Survivor in Death (4 page)

“They went to a big hotel, for their anniversary. That's why we could have a sleepover on a school night, me and Linnie. Now you have to tell them she's dead instead of me.”

“Not instead of. If you'd been in the room, you'd both be dead. Where does that get you?”

“Lieutenant.” The irritated shock in Summerset's voice had her doing no more than lifting a hand to jab a finger at him for silence.

“She's not dead because you're not. This is going to be hard on the Dysons, just like it is on you. But you know who's to blame for what happened.”

Nixie looked up now, and those quiet blue eyes hardened like glass. “The men with the knives.”

“Yeah. Do you know what hotel?”

“The Palace, because it's the best. Mr. Dyson said.”

“Okay.” It was the best, Eve thought, because it was one of Roarke's. She shot him a look, got a nod.

“I'll clear the way.”

“Thanks. I've got to go,” she said to Nixie. “You're going to hang with Summerset.”

“The men with knives could come looking for me.”

“I don't think so, but if they do, they can't get in. There's a gate, and it's secure, and the house is secure. And Summerset? I know he looks like a bony, ugly old man, but he's tough, and you're safe with him. This is the deal if you're staying here,” she added as she rose. “It's the best I've got.”

“You're coming back.”

“I live here, remember? Peabody, with me.”

“Her bag's right here.” Peabody gestured to the duffle she'd packed. “Nixie, if I forgot anything you want, or you need something else, you can have Summerset contact me. We'll get it for you.”

Eve's last look was of the child sitting on the floor between the two men, and seeking comfort from the cat.

The minute she was outside, Eve rolled her shoulders, rolled the weight off. “Jesus” was all she said.

“I can't imagine what's going on inside that kid.”

“I can. I'm alone, I'm scared and hurt, and nothing makes sense. And I'm surrounded by strangers.” It made her sick, just a little sick, but she pushed past it. “Check in with EDD, see where they are.”

As she drove back toward the gate, Eve used the dash 'link to contact Dr. Charlotte Mira, at home.

“Sorry. I know it's early.”

“No, I was up.”

On screen Eve could see Mira dab a white towel at her soft sable hair. There was a dew--either sweat or water--on her face.

“Doing my morning yoga. What's the matter?”

“Multiple homicide--home invasion. An entire family, save the nine year-old daughter. Sleepover friend murdered through mistaken ID. Kid's a witness. I've got her stashed at my place.”

“Yours?”

“Fill you in later, but that's how it stands. I'm heading over to notify next of kin on the daughter's friend.”

“God's pity.”

“I know you've probably got a full slate, but I'm going to need to interview this kid today. I'm going to need a shrink--sorry.”

“No problem.”

“I'm going to need a psychiatrist on hand, one who's got experience with children and police procedure.”

“What time do you want me?”

“Thanks.” And relief rolled in where the weight had rolled off. “I'd prefer you, but if you're squeezed I'll take your best recommendation.”

“I'll make room.”

“Ah.” Eve checked her wrist unit, tried to gauge the timing. “Can we make it noon? I've got a lot to push through before then.”

“Noon.” Mira began to make notes in a mini memo book. “What's her condition?”

“She wasn't injured.”

“Emotional condition.”

“Ah, she's fair, I guess.”

“Is she able to communicate?”

“Yeah. I'm going to need an eval for Child Protection Services. I'm going to need a lot of things for the red tape brigade. I'm on borrowed time here since I went over the rep's head. Have to notify the supervisor there. Soon.”

“Then I'll let you get to it, and see you at noon.”

“EDD's on scene,” Peabody said when Eve ended transmission. “Their team's going through security and checking 'links and data centers on site. They'll transport the units to Central.”

“Okay. Next of kin on the other vies?”

“Grant Swisher's parents divorced. Father's whereabouts currently unknown. Mother remarried--third time--and living on Vegas II. Works as a blackjack dealer. Keelie Swisher's parents are deceased-- back when she was six. Foster care and state schools.”

And that, Eve knew, was just tons of fun. “When we've talked to the Dysons, contact Grant Swisher's next of kin and inform. She may have legal guardianship of the kid, and we'll need to deal with that. You got an addy on Swisher's law firm?”

“Swisher and Rangle, on West Sixty-first.”

“Close to the hotel. We'll hit there after the Dysons. See how it goes and tap in another pass at the scene if it fits.”

This, as hard as it was, she knew how to do. Shattering the lives of those left behind was a job she did all too often. Roarke had, as promised, cleared the way. Since she was expected, she avoided the usual wrangle with the doorman, the time-consuming conversation with desk clerks and hotel security.

She almost missed it.

But she and Peabody were efficiently escorted to the elevators and given the Dysons' room number.

“Only child, right?”

“Yeah, just Linnie. He's a lawyer, too, corporate. She's a pediatrician. Reside about two blocks south of the Swishers. Daughters go to the same school, same class.”

“You've been busy,” Eve commented as they rode up to the forty second floor.

“You were wrapped up with the kid awhile. We detectives do what we can.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Eve saw Peabody shift her stance, wince just a bit. Ribs still bothering her, she thought. Should've taken a few more days medical. But she let it pass.

“Get any financials on the Swishers?”

“Not yet. We detectives are not miracle workers.”

“Slacker.” Eve stepped off, walked straight to 4215. She didn't allow herself to think, to feel. What good would it do?

She pressed the buzzer, held her badge up to the security peep. Waited.

The man who answered was wrapped in a plush hotel robe. His thatch of dark brown hair stuck up in wild tufts and his square, attractive face held the sleepy, satisfied look of someone who'd just enjoyed some early morning nookie.

“Officer?”

“Lieutenant Dallas. Matthew Dyson?”

“Yeah. Sorry, we're not up yet.” He cupped his hand over a huge yawn. “What time is it?”

“Just after seven. Mr. Dyson--”

“Is there a problem in the hotel?”

“Can we come in, Mr. Dyson, speak to you and your wife?”

“Jenny's still in bed.” The sleepy look was fading into mild irritation. “What's the problem?”

“We'd like to come in, Mr. Dyson.”

“All right, all right. Hell.” He stepped back, waved at them to shut the door.

They'd sprung for a suite--one of the dreamy, romantic ones with banks of real flowers, real candles, fireplace, deep sofas. There was a bottle of champagne upended in a silver bucket on the coffee table. Two flutes, and she noted, some lacy portion of female lingerie draped like a flag over the back of the sofa.

“Would you get your wife, Mr. Dyson?”

His eyes were brown like his hair. And irritation flashed into them. “Look, she's sleeping. It's our anniversary--or was yesterday--and we celebrated. My wife's a doctor, and she works long hours. She never gets to sleep in. So tell me what the hell you want.”

“I'm sorry, we need to speak with both of you.”

“If there's a problem with the hotel--”

“Matt?” A woman opened the bedroom door. She was sleep-tousled and robed, and smiling as she shoved a hand through her short, disordered blonde curls. “Oh, I thought you must've ordered room service. I heard voices.”

“Mrs. Dyson, I'm Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. This is my partner, Detective Peabody.”

“The police.” Her smile became uncertain as she walked to her husband, hooked an arm through his. “We weren't that loud last night.”

“I'm sorry. There was an incident at the Swishers' early this morning.”

“Keelie and Grant?” Matt Dyson went stiff and straight. “What kind of incident? Is everyone all right? Linnie. Did something happen to Linnie?”

Fast, Eve knew. Like a short-armed punch to the face. “I'm sorry to tell you that your daughter was killed.”

While Jenny's eyes went blank and frozen, Matt's went hot with rage. “That's ridiculous. What is this, some sort of sick joke? I want you out of here, I want you to get out.”

“Linnie? Linnie?” Jenny shook her head. “This can't be true. This can't be right. Keelie and Grant are too careful. They love her like their own. They'd never let anything happen to her. I need to call Keelie.”

“Mrs. Swisher is dead,” Eve said flatly. “Persons unknown entered the residence last night. Mr. and Mrs. Swisher, their housekeeper, their son Coyle, your daughter were murdered. Their daughter Nixie was overlooked, and is now under protective custody.”

“This is a mistake.”

Jenny squeezed a hand on her husband's arm as he began to shake. “But they have security. They have good security.”

“It was compromised. We're investigating. I'm sorry for your loss. I'm extremely sorry.”

“Not my baby.” It wasn't a cry so much as a wail as Matt Dyson crumbled, as he turned to his wife and collapsed against her. “Not our baby.”

“She's just a little girl.” Jenny rocked, herself, her husband, as her shattered eyes clung to Eve's. “Who would hurt an innocent little girl?”

“I intend to find out. Peabody.”

On cue, Peabody stepped forward. “Why don't we sit down? Can I get you something. Water? Tea?”

“Nothing, nothing.” With her arm still wrapped around her husband, Jenny sank with him onto the couch. “Are you sure it was my Linnie? Maybe--”

“She's been identified. There's no mistake. I'm sorry I have to intrude at this time, but I need to ask you a few questions. Did you know the Swishers well?”

“We ... Oh God, dead?” The barrage of shock had turned skin to paste. “All?”

“You were friends?”

“We were, God, like family. We .. . Keelie and I shared patients, and we . . . we all ... the girls, the girls are like sisters, and we--Matt.” She encirled him, rocked again. Said his name over and over.

“Can you think of anyone who wished them harm? Who wished anyone in the family harm?”

“No. No. No.”

“Did any of them mention being worried about anything? About being threatened or bothered by someone.”

“No. I can't think. No. Oh God, my baby.”

“Was either of them involved with someone, outside of the marriage?”

“I don't know what you .. . Oh.” She closed her eyes as her husband continued to weep on her shoulder. “No. They had a good marriage. They loved each other, enjoyed each other. Their children. Coyle. Oh my God. Nixie.”

“She's all right. She's safe.”

“How? How did she get away?”

“She'd gone downstairs for a drink. She wasn't in bed at the time of the murders. I don't believe she was seen.”

“She wasn't in bed,” Jenny said softly. “But my Linnie was. My baby was.” Tears flooded her cheeks. “I don't understand. I can't understand. We need to ... Where is Linnie?”

“She's with the Medical Examiner. I'll arrange for you to be taken to see her, when you're ready.”

“I need to know, but I can't.” She turned her head so her shoulder rested on her husband's as his did on hers. “We need to be alone now.”

Eve dug a card out of her pocket, laid it on the coffee table. “Contact me when you're ready. I'll arrange the rest.”

She walked away from their grief, and she and Peabody rode down to the lobby in silence.

The law offices boasted a comfortable waiting area, divided by theme rather than walls into distinct parts. A child's corner, with a mini comp and a lot of bright toys, flowed into a section designed, Eve imagined, with the older child in mind. Mag vids, puzzles, trendy comp games. Across the room, adults could wait their turn in pastel chairs, and watch vids on parenting, sports, fashion, or gourmet cooking.

The receptionist was young, with a cheerful smile and a shrewd eye. She wore her streaked red and gold hair in what Eve assumed to be a stylish fringe of varying lengths.

“No appointment, but then cops don't usually need one.” She made them as cops before badges were shown, and angled her head. “What's up?”

“We need to speak to Rangle,” Eve said and pulled out her badge for form.

“Dave's not in yet. He in trouble?”

“When do you expect him?”

“He'll swing in any minute. Early bird. We don't open for business until nine.” She made a point to gesture to the clock. “Still nearly an hour shy.”

“That makes you an early bird, too.”

The woman smiled, toothily. “I like coming in early, when it's quiet. I get a lot done.”

“What do you do here?”

“Me, personally? Manage the office, assist. I'm a paralegal. What's up with Dave?”

“We'll wait for him.”

“Suit yourself. He's got an appointment at.. .” She turned to a data unit, tapped the screen with short, square-shaped nails painted gold like the streaks in her hair. “Nine-thirty. But he likes to get here, line up his ducks beforehand like me. Should be in soon.”

“Fine.” Because she wanted Peabody off her feet, Eve gestured her partner to the chairs, then leaned casually on the reception counter. “And you'd be?”

“Sade Tully.”

“Got an eye for cops, Sade?”

“Mother's on the job.”

“That so? Where?”

“Trenton. She's a sergeant, city beat. My grandfather, too. And his daddy before him. Me, I broke tradition. Seriously, is Dave in trouble?”

“Not that I know of. Anybody else here, in the office?”

“Dave's assistant isn't due until ten. Health appointment. Receptionist generally clocks in about quarter to nine. Grant Swisher, Dave's partner, should be in pretty soon. Grant's between assistants, so I'm filling in that slot. We got a droid clerk, but I haven't activated it yet today. Law student comes in about noon--after class--today. Well, if you're going to hang, you want coffee?”

“I would. We would,” Eve corrected. “Thanks.”

“No prob.” Sade popped up, walked two steps to an AutoChef. “How you take it?”