Judgment in Death (28 page)

Roarke rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. "The cops who've been killed. For Christ's sake, Ricker, you're behind that?"

"And there'll be more before it's done. It amuses me."

"I don't want any part in cop killing. They'll bury you."

"Don't be ridiculous. They'll never touch me. I didn't kill anyone. I simply put the idea in the right head, the weapon in the most vulnerable hand. Just a game. You remember how fond I am of games? And how I enjoy winning them."

"Yes, I remember. No one did it better. How did you pull this off?"

"Arrangements, Roarke. I enjoy arrangements and watching how the pieces fall into place."

"I sleep with a woman in the department, and I can't get that close." Roarke's voice filled with admiration. "I underestimated you. It must have taken years to set up."

"Months. Only a few months. It's simply a matter of selecting the right target. A young cop, too stiff-necked to play the game. Eliminating him is simple enough, but the beauty is how it can be connected, how it can be expanded upon by planting the seeds in the heart of the grieving father. Then I simply sit back and watch a once-dedicated cop kill. Again and again. And it costs me nothing."

"Brilliant," Roarke murmured.

"Yes, and satisfying. Best, I can do it again, any time I like. Murder by proxy. No one's safe, certainly not you. Transfer the money, and until the wind changes, I'll protect you. And your wife."

"That was twenty million?"

"For the moment."

"A bargain," Roarke said quietly, brought the hand he'd slipped under the table, under his jacket back into view. And the gun with it. "But I find the idea of doing business with you turns my stomach. Oh, tell your man to hold, or it'll give me great pleasure to use this. Recognize it, Ricker? It's one of the banned weapons you trafficked in, years back. I have quite a collection of twentieth-century handguns -- and a collector's license. They leave a horrible nasty hole in a man. This one's a nine-millimeter Glock and will blow your face right off the skull."

The shock of having a weapon aimed at him robbed Ricker of speech. It had been years, a lifetime, since anyone had dared. "You've lost your mind."

"No, indeed. Mine's sound enough." He slapped a hand on Ricker's wrist, twisted viciously until the laser scalpel fit into his own palm. "You always had a weakness for sharp things."

"You'll die painfully for this. Painfully. Do you think you'll walk out of this place breathing?"

"Certainly. Ah, there's my wife now. Lovely, isn't she? And by the sound of things through the scanner your inferior sweepers missed, it appears your team of fools is even now being rounded up and moved along."

He waited while Ricker focused beyond him, through the dome, and saw for himself.

"One of us has lost his touch, Ricker, and it appears to be you. I set you up, and it was child's play."

"For a cop." Eyes wild, Ricker leaped to his feet. "You rolled on me for a cop."

"I'd have done it for a mongrel dog, given half the chance. Ah, please, try for it," Roarke murmured. "And make my life worth living."

"Enough. Roarke, back off." Eve opened the door to the booth, slid her police issue into Ricker's ribs.

"You're dead. You're both dead." He whirled, backhanded Eve as he leaped. She took the blow and dropped him.

"Tell me you had it on full."

"He's stunned, that's all." She wiped the blood from her mouth with her sleeve and ignored the scramble of people who rushed away from the trouble. Onstage, the strippers continued to dance.

Roarke handed her a handkerchief, then reached down, lifting Ricker's head off the floor by his throat.

"Don't -- "

"Keep back," he snapped as Eve crouched to hold him off. "You'll bloody well keep back till I've finished this."

"If you kill him, it's been for nothing."

He stared at her face, and all the strength, the purpose, all the danger he hadn't shown to Ricker leaped out of them. "It would be for everything, but I don't mean to kill him." To prove it, he handed her the Glock.

But he kept the scalpel and, holding its keen point to the pulse in Ricker's throat, imagined. "You can hear me, can't you, Ricker? You can hear me well enough. I'm the one who took you down, and you'll remember it while you're pacing the box they'll put you in. You'll think of it every day with what's left of your mind."

"Kill you," Ricker choked out, but he couldn't so much as lift his hand.

"Well, you haven't managed that as yet, have you? But you're welcome to try again. Listen to me now, and carefully. Touch her, put your hand on what's mine again, and I'll follow you to hell and peel the skin from your bones. I'll feed you your own eyes. I take an oath on it. Remember what I was, and you'll know I'll do it. And worse."

He straightened again, his body rigid. "Get someone to drag him out of here. This is my place."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

She didn't sleep long, but she slept deeply, knowing Ricker was in a cage. He'd screamed for his lawyer, quite literally, once the effects of the stun had worn off.

Since she'd whipped right around and dumped Canarde in a cage as well, Ricker's lawyer was going to be a very busy boy for awhile.

She'd made two copies of every record disc of the operation in Purgatory. She sealed all of them, and secured one copy in her home office.

There would be no lost evidence, no missing data, no damaged files this time around.

And they had him cold.

She told herself it was enough, would have to be enough, then had tumbled into bed. She switched off like a frayed circuit, then came awake with a jolt when Roarke put a hand on her shoulder and said her name.

"What." Instinctively, she reached down where her weapon would have been had she not been naked.

"Easy, Lieutenant. I'm unarmed. And so are you."

"I was... whoa." She shook her head to clear it. "Out."

"I noticed. I'm sorry to wake you."

"Why are you up? Why are you dressed? What time is it?"

"A bit past seven. I had some early calls to take. And while I was at it, one came in. From the hospital."

"Webster," she whispered. She hadn't checked on him the night before after the operation was complete. And now... too late, she thought.

"He's awake," Roarke continued, "and it seems he'd like to see you."

"Awake? Alive and awake?"

"Apparently both. He improved last night. He's still in serious condition, but stable. They're cautiously hopeful. I'll take you."

"You don't need to do that."

"I'd like to. Besides, if he thinks I'm guarding my territory..." He lifted her hand, nipped the knuckle. "It might cheer him up."

"Territory, my ass."

"Your ass is, I'll point out, my exclusive territory."

She tossed the cover aside, and gave him a good view of that territory as she dashed toward the shower. "I'll be ready in ten minutes."

"Take your time. I don't believe he's going anywhere."

She took twenty, because he bribed her with coffee. And she indulged in a second cup as he got behind the wheel. "Do we take him flowers or something?"

"I think not. If you did that, the shock would likely put him back in a coma."

"You're such a funny guy, and so early in the morning, too." She sipped her coffee, bided her time. "That, urn, phrase -- feed you your own eyes? Is that some kind of Irish curse?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"So you just made it up on the spot last night? I've said it before, and I'll say it again: You're scary."

"I'd have killed him for striking you if you hadn't been in the way."

"I know it." So she'd made certain she'd stayed in the way. "You had no business bringing that handgun. Carrying a banned weapon into a public place. You know how much dancing I'm going to have to do on that one?"

"Who says it was loaded?"

"Was it?"

"Of course, but who's to say? Relax, Lieutenant. You brought him down."

"No, I didn't. You did."

"Compromise," he decided. "Which we've neglected to do just lately. We brought him down."

"I'll take that. One more thing. All that business about a man having this right and that right, and wanting your woman when you want her. That was just show, right?"

"Are you going to share that coffee?"

She moved it just a little farther out of reach. "No. It was just show. Right?"

"Well, now, let me think. It might be nice to have the little woman puttering about the house and meeting me at the door of an evening, after a hard day's business, with a smile and a drink. That's a lovely image, isn't it?"

He turned to see her snarling at him and laughed. "How long before we'd be bored brainless with it, do you figure?"

"It's a good thing you said that before I wasted this very nice coffee by pouring it into your lap. But I'm still not sharing it."

When they turned into hospital parking, she shifted on her seat to face him. "It's going to take several days to close this Ricker business and hand it over to the PA. His psych evaluation is going to be one big mess, seeing as he's loon crazy."

"He'll end up in a mental defective prison unit."

"Oh yeah, and believe me, they're no picnic. Anyway, we've got a lot of people to interview, and I can't calculate how many of his businesses and properties to search and seize. I'm letting Martinez take the bulk of it, but I'm still going to be tied up for awhile. If you can put off the trip you need to take to Olympus, I'd like to go with you."

He pulled into a slot, stopped the car. "You'd voluntarily take off several days? Not only that, but go off planet without me having to drug you?"

"I said I'd like to go with you. If you're going to make a big deal out of it, we can just -- "

"Quiet down." He leaned over, kissed her sulky mouth. "I'll put it off until we can go together."

"Okay. Good." She climbed out of the car. Stretched. "Look, there's some whattayacallems."

"Daffodils," he said and caught her hand in his. "Daffodils, Eve. It's spring."

"Finally feels like it, too."

She kept her hand in his as they walked into the hospital, and all the way to Webster's tiny room.

His face wasn't gray as it had been the last time she'd been there, but it wasn't pink with health, either. Instead, it was as white as the bandages stretched across his chest.

She felt a trip of alarm cut into her cheerful mood as he lay, silent and still.

"I thought they said he was awake."

Even as she said it, in a sickroom whisper, Webster's eyes fluttered open. They stayed dazed for a moment with the baffled, vulnerable look of the very ill. Then, as they focused the faintest glint of humor shot into them. "Hey."

She had to step closer; his voice was pitifully thin.

"You didn't have to bring the guard dog. I'm too weak to make a half-decent pass at you."

"You never worried me in that area, Webster."

"I know. Damn it. Thanks for coming."

"It's okay. It's not much out of my way."

He started to laugh, lost his breath, then just lay there concentrating on finding it again.

"You stupid bastard." She said it with enough passion to bring that baffled look back on his face.

"Huh?"

"You think I can't handle myself? That I need some idiot IAB moron half-ass to knock me down and stick out his chest for a knife?"

"No." The humor was coming back. "I don't know what got into me."

"If you'd stuck with the streets instead of getting fat and happy behind a stupid desk, you wouldn't be lying here. And when you're on your feet, I'm going to put you right back in the hospital."

"That'll be fun. Give me something to look forward to. Did you get him? They won't tell me a damn thing in here."

"No. No, I didn't get him."

"Shit." He closed his eyes again. "That's on me."

"Oh, shut up." She stalked to the tiny window, fisted her hands on her hips, while she tried to calm down.

In her place, Roarke moved to the side of the bed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

And that was all they needed to say on the subject.

"We got Ricker," Eve continued, as her anger abated. "Took him down last night."

"What? How?" Webster tried to sit up, couldn't even lift his head. And swore with as much energy as he could muster.

"It's a long story. I'll fill you in some other time. But we got him, solid, and have his lawyer on the hot seat for good measure, and a dozen of his men."

She turned back, walked to the bed. "He's going to stay in MD status by the looks of things, and we're going to take his organization apart, piece by piece."

"I can help. Do some of the data searches, run scans. Let me in on this. I'll go crazy in here with nothing to do."

"Stop, you're breaking my heart." Then she shrugged. "I'll think about it."

"Come on, you know you'll cave on it. You feel sorry for me." He managed a grin. "And I should tell you, both of you, so there's no baggage, I'm pretty much on the way to getting over you."

"That really adds to my peace of mind, Webster."

"It does a lot for mine. Only took getting sliced in half, more or less. Nothing like a good coma to give a guy the opportunity to put things in perspective."

His eyes drooped, nearly shut before he fought them open again. "Man, the meds just knock you out."

"So, get some sleep. Word gets out you're coming around, you'll have plenty of company. You'll need all the rest you can manage."

"Yeah, but wait." He was losing it, struggling to hold out another minute. "I gotta ask you a question. Did you come in before?"

"Before what?"

"Come on, Dallas. Before now. Did you come in and talk to me?"

"Maybe I dropped in to see what an idiot looked like. Why?"

" 'Cause I had this dream. Maybe a dream. You were standing over me. I was just floating and you were standing there, ragging my ass. Ever tell you how sexy you look when you're ragging ass?"

"Jesus."

"Sorry, a little re... residual lust. D'ya say you'd spit on my grave?"

"Yeah. I will, too, if you try to cash out again."

He gave a weak chuckle. "Who's the idiot? Not gonna have a grave. You gotta be rich or religious these days for that. Recycle and cremation, thatsa way to go. Return and burn. Sure nice to hear your voice though. Made me think I'd prob'ly get bored floating. Gotta go. Tired."

"Yeah, you go on." And because he was asleep, and Roarke would understand, she gave his hand a little pat. "He'll be okay."

"Yes, he'll be okay."

"I think he was glad you came along." She pushed a hand through her hair. "Return and burn. What a jerk. But I guess he's right. Graves are out of style, mostly. Except... Oh no." She whirled to Roarke. "I am such an idiot. Rich or religious. I know where he'll go, where he'll go to end it. You drive."

She was already out of the room, running down the hall.

"His son's grave."

"Yeah, yeah." She yanked out her PPC. "Where the hell is it? They'd have one. People who have religious statues in the living room want to bury their dead and put crosses up."

"I'll find it faster." He had his own unit out as they hit the elevator. "Call your backup."

"No, no backup, not yet. I have to find him first, to be sure. Son's name was Thad. Thadeus Clooney."

"I've got it. Three plots, Sunlight Memorial. New Rochelle."

"Near the house. Makes sense." She exchanged her PPC for her communicator as she strode across the lobby and out to the lot. "Peabody. Listen up."

"Sir? Dallas?"

"Wake up, get dressed. You're on call." She climbed into the car. "I want you to get a squad car, have it and an officer ready to transport you. I'm following a lead on Clooney. If it pans out, I'll contact you. I want you to move fast."

"Where? Where are you going?"

"Back to the dead," Eve said. "Push this thing," she added as Roarke headed out of the lot. "He could have heard about Ricker by now."

"Strap in," Roarke advised, and he punched the accelerator.

The dead rested in sunlight and dappled shade, in gentle green hills, with markers of soft white, soft gray. The rows of them, the crosses and curves, made Eve wonder how the living could find comfort there, faced with the unassailable proof of their own mortality.

But some must. For even in these days when few chose to go into the ground or could afford the real estate, many of the graves were splashed with flowers. That symbol of life given to the dead.

"Which way?"

Roarke had a diagram of the cemetery on his pocket screen. "To the left, over that rise."

They walked around the markers together. "The first time I spoke to you," she remembered, "we were in a graveyard. Kind of creepy, I guess."

"Apt." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "There he is. Your instincts are excellent."

She paused, taking a moment to study the man sitting on the tended grass beside a flower-strewn grave. And the marker was indeed a cross, pure and white.

"I need you to hang back."

"No."

Saying nothing, she crouched, pulled out her clinch piece. "I'm trusting you not to use this unless you have no choice." She handed it to him. "Trust me to do my job. I need to try to talk him in. I'm asking you to let me give him that chance. Compromise."

"All right."

"Thanks. Call Peabody. Tell her where to come. I need her here."

Alone, she walked down the gentle slope and through the graves. He knew she was coming. He was cop enough to hold his ground, to bide his time, but she saw from the slightest shift in his body, he knew.

Better that way, she thought. She preferred not to surprise him.

"Sergeant."

"Lieutenant." He still didn't look at her, didn't take his attention from the name carved in that perfect white cross. "I want you to know I'm carrying. I don't want to harm you."

"I appreciate that. You should know I'm carrying, and I don't want to harm you, either. I need to talk to you, Sergeant. Can I sit down here?"

He looked at her then. His eyes were dry, but she could see he'd been weeping. There were still tracks of the tears on his cheeks. And she saw, too, that his weapon, the same make and model as her own, was in the hand resting in his lap.

"You've come to take me in. I don't intend to go."

"Can I sit down?"

"Sure. Sit. It's a good spot for it. That's why we picked it. But I always thought that Thad would be the one to sit here, to sit and talk to me and his mother. Not that I would be the one to sit. He was the light of my life."

"I read his service record." She sat on the opposite side of the grave. "He was a good cop."

"Yeah, he was. Oh, I was proud of him. The way he carried himself, the way he took to the job like he was born to it. Maybe he was. I was always proud of him, though, from the first instant they put him in my arms and he was squalling and wriggling. All that life in one little package."

With his free hand, he brushed at the grass that grew over his son. "You don't have children as yet, do you, Lieutenant?"