selling to do.”

When they left she rose to go to the room’s AutoChef for another hit of coffee and remembered she’d neglected to load it with the real thing she’d become spoiled by.

“Shit. Sometimes you just got to suck it up. Or down.”

She programmed an extralarge, black. And when the scent hit, she smiled. It was loaded with her brand. “Peabody, it really must be love.”

She gulped some down, ignored the jitter in her belly from caffeine overload, as Feeney came in. “Got your ninety percent. Ninety-point-one, and you ain’t going to get better. Give me that.”

He grabbed the coffee, drank it like a camel at an oasis. And he eyed her over the rim. “Maybe you need this more than I do. You don’t look like you’ve slept in a week.”

“Four dead, Feeney, in less than that. And those?” She gestured to the side of the board where she’d put the other victims. “All of those, too, from before. Their practice sessions. There could be another face up there tonight, or tomorrow. And what’ve I got?”

She pushed at her hair, pressed on her eyes. “It’s like weaving cobwebs together. A few strands of . . . whatever’s stronger than cobwebs. What I’ve got points to motive, method, opportunity, but it doesn’t hit the bull’s-eye. And I have to convince the PA and Whitney that it does, that it will.”

“You believe you can make it stick?” When she hesitated, he jabbed her shoulder.

“Ow.”

“You better fucking believe it or they won’t. Don’t waste my time here, or everybody else’s.”

“I know it. I know it. I’m tired. Half punchy, half twitchy.”

“I’d tell you to take a booster but you’ve probably had a cargo hold of coffee already.” He took a long, merciless study. “Go . . . do something with your face.”

“Huh?”

“Whatever it is your kind does. It’s one thing to look overworked, and another to look wrung out when you’re trying to pull a warrant this way.”

“You think because I have a vagina I cart around face enhancers?”

“Jesus, Dallas, you don’t have to use language like that. Borrow some, for Christ’s sake. You don’t want them looking at you thinking, ‘Man, Dallas needs some sleep.’ You want them focused on what you show them.”

“Fine. Fine. Crap.” She yanked out her communicator. “Peabody, put this on private.”

“What? Is there a break?”

“Are we private?”

“Yeah, what—”

“Do you have any face gunk?”

“Ah . . . sure. I got a supply in my desk for—what’s wrong with my face?”

“It’s for me. And if you say a word, if you breathe a syllable, I’ll rip your tongue out with my bare hands and feed it to the first rabid dog I find. Meet me in the bathroom, and bring the crap.” She clicked off. “Satisfied?” she demanded of Feeney, and stomped out.

It only took about five minutes, and that with Peabody trying to offer advice and instruction. The first thing she did was put her head in the sink, grit her teeth, and turn the water on full and cold.

It shocked the edge of fatigue away.

She toned down the circles under her eyes, added some color to cheeks she had to admit looked pasty and pale.

“That’s it.”

“I’ve got some nice lip dyes, and this mag eyeliner, and some—”

“That’s it,” Eve repeated, and raking her fingers through her wet hair, headed back to the conference room.

The scent of food hit the empty pit of her stomach. In the few minutes she’d been gone, someone had brought in another table and loaded it with paninis, subs, pizza.

Roarke picked up a panini, held it out. “Eat. You’ll think more clearly. And later, you can have a cookie.”

She didn’t argue, but took a huge bite. And just closed her eyes. “Okay. Good. You got cookies?”

“It seemed apt. Now take this blocker. No point going into this with a headache. Just a blocker,” he added, popping the little pill in her mouth, then handing her a bottle of water. “Hydrate.”

“Jesus. Cut it out.” She guzzled water, took another bite of panini. “I’m in charge here.”

He tugged a damp lock of her hair. “And it suits you. Your bullpen’s buzzing.”

“I need five minutes of quiet before—”

“Food!” McNab, who probably smelled pizza in EDD, led the charge.

“Take your five,” Roarke told her, and she nodded.

She settled for crossing to the windows, and blocking out the sound of cops pouncing on a bonanza of free food.

When she heard the commander’s voice, she turned. Mira came in, walked straight to her. “I wasn’t able to get away sooner.”

“Were you able to review any of what I sent you?”

“I read all of it. You make a number of persuasive points. If we could take another hour, I think we could refine several of them.”

“It’s already midday on a Friday. In July, when half the people who live here go somewhere else for the weekend. I’ve got to lay this out for Reo, have her convince a judge to issue warrants. I want to get it down before the end of business. We’re just waiting for her now, so . . . and there she is. I’m going to get started.”

She moved to the center of the room. “Officers, Detectives, take your seats. If you’re going to continue to gorge, do so quietly. Commander, thank you for taking the time.”

He nodded, took a seat. He had two slices of pizza on a plate and looked . . . guilty, she realized, and wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“The wife doesn’t like him eating between meals,” Feeney muttered in her ear.

“I thought I’d missed lunch.” Reo chose a seat, nibbled on half a panini.

Eve let the murmurs, the shifting, the laughter run on for a moment. Let them settle. She glanced at Roarke. He hadn’t sat, but stood leaning against the wall by the windows.

She walked over, shut the conference room door, then moved back to the center of the room.

“I’d like to bring everyone’s attention to the board.” She used a laser pointer, highlighting each photo. “Bristow, Melly, Zimbabwe, Africa,” she began, and named them all.

“All of these people were killed by Winston Dudley and Sylvester Moriarity. I know that with absolute certainty, just as I know with absolute certainty that they will kill again if they aren’t stopped.”

She let that sink in, just two beats of silence.

“Detective Peabody and I have built a case that I believe is substantial enough for search warrants for the suspects’ homes and businesses and vehicles. With the murder of Adrianne Jonas, Detectives Reineke and Jenkinson joined the investigative team. Earlier this afternoon, I assigned every officer in this room specific tasks relating to this investigation. Together, we’ve built a stronger, wider case. We’ve correlated with EDD, Doctor Mira, and the expert consultant, civilian.

“Bristow, Melly,” she said again, and ordered the data on-screen.

It took time, but she couldn’t rush it. She walked them through every victim, every connection, every overlap. She called on each member of the team to present his or her findings, then connected those.

“The shoes.” Reo gestured. “How many sold, that size and color?”

“Peabody.”

“Three pair, from New York merchants. I’ve verified one of the buyers was in New Zealand at the time of the murder. The other lives in Pennsylvania, is eighty-three years of age. Though I can’t absolutely confirm his whereabouts at the time in question, he doesn’t fit the height or body type from the image EDD was able to access from park security. He’s six inches shorter, at least twenty pounds lighter.”

“Okay, that’s good. But worldwide there would be more, and that’s what the defense would point out.”

“Less than seventy-five pair sold as of the date of the murder,” Eve said. “Peabody’s already eliminated forty-three.”

“Forty-six now, sir.”

“I’ll take those odds.”

“The alibis,” Reo began. As she and Eve debated, Baxter’s ’link signaled. He glanced at the ID, held up a finger to Eve, and walked out of the room.

“Some people swear they were there the whole time,” Eve continued. “Some state they don’t remember seeing one or both of them for long periods. Others just don’t remember one way or the other. If you can’t break that flimsy an alibi, you’re not doing your job.”

“You don’t want to tell me my job,” Reo shot back. “I’m doing my job by questioning every aspect of this. If you go after these two before we’re solid, they could slip through. My boss isn’t going to go for arrests on this unless he believes he can convict. These are wealthy men, who can afford an army of very slick attorneys.”

“I don’t care if they’re—”

“Lieutenant.” Baxter stepped back in. “Sorry to interrupt. I need a minute.”

She walked to him, listened, nodded. “Tell the room.”

“I just got off the ’link with one of the most respected and renowned makers of whips—that’s your bull, your snake, and so on. He verifies making the murder weapon for a Leona Bloom—who was buying it as a gift for a friend. Buying the whip and a package of lessons. The whip guy keeps very specific records as he takes large pride in his work. The lessons were given to Winston Dudley the Fourth six years ago, in Sydney.”

“That’s good,” Reo said.

“Whip guy remembers Dudley,” Baxter continued. “Remembers he took the lessons seriously. He not only took the package, but added to it with another round of lessons. Whip guy says Dudley was damn good with a whip by the end of it.”

“That’s very, very good,” Reo added.

“It’s bull’s-eye,” Eve countered. “What do you need, to actually see them kill somebody? We can link the weapons to the men, the victims to the men. Moriarity’s going to have the crossbow and harpoon gun, Dudley’s still got the sheath he used for the bayonet. Believe it. A case for the whip. They’d want part of the weapon to keep, to gloat over.

“There’s no way to know who they’ve targeted next, but there will be a target.” She pressed that button, pressed it hard. “These are addictive personalities, and they won’t stop. They can’t stop,” Eve insisted. “They like it too much, and they’re at tie score. They won’t stop until one of them misses, and even then, they won’t stop. After an entire life of playing at work, at playing at sport, at just goddamn playing, they’ve found something they’re really good at, something that they can share as intimately as lovers. The people they kill are only important because they’re important—but every one of the victims lack what these men would see as their pedigree, their privilege to be important by birth.

“They’re addicts,” she repeated, “and won’t give up this drug. And they’re freaking soul mates, so they won’t give up this union. They may take it elsewhere—Europe, South America, Asia, mix their pie a little when they’re bored of New York.”

“I think they’ll stay until they’ve finished this particular contest.” Mira spoke quietly. “I agree with the lieutenant’s evaluation. These men need to feed their desires, their whims, their sense of intimacy with each other. They need to indulge themselves, and this is their ultimate competition, and partnership. They work together, even as they compete. Killing two people, one after another, using the same alibi would have been yet another kind of rush. A new thrill, and codependency. They may continue that pattern, or escalate. And once again kill together. I believe that’s how they plan to indulge themselves with you, Eve.”

21

HE’D WONDERED IF SHE’D FOLLOWED THOSE dots, but Roarke could see now she hadn’t gone there. Oh, her ego was healthy enough, but it simply hadn’t clicked how precisely she fit their victim profile.

She was the best at what she did, and well known for it, particularly well with the success of Nadine’s book. She’d made herself what she was.

She wasn’t for hire in a technical sense, but she served.

And the connection, well fuck it all, it was through him, wasn’t it?

She was going there now, and bloody buggering hell she was considering how she could use it, use herself.

“It’s your opinion I’m a target,” Eve said to Mira.

“It’s my opinion that you’re not only a perfect fit, but would be, to them, the ultimate prey. Their timing of the first murder played the odds, and they were good ones, that you would catch the case,” Mira reminded her. “If you hadn’t, you would certainly have been involved in some manner by the second murder, which also connected to Roarke through its location. You fit their target requirements. You’re known to be one of the best in your field, a field of service. You’ve gained notoriety for what you do.”

“I don’t have any past connection with them.” But even as she said it, she glanced at Roarke.

“Of course you do,” he said, equably, “because I do. My business dealings and theirs have crossed in the past. They have reason, if they take such matters personally, to resent me for some of those dealings.”

She hooked her thumbs in her front pockets. “Why not go for you?”

He smiled. “Wouldn’t that be entertaining? I don’t fit,” he added. “I don’t provide a service, nor am I for sale. Protect and serve, Lieutenant, for which you draw a salary. And if you’d think as they do for a moment rather than grinding those gears wondering how you could set yourself up as bait, you’d see you’re an indulgence. Mine. From their perspective, I bought and paid for you. Mind you don’t sputter.”

He felt her fury, the hot burst of it, and continued to lean against the wall and watch her.

She pulled it in—he had to admire the strength of will—and simply nodded.

“I’d like to give this some thought, discuss it further, but detailing the investigation, thus far, and getting the warrants are the priority and purpose here. Do you have enough to take to your boss, Reo?”

“I’ll take it to him, and I’ll push.” Reo sat where she was, scanning the boards and screens. “You’ve got a mountain of circumstantial here that adds up to a solid argument for the search warrants. You’re shy of arrest—and you know it,” she added. “You’ve convinced me, and I’ll convince the PA. Convincing a judge to issue the warrants to search the homes of two men with no priors, with their pedigree, their connections and influence, that’s going to be work, and it’s going to take time.”

She rose. “So I’d better get started. It’s damn good work, all around. I’ll be in touch.”

“Let’s add to the mountain,” Eve said as Reo walked out. “Dig, push, wheedle, finesse. We’re going to pile it on, and we’re going to bring them in. Get back to work. Doctor Mira,” she continued as cops surged to their feet, “if I could have a few minutes. Commander, I’ll keep you fully updated and informed.”

“I believe I’ll stay.”

“Yes, sir. Peabody, coordinate the—”

“If my partner’s thinking about sticking herself on a hook, I’m going to be in on the strategy session.”

“Bait needs an e-team.” Feeney chose a pickle from the food table, crunched in.

“I’m not, at this time, planning any such operation.” She felt, literally, squeezed in. “It would be backup only, if Reo doesn’t get the warrants. I believe she will, so everybody can just stop hovering. Apologies, Commander.”

“Unnecessary.”

“Doctor Mira, if I’m a target, it’s likely they’ve already chosen the location and weapon, if not the time.”

“I agree. It would be my belief that you would be their endgame, at least here in New York, and at least for this phase of the contest. Everything points to their enjoyment of the competition, its results, so it’s unlikely they’ve positioned you for the last round. But—”

“If and when we get the search warrants, that would change the complexion of things.” Eve nodded. “It would piss them off, and it would challenge them. They’d want to go at me sooner.”

“I’d have to agree. They’ve left pieces of themselves at the scenes—the weapons. They’ve connected themselves to the murders, indirectly, to ensure you would have contact with them. While they compete with each other, they’re competing against you, as a team.”

“And they cheat.” Roarke took a bottle of water from the table.

“And when they tried that on you, you beat them. A golf thing,” Eve said with a shrug. “I’m not convinced you wouldn’t be a more exciting target. You’re not in service, fine, but you employ a universe of people who are. You’re already a competitor, and one they dislike because you had the nerve to build a fortune instead of inheriting one. It’s a pretty fair bet you’ve been involved with some of the women they’ve been involved with.”

He took a slow sip of water. “I’ll just say my taste has improved. Then point out what you should know very well. There’s no better way to strike at me than by murdering my wife.”

“The one you bought and paid for?”

Well now, that grated her ass, didn’t it? he mused. And for some perverse reason her reaction banked the embers of his own temper.

“Yes, to their minds. They don’t understand you, or me for that matter. And they certainly don’t understand love. Would you agree, Doctor Mira?”

“I would. And they prefer killing women. You can judge the ratio.” Mira gestured to the board. “They’ve killed men, and certainly will continue to if not stopped. But women are the preferred target, as both of them consider women something to be used, something disposable. Something less.”

“Dudley particularly,” Eve commented. “He surrounds himself with them. It’s like a harem. Okay.” She nodded again as her mind took a few leaps forward. “We’ll need to put something in place. The search warrants may be enough to push me to the head of the line, but we can work something that ups that time frame.”

“But if you wait for Reo to come through,” Peabody protested, “we’d have more time to work out the strategy, the backup.”

Feeney shook his head. “She fronts the play, they react. That puts them on defense. They have to rush their move, and while they’re pissed off. They don’t maneuver her into a situation, because she’s maneuvering them. We can get eyes and ears on you.”

“I’ve got this.” Eve held up her wrist, and Feeney’s eyes narrowed.

“Let me see that. Take it off,” he told her when she held her arm out. “I’m not going to pocket it.”

When she obliged him, he took it off to a chair to examine.

“I confront them. I’m pissed off.” Eve tapped a hand to her chest. “All these bodies piling up, and two in one day. I’m the best, right, and they’re running circles around me. I know they’re involved,” she continued as she began to pace. “I’ve got all these arrows pointing, but they’re racking up the points while I’m spinning. Makes me look incompetent.”

She could work this, she realized. Yes, she could work it.

“My commander’s on my ass, my husband’s getting testy with the hours I’m putting in. I’m starting to look like an idiot and I don’t like it. I’m going to light some fires.”

“How much will you give them?” Whitney asked her.

“Just what they’ve given me. The surface connections, but I need to make it personal. Them, me. Budget’s stretched,” she decided. “Yeah. I can’t access the resources through the department, but I’ll use my own money to get those resources outside the department. Don’t you know who I am? Don’t you know I’ve got more money than the two of you put together? That’ll speak to them, won’t it?” she asked Mira. “He bought me, but now I can get my hands on billions as long as I bang him when he wants it.”

“A fool and his money,” Roarke murmured, amused despite himself.

Mira let out a little sigh. “I would say it’s their probable view of your relationship.”

“And I’d say this no longer sounds like a backup plan,” Roarke put in.

“Feeney’s right, I front the play. I can time it. Hit them after I know, or am reasonably sure, we’re going to get the warrants, but before we serve them. It’s just adding incentive for them to move up their timetable. We sting them right,” she insisted, and Roarke understood she was pushing to get him in her corner, “they go after me, they go after a cop, they’re done. Their high-priced lawyers, their family fortunes, their goddamn pedigrees aren’t going to keep them out of a cage for the rest of their lives.”

“Is that what worries you?” he asked. “That even with the case you’ve built, even with the evidence you believe you’ll gather with the warrants, they’ll slip through the system?”

“They worry me.” In one sharp move, she pointed to the board, to the faces of the dead. “The chance I’ll have to put another up there worries me.”

He watched her realize she’d let her emotions spike, let them show in front of her superior. And he watched her draw them down again, draw them in.

“They want me up there,” she said in a tone both cool and flat, “so we’ll make them want me up there sooner.”

“You know, I’ve been working on something like this off and on.” Feeney continued to study the wrist unit as his casual comment defused the charged air. “This one’s nice and compact, got more bells and whistles than I’d worked out.”

He glanced up, his gaze flicking over Roarke before homing in on Eve. “What would be prime is if you run into them—the both of you—someplace. Public place. Restaurant, club, like that. That’s what fries you, see, trying to get a little downtime, and there they are in your face. Maybe you’re already pissy, having a spat with Roarke, and that just shoves you over the line. That way it comes off impulse. Like you just lost it there for a minute.”

“That is prime,” Eve agreed.

“I’ve got moments.” Feeney rose, handed the unit back to Eve, looked at Roarke. “That’s nice work.”

“Thanks.”

“Peabody, see if you can find out where they’re going to be tonight. At least one of them. Friday night . . . they’re not going to sit at home playing mah-jongg.”

“It’ll be easier and quicker for me to find out.” Roarke took out his ’link, walked away.

“Still want eyes and ears on you,” Feeney told her.

“Fine.” She stuck her hands in her pockets as she tracked Roarke out of the room.

“You keep them on, unless you’re locked up in that fortress you live in, or you’re working toward getting your hands on some billions.”

“What . . .” It struck her. “Jesus, Feeney.”

“You started it. I’ll start setting it up.”

“I want two officers on you at all times. That starts now,” Whitney added.

“McNab and I will take tonight.”

“They’ve seen you,” Eve reminded Peabody.

“They won’t make me.”

Mira slipped out, waiting until Roarke put his ’link away.

“I’m going to apologize to you,” she began. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, keep my opinion to myself, even knowing how she’d react, what she’d do. But I’m sorry.”

“I’m obliged to accept what she does. What she is,” he added, reminding himself that she, in turn, accepted him. Hardly realizing he did so, he slid a hand into his pocket, found the button he carried there. That tiny piece of her. “That obligation started when I fell in love with her, and was sealed when I married her. Before you told her, I’d been engaged in a vicious internal debate about telling her myself.”

“I see.”

He held her gaze for a long moment. “I don’t know which side of me would’ve won.”

“I do. You’d have told her, then had your argument over her reaction in private.”

“I expect you’re right.”

“What troubles you more? What she’s planning to do, or the fact that she’s in the position of doing it because her connection to you qualified her?”

“Toss-up. They have utter contempt for me, and enjoy letting it show. Just enough. I suppose they think I’d be insulted, or have my feelings hurt.”

“As you said, they don’t understand you.”

“If they did, they’d have tried to kill her already. They think killing her will inconvenience me, certainly disrupt my personal and professional lives for a bit, cause me some distress.”

He turned the button in his fingers. “They’d enjoy all of that. If they knew losing her would destroy me in levels they can’t imagine, they’d cut her into pieces and bathe in her blood.”

“No.” Eve spoke from the doorway. “No, they wouldn’t because I’m better than they are. They can’t beat me, and they sure as hell can’t beat us. Can you give us a minute?” she asked Mira.

“Yes.” She touched Roarke’s arm before she went back inside the conference room.

“Do you really think those two trust-fund fuckwits could take me down?”

Oh aye,
he thought, her ego was healthy enough—so was her temper. But by God, so was his. “Think, no. But neither would I have thought those two trust-fund fuckwits could or would murder nine people or more, and have the NYPSD chasing their tails.”

“Chasing our . . .” Fury erupted. He’d have sworn his skin singed in the hot flow of its lava. “Is that what you call this? Is that what you call putting a solid case together in under a week? Making connections that tie them up out of sweat and sleepless nights and solid, consistent police work? Chasing our tails?”

“So solid a case you’re about to paint a target on your back rather than trust that solid case and police work.”

“This is police work, goddamn it. This is the job, and you know it. You knew it from the jump, and if you can’t back me when—”

“Stop there,” he warned her. “I haven’t said I wouldn’t back you, but I won’t be pushed into it.”

“I don’t have time to ease into it, to debate and discuss. I didn’t put it together, and I should have. I didn’t see it until Mira pointed it out, and it should’ve been flashing like fucking neon in my brain. I’ll know who their next target is if it’s me, and I won’t have to stand over somebody else I couldn’t save.”

“I understand that, and you, very well.” Christ, he was tired. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been so bloody knackered. “Do you really expect me to have no concerns, no worries, no dark thoughts? Reverse it. I’m putting myself up as bait. What do you do?”