Survivor in Death (16 page)

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. We'd like to come in.”

“I told the other guy the works. Jeez, Lo-Lo would ya stop for two seconds. Sorry, the kids're riled up.”

“This Lo-Lo?” Peabody smiled. “Hi, Lo-Lo, why don't you come on over here with me.”

Kids responded to Peabody, Eve noted. And this one, a pint-size with hair as blonde and spiky as her mother's, peeled off her mother's leg, put her hand in Peabody's, and walked off babbling.

There wasn't far to go. The room was a little L, with a kitchen forming the jag. But there were a few toys scattered around, and the kid arrowed toward the pile to share them with her new pal.

“I saw from the window, there.” Minnie pointed, shifting the smaller child on her hip. This one had eyes as big and unblinking as an owl's, and a crop of smokey brown curls. “I was watching for her, for Ms. Newman. She don't--didn't think I'd clean up, she didn't think I'd kick the funk. But I did. Been off it six months now.”

“Good.” And if she hadn't been on it too much longer than she'd been off, her eyes might one day lose the red rims and pinkish whites.

“They were going to take my kids. I had to clean up for my kids, so I did. Not their fault I got screwed up. I'm off the funk, and I go to meetings. I get spot checked, and I'm clean. I need Ms. Newman to say I can keep my temp professional mother status. I gotta have the money, gotta pay the rent and the food, and--”

“I'll contact GPS and tell them I was here, saw you were clean, and your children cared for. Your place is clean,” she added.

“I made sure. It gets messy, with the kids, but I don't let it get dirty. I get some more money together, I'm going to move us to a better neighborhood. But this is the best I can do now. I don't want to screw up my kids.”

“I can see that. GPS will send another rep out. You won't lose your status due to these circumstances.”

“Okay.” She turned her face into the little one's neck. “Sorry. I know I shouldn't be so into what's going on with me when that lady got herself grabbed like that. But I don't want to lose my kids.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“I was standing there, at the window. I was nervous, because she didn't like me. That's not right,” she corrected. “She didn't care. Didn't give a dried-up turd.” She winced, looked over at her older girl. “I try not to use bad language in front of the kids, but I forget.”

“Don't worry about it.” Eve stepped to the window. There was a clear view of the street. She could see the black-and-white, and her own vehicle. And the shaking fists of drivers who were fighting the logjam the double-parking caused. “Here?”

“Yeah. I'm standing there, with Bits on my hip, like now. I'm telling her and Lo-Lo they have to be good. My eyes.” She touched a finger just below her left. “You've been on the funk, even when you're off awhile, they get worse when you're nervous or upset, or just tired. Guess I was all. I saw her coming, walking from that way.”

Stepping closer, Minnie pointed. “Had her head down, so I didn't see her face at first. But I knew it was her. I was going to get back--so in case she looked up she wouldn't see me watching--but I saw the van. It just flew up, you know? Real fast. Squealing when it stopped. These two guys jumped out the back, and they were on her so fast. Pow! Grabbed her up, right off her feet. I saw her face then, just for a second. She hardly looked surprised, but it was--” She snapped a finger. “Tossed her through the open doors, jumped in after her, and were gone.

“I called right away. It might've taken me just a minute, because I was so surprised. I mean it was so fast, then it was like it never happened. But it did. I called nine-one-one and I said what I saw. They won't think I had anything to do with it, will they? Because she was coming here, and I'm a junkie?”

“You don't sound like a junkie to me, Minnie.”

A smile lit up in her red-rimmed eyes.

“Cute kids,” Peabody commented on the way down. “Looks like that woman's pushing against the odds. Good chance she'll make it.”

Eve nodded. The junkies she knew--including vague memories of her own mother--cared more about the next fix than any child. Minnie had a shot.

She stepped back onto the street, signalled to Nadine. “Do your interviews. But keep our names out. I don't want whoever did this to know we suspect a connection to the Swisher murders.”

“And you do.”

Eve started to say “off-record,” but decided it would be an insult under the circumstances. “No. I know there is. But we make that known, Newman is dead. Probably is anyway, but that would seal the deal. And it wouldn't hurt to pump up the human interest regarding Minnie Cable--recovering funk addict, working to stay clean and do right by her kids, so on. She stood up, called this in. But make it clear, Nadine, like crystal, that she was unable to give any description of the perpetrators.”

“Was she?”

“No. Couple of guys, dressed in black. Masked, moved fast. She couldn't make height, age, weight, race, nothing. Just make it clear on-air.”

“Got that. Hey!” She strode, high heels clipping, as Eve walked away. “Is that all I get?”

“All there is, at this point. Nadine?” She paused long enough to glance around. “Your heads-up is noted, and appreciated. Officer,” she continued, stepping up to the uniform. “Give me your report.”

Eve sat in the double-wide cube at Child Protection and fought not to squirm. She hated places like this. An atavistic loathing with an unreasonable current of fear rushed through her. She knew it was unreasonable, knew its root was in a monster spinning horror tales to make her believe he was the lesser of evils.

Lies, of course, vicious lies to keep her in control.

How long did it take to shed the fear-skin of childhood?

Did we ever?

The woman sitting at the workstation in the cube didn't look like a monster. They'll toss you in a pit, little girl. Black and deep and full of spiders. She looked like someone's plump and comfortable grandma. At least the way Eve envisioned plump and comfortable grandmas. Her hair was in a neat circle around a round, rosy-cheeked face, and she wore a long, shapeless print dress. She smelled like berries. Raspberries, Eve thought.

But when you looked in her eyes, the cozy granny was nowhere to be seen. They were dark and shrewd, tired and concerned.

“She hasn't checked in, and doesn't answer her 'link.” Renny Townston, Newman's supervisor, frowned at Eve. “All our reps-- male and female--are issued panic alarms. They often visit rough neighborhoods, and rougher subjects. They're given standard defense training and are required to update that training, along with their other job qualifications, annually. Meredith knew how to take care of herself. She's no rookie. In fact. . .”

“In fact,” Eve prompted.

“She's on the edge of the board, in my opinion. A year, maybe two left in her for this job. She does the job, Lieutenant, but she's lost the heart. Most do after a few years. In six months, if it doesn't turn around, all she'll be doing is putting in time. The fact is ...”

“The fact is?”

“She should never have allowed you to override her on the Swisher matter. Never have permitted you to take that child out of her care or supervision. She didn't even demand the location, and barely followed up on the matter the following morning.”

“I pushed pretty hard.”

“And she didn't stand up to it, to you. At the very least, she should have gone with you and the child, reported in. Instead, she went home, and didn't file the report until morning.”

Annoyance, then worry, pursed Townston's lips. “Now, I'm afraid one of her clients grabbed her up. They blame us, you know, same as you cops get blamed, for their own screwups and failings.”

“How about her personal life?”

“I don't know much about it. She isn't a chat-in-the-breakroom sort. I know she was dating someone for a while recently, but that's over. She's a loner, which is part of the problem. Without a life outside, you don't make it to retirement age.”

Though she knew it was a time waster, it was a routine one, so Eve took the data on Newman's case files. She took the names, the addresses. And with Peabody, went next to Newman's apartment.

The living/kitchen area was larger than Minnie Cable's, but lacked the color and life of clutter. It was clean to the point of sterile with its blank, white walls, engaged privacy screens, its straight-lined sofa and single chair.

There was a data unit on a workstation in the bedroom--bed tidily made--and two boxes of discs, clearly labeled.

“Kinda sad, isn't it?” Peabody glanced around. “Thinking about the different places we've been in today. Say, Mrs. Grentz's insane treasure house, the wild space where Hildy lives below. Even Minnie Cable's pitiful little rooms. People lived there, you could see. Stuff happened there. This is like a vid set. Single professional female with no life.”

“Why didn't they take her here, Peabody? Why risk a street grab when they can slide into a secured family dwelling and kill five people in less time than it takes to get pizza delivered?”

“Um. They'd be in a hurry. They'd want to get her fast, see what she knows.”

“Part of it. Yeah, part of it. Maybe this place looks dead, feels dead, but she was smart enough, careful enough to rent in a building with good security. Still, no real problem for our boys. But they didn't wait until she got home, didn't take her here. They want her awhile. That's what I'd want. Want to make sure they get it all out of her, and that might take some time. Take privacy. And there's more.”

She turned a circle, thinking. “Because they can. They know how to move fast, to do a job like this fast, so any potential witnesses see mostly a blur. Couple of guys in black, big black van. Pow, pow. Might not have figured that anybody'd do more than scratch and spit over it in that neighborhood, too. Nobody reports, it takes more time for anybody to realize Newman's among the missing. Longer yet to make any connection to the Swisher murders.”

Eve looked at the blank walls, the lonely, neatly made bed. “They've got her somewhere, right now. When they're done with her, she'll be as dead as this room.”

Eve pulled out her communicator. When Baxter came on, she snapped: “Private communication. Get to a secure location or go to text only.”

“Just me and Trueheart here, Dallas. Kid's downstairs. We've got her on monitor.”

“The social worker on her case has been grabbed. Unsubs match description of our suspects. I don't want the wit out of your sight.”

“She isn't and won't be. Do you expect they'll come after her?”

“If they can find out where she is, they'll try. I want her inside, at all times. Stay on this until the next time you hear from me.”

She clicked off, called Roarke. “They've got the social worker,” she said when he went to private. “She doesn't know the location, and it's a big leap. But I've alerted Baxter.”

“Understood. I'll pass this on to Summerset,” he added in a tone that told her he was in a meeting. “I can be there myself in thirty minutes.”

“I don't think they can move faster--and Newman just knew I took her, not that I took her home, but watch your back. They put the kid with me, they put you with me. Another grab isn't out of the question.”

“I'll offer you the same advice, and say that in both cases it's unnecessary.”

This time it was Roarke who ended transmission.

“Scoop up her discs, address books, memo books. Contact EDD for a pickup on her equipment. Let's do this by the book.”

“How long do you think she's got?”

Eve looked around the stark, soulless room. “Not long enough.”

When Meredith surfaced, she thought there was an ice pick dead center of her forehead, radiating sharp shards of pain. The headache was so blinding, she assumed at first that was the reason she couldn't see.

Her stomach rolled a bit, as if she'd eaten something past its expiration date, but when she tried to press her hand to it, her arm wouldn't move.

From somewhere, far off, she heard voices. A watery echo of voices.

Then she remembered. She'd been walking on Avenue B, on her way to a home check, and something . . . someone . . .

The fear came fast, spearing through the pain. When she tried to scream, the only sound she could make was a wild, whimpering moan.

She was in the dark, unable to move her arms, her legs, her head. Unable to see or speak, and when something brushed her cheek, her heart punched against her ribs like a fist.

“Subject's conscious. Meredith Newman, you are in a secured location. You will be asked questions. If you answer these questions, you will not be harmed. I'm going to remove the tape from your mouth at this time. Once I do, tell me if you understand.”

Having the tape ripped off in the solid dark brought on a scream that was more from utter terror than pain. She was slapped, open-palm, on one cheek, followed by a quick answering backhand on the other.

“I said tell me if you understand.”

“No. I don't. I don't understand. What's the matter? Who are you? What--” She screamed again, her body straining against the restraints as pain exploded. Like a thousand hot needles jabbed into her bones.

“It will hurt every time you refuse to answer, any time you lie, any time you don't do as you're told.” The voice was quiet, flat. “Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes. Please, don't hurt me.”

“We'll have no reason to hurt you if you answer our questions. Are you afraid, Meredith?”

“Yes. Yes, I'm afraid.”

“Good. You've told the truth.”

She couldn't see, but she could hear. She heard little beeps and pings, his breathing--steady. No, someone else, too. She could hear, she thought, movement--but not where the breathing was. Two of them. There'd been two of them.

“What do you want? Please tell me what you want.”

There was another jolt, shocking, quicker, that left her gasping. She thought she smelled something burning, like raw meat. And thought, through the shocking pain, she heard a woman laugh.

“You don't ask questions.”

A second voice. A little deeper, a little harsher than the first. Not a woman. Must have imagined. What does it matter?