Obsession in Death (27 page)

“Straight up to Feeney,” she told McNab. “Fill him in – in his office, door shut. Tell him I’ll be up when I can, or he can come down if he has any questions before I get there.”

“On that.”

“No chatter,” she reminded them, then walked into the elevator and began to outline her next steps.

The minute she stepped into Homicide, Baxter was up, signaling her over.

“We may have a name for you. Former Detective Gina Tortelli. She was under Captain Roth, got busted down to uniform in that sweep, couldn’t hack it, turned in her papers. She works private now for some half-assed PI. Arsenial Investigators. She didn’t write you,” he added as Trueheart walked over to join them.

“Then why should I be interested in her?”

“Because her mother wrote you.”

“Her mother?”

“Teresa Tortelli. I don’t know about yours, boss, but my mother never used such… colorful language.”

Eve thought her mother had done so much worse than spew some four-letter words. And had ended up with her throat slit for it.

“Yours, Trueheart?”

Trueheart flushed a little at Baxter’s question, but flashed a grin. “Not in my hearing.”

“She reamed you, Dallas, blames you for her daughter getting demoted, then tossing in her badge, her pension, her bennies.”

“You think the mother’s killing people to pay me back for what happened to the dirty cop she raised?”

“No, I think the mom’s got a big mouth and would probably slap you silly if she got the chance. But that’s about it there. I wonder if the dirty cop’s playing a double-back sort of game.”

Eve narrowed her eyes, considered.

“The mother claims the daughter’s twice the cop you’ll ever be,” Baxter added, “and one day she’ll prove it.”

“And the wrong cop maybe figures, hey, Mom’s right, and I’ll show that bitch. Drag her into the media center, make it look like she’s got a psycho killing people for her. She could still do the job – in a twisted way. It’s worth looking at.

“We got that and another one, Lieutenant,” Trueheart told her. “Officer Hilda Farmer – or she was Officer Farmer. She wrote you about six times, before she left the job, and after. She claims she wasn’t being used to her potential, being she had, um…”

“Tits, Trueheart,” Baxter said. “The LT’s heard the word before. My boy’s still dewy fresh,” he added. “This twist claims all the guys – and half the females – in her department hit on her or sexually harassed her. She filed a total of eight claims inside one year, none of which bore fruit, so to speak. She quit in protest. She figured you’d be able to intervene, and she should be your aide, work directly with you. Lots of the key words in her communications. Justice, disrespect, friend.”

“She works as a skip tracer now, Lieutenant,” Trueheart put in. “And she’s got a sheet – she’s racked up some assaults, destruction of property. I sent the data on both to your machine.”

“Okay, good work. I’ll follow through.”

Before she could get to her office, she got another two names from Jenkinson, three from Santiago.

It promised to be a long day in what was turning into a very long week, she thought. And found Mira in her office, sitting gingerly on the brutal visitor’s chair, drinking tea.

“I wanted to catch you as soon as you came in,” Mira said. “I hope you don’t mind I helped myself.”

“No, that’s fine.” Eve shut the door, then hit the AutoChef for coffee.

“I didn’t expect her to turn this quickly,” Mira began. “I’m inclined to believe you’re looking for a woman, or someone with female sensibilities. Her abrupt switch in the e-mail she sent you this morning tells me she’s in the middle of an intense internal struggle. Her failure last night crushed her confidence, and that, in turn, damaged her trust in you. She failed you, and her ego is so merged with her delusion of a personal relationship with you, she’s revolved that into you failing her.”

“Peabody says it’s like middle school – a twelve-year-old.”

“She’s not wrong. This person is emotionally immature, and very likely socially stunted. Smart, skilled, but shy around people even while craving attention from them. Building a relationship with you made her feel connected. Now she’s ashamed, angry, and afraid. Her bravery all along has been false, manufactured. Reflected off you.”

“She mentioned Nixie in the first communication.”

“Yes, a child – innocent, traumatized, but a survivor. She also spoke of the remains found in the Sanctuary. She relates, was abused or traumatized at a similar age. If you had been there, it wouldn’t have happened. If she had been brave and strong, it wouldn’t have happened. But justice wasn’t served – not in her mind. Now it must be. She set out to do what you were unable to do, in that way she could see herself as your friend and partner. This failure, coupled with the realization you will pursue her – not simply go through the motions, but actively pursue, using your skills – has her seeing you as flawed.”

Mira crossed her legs. The suit was rosy-pink today, worn with slate-gray heels.

“This makes her flawed. That’s a struggle for her. Together you were a perfect team, a match. You the public face, her the shadow, finishing the job you couldn’t – and avenging your good name. It mattered.”

Mira gestured toward the wall, as if the words were written there. “ ‘I matter.’ How can she go on if you can’t acknowledge that? If you can’t, how can she?”

“She used a master to get back into the crime scene. She registered it, not my code, but under my name.”

“Because she sees you as who she wants to be. The friendship would never be enough, even when she convinced herself it was reciprocated. She doesn’t simply admire who and what you are. She covets, Eve. I suspect when she’s home, alone, she allows herself to pretend she is you – she used first-person plural in the e-mail. She spends her time doing what she imagines you do, very likely has conversations with you that seem very real. It’s how she could spend so much of it planning the murders. She might have her hair cut like yours, or wear a wig that emulates your style.”

“Now you’re seriously creeping me out.”

“I hope I am. She now has an excuse to do what, under the facade, she truly wants. She can’t become you unless she eliminates you. That’s where she’s turning now.”

“Glad to hear it, because if she focuses on me, I can deal with it. I can’t protect the next random person if she targets one.”

“I believe she’ll go one of two ways, and I wish I could tell you, with confidence, which. But she’s in that struggle, and I can’t predict which part of her will win. She’ll either move immediately to the next on her list, and in this way prove herself, calm herself. Reconnect with you. Or, she’ll take the turn that was always coming – she’ll have studied and researched. She’ll move on someone close to you. A friend. Her reasoning would be you prefer this person over her, and that’s intolerable. This person hasn’t killed for you, hasn’t devoted themselves to you. She’ll show you how wrong you’ve been by taking this person away from you.”

Every muscle in Eve’s body knotted. “Mavis.”

“I’ve already spoken with her – last night.”

Eve let out a breath, eased back in her chair. “Okay. I’ll follow up.”

“She’s performing at the ball drop, New Year’s Eve. Otherwise, they’d take the baby for a few days in the sun – away. But they’ll be careful. Leonardo’s asked her security, the people she uses when she travels or performs, to come in.”

“Good. More than good. I know her security. Roarke helped her find them.”

“Leonardo will take care of his girls – and I’d say Mavis knows how to take care of herself.” Mira added a smile. “She’s your oldest and closest friend, and a logical target. But you have more friends.”

“You said you and Mr. Mira were on guard.”

“And we’ll stay that way. Nadine?”

“I’ve talked to her, but I will again, tell her as much as I can. And Reo, Charles, and Louise. My partner. Isn’t Peabody another logical target?”

“She would be – and will be eventually. But I think civilians are more likely, at least initially.”

“Because she’s too much a coward to go for a cop.”

“At this point. Trina.”

“Trina’s not a friend. Okay, okay,” she said as Mira cocked a brow at her. “I’ll have Peabody talk to her. If I do she’ll start in on how I need a face and body treatment, or my hair trimmed or some crap, and I don’t have time for her. Jesus, Morris. All of my division – okay, cops there, but Morris isn’t. And there’s, Christ, there’s Crack. But it’s hard to see a coward going up against somebody that big who got his nickname from cracking heads together.

“Still.”

She pushed up. “Too many people. How the hell did there get to be so many of them?”

“You changed your life. You opened your life. And it’s made you a better cop. A steadier person, in my professional opinion. This woman hasn’t done the same. She can’t let go of whatever eats her inside. She may have submerged it for years, coped. And, sadly, I think she believes she opened herself when she reached out to you. After the Swisher investigation.”

“She left me no way to respond.”

“If you’d responded, she couldn’t have imagined that response, and made it her reality. Lieutenant Dallas became Dallas became Eve as her imagination – her wish fantasy – became her reality, and the bond between you was formed.”

Mira set her empty cup aside. “Whichever choice she makes next, it will lead to the ultimate choice, and that’s you. Whether she sees you as enemy or friend at that point won’t matter. Killing you will be as necessary as sunrise to her. A hard choice, perhaps, but one that’s unavoidable. You would understand, be proud of her for it. And when she kills you?”

“She dies, too,” Eve finished.

“Yes, very good. It will have to culminate in the ultimate bond, the epitome of friendship to her. She’ll kill you rather than share you, or rather than live with your failure to her. Then herself as she can’t exist without you.”

“She won’t get to me.”

“She knows your routines, your habits.”

“But not me. Roarke pointed that out. I can switch up routines, and I’ve got an entire division of cops who have my back. And I’m…” She thought of Roarke’s word. “Watchful.”

“I’ll trust you will be.” Mira rose, and laid a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “She’s crying for help.”

“She can get help once she’s in a cage.”

“ ‘I matter,’ ” Mira repeated. “I wonder if she believes she never really has. Until you.”

15

Eve studied the names and data her men had passed on, did a probability against the profile, and decided two were worth a personal follow-up.

But first she contacted the list of people she felt might be targets if the UNSUB switched directions. She started with Mavis.

“Benedict Mantal, answering for Mavis Freestone.”

“Ben.” Eve looked into the clear eyes of Mavis’s personal security. “Dallas.”

“Hey, LT, Mavis is rehearsing.”

“So I hear.” Clearly, she heard Mavis advising all – each and every one – to live it up until it’s done.

“We got the word,” he told her. “Leonardo and the kid are backstage. I’ve got Grommet in with me, and he’s on them. We’ll have them covered twenty-four/seven.”

“Good to know.”

“She’ll be wrapping this up if you want to talk to her.”

Now join hands, sing with the band. Dance and shout, let it out! Make some
noise!

“It’s a crowd-pleaser,” Ben said with a smile on his sturdy, square-jawed face.

“I hear that. Just let her know I checked in. I’ll catch her later. Keep them close, Ben.”

“Count on it.”

She would, Eve thought as she ended the transmission and made the next.

As she walked into the bullpen to grab Peabody, Santiago swung on his coat. “Caught one,” he told her while Carmichael grabbed her own gear. “Guy went splat off the roof of a midrise on Wooster.”

“Jumper?”

“To be determined. Move your hot buns, Carmichael.” When Eve’s eyes narrowed, Santiago held up a hand. “It’s okay, she asked me to say that.”

“Affirmative.” Carmichael hustled up. “Haven’t put on an ounce since Thanksgiving. He’s giving me motivation to hold that through the end of the year.”

“Don’t give any motivation in public,” Eve ordered, turned to Peabody. “Your hot buns are with me.”

“Aw, that’s so nice! I’ve gained two pounds, four ounces since Thanksgiving, but that’s actually a personal record – on the good side. Last year —”

“You’ll never get motivation again if you say another word about your ass.”

Peabody grabbed her coat, jogged to catch up. “Can I say something about Carmichael’s?”

“No.”

“It was going to be complimentary.” Peabody pulled her mile-long scarf out of her pocket – bright pink and green stripes today – and began wrapping it around her neck like a boa constrictor. “Where are we going?”

“Arsenial Investigators. Low-end PI, West Twenty-fourth off Eleventh. We’re looking for former detective Gina Tortelli – one of the dirty cops brushed out during the Roth sweep. She’s one of their two listed operatives.”

“She wrote you?”

“Can’t say for certain, but her mother did.”

“Her mom?”

“Her mother isn’t pleased with the part I played in cleaning Roth’s house.”

“It damn well needed cleaning,” Peabody said with some force as with some flicks of the wrist she twisted the scarf, folded bits of it, and had the boa constrictor loosely knotted and fluffed.

“In her mind I’m a brownnosing, traitorous cunt and godless daughter of a whore with the loyalty of a jackal.”

“A
mom
called you the C word?”

“What’s giving birth have to do with it?”

“Well, it’s just… a mom.”

“This mom wrote a second time after Nadine’s book hit the best-seller lists, and in that one I’m a glory-seeking whore-bitch with seeping pus in my heart, and my judgment day won’t be far off. Oh, and she prays every night that the day comes when I get true justice and burn screaming in everlasting hellfire.”

“Well, wow. She’s got a way with words.”

“It made for interesting reading. So maybe the daughter’s devised a way to answer her mother’s prayers.”