Indulgence in Death (9 page)

“It’s meant to be.”

“People are fucked up,” she said half to herself. “Can you get them to turn on this sector? Just this sector. I want to see how it played.”

“Give me a moment.” He took out his ’link, stepped away.

“Sweepers dispatched, morgue team’s heading in.”

Nodding at Peabody, Eve considered. “She doesn’t have a memo book on her, but you can bet someone at her level has perfect records. She’ll have this guy listed. But he’d know that.”

“If it’s the same killer, you’re thinking he faked his ID again.”

“I’m thinking he’d cover himself, play the same pattern. If so, it means she didn’t know him. A first round. Wouldn’t she run him? Make sure she’s not dating a psycho—not that it did her any good. But wouldn’t she? I want to talk to Charles about that,” she said referring to their mutual friend, a retired LC.

“Charles might’ve known her,” Peabody added. “They would’ve run in the same circles, same social strata.”

She jumped as if her air skids were springs at the bloodcurdling scream.

“Nerves of steel,” Eve muttered while moans and stench and eerie light filled the chamber. She watched an anitron score another anitron’s face with a glowing poker.

“The torture methods in play are historically accurate,” Roarke told her. “The instruments are carefully crafted replicas of those used.”

“Yeah, seriously fucked up. Is there another entrance?”

“To the public, no. That one would channel the customers in here, through the maze of the place, then move them out again over there to the next sector.”

“Okay.” She moved to the entrance, ignoring cobwebs, skittering rats. “Is the smell authentic, too?”

“Or a close approximation.”

“And people pay for this.” She shook her head. “They come in here. Does it excite him, all the screams, the smell of blood and piss, the realism? I bet it does. He didn’t just decide to do it here, he planned it. Here in this replica of misery, cruelty, fear, despair. Maybe she’s playing the part, shivering, cringing, holding on to him. Or she’s going the other way, aroused, excited—whichever she thinks the client’s after.

“But they moved around.” She began to walk through. “Getting a closer look. Had to get to the kill zone. Shadows are deeper there. Maybe he maneuvers her, or she goes that way and plays into his hands. Up against the wall, braced against the wall, that’s how he did her. She thinks he wants a little sample of what’s coming, and he gets her against the wall so she doesn’t fall on anything, knock anything. Jamming the cameras, the sensors, but if she falls and knocks anything over, that could get through. He wants a little time to get out, get away. He leaves, the jamming stops. But she’s on the floor, in the shadows, and the show goes on.”

She walked over to a doorway that resembled the mouth of a cave. “Out here. Where does this go?”

“Here.” Roarke held out his PPC. “That’s the layout of this area. Depending on the route and timing of anyone ahead of you, the program would take you out into one of these three sectors. There are appropriately mocking signs here, here, here, for those who want to end their tour. This is where Gumm believes he exited.”

“Let’s have a look. Peabody, stay with the body, set up the sweepers when they’re on scene.”

“Ah, could we maybe lose the effects?”

“Coward.”

But Roarke winked at her, ordered them shut down.

The security lights illuminated a narrow corridor with torches on the walls. They followed its left fork into a wide cavern with what appeared to be a deep pool of water. On it sat a boat where men in dingy pirate garb were frozen in mid-sword fight. A couple of decaying corpses lay piled under jutting rocks. The topmost had a crow on its belly, beak buried in torn flesh.

“Nice.”

“You get what you pay for. When running there’s head severing, disemboweling, a bit of keel hauling, and the skeletal spirits of the damned. It’s fairly impressive.”

“I bet.” She studied the sign on an arched door fashioned to replicate planks.

IF THE PIRATE’S BLADE YOU FEAR,
TAKE THIS CHANCE TO ESCAPE FROM HERE.

“The exit.” She tried the door. It opened into the bright lights and sounds of the park. “He’d be out and gone in two minutes, easily. With the heart jab, he shouldn’t have gotten any blood on him. Or if he did, it’s easily cleaned off before he leaves. Stroll right out. He could buy a fucking soy dog to celebrate. He’d look ordinary, forgettable. But she doesn’t, that’s the thing. She’s the type people notice, so maybe somebody noticed him, too.”

She shut the door. “I’m going to take another walk through. Maybe you could give Gumm and McNab a kick. I want whatever they’ve got, and we’ll see what EDD can do with it. And yeah,” she said before he could speak, “you’re on as expert consultant, civilian, if you want to be. I know this is your place, and you’re pissed.”

“Not entirely mine, but, yes, I’m pissed. It’s good security here,” he added, looking around, “but it’s a playground. Families, children, people looking for a bit of fun. I don’t suppose we were as stringent in that area as we might have been.”

“Nobody’s going to monitor an amusement spook house the way they do the UN. And he knew what he was doing, just how to do it.” She frowned. “I want a list of other investors, partners, whatever they are. The money people who’d know what went into this place. He has money, or he wants it. The kind that buys gold limos and expensive LCs.”

She went out the exit, circled around to the front. This time she wanted to retrace the killer’s route. She tagged McNab. “Guide me through this place, by the blips on the security.”

“Can do. Let me get a fix on your ’link.”

She followed his directions, winding through a vampire’s lair, a graveyard with zombies dragging themselves out of the ground. She could imagine the lighting, the sounds, the movements well enough.

What if the program had taken them another way? she wondered. He’d had alternatives set up. Other kill zones with easily accessed exits. And the vic had played along, doing what she’d been paid to do.

She stopped, narrowed her eyes. Paid. An LC in her league would get a hefty deposit. She needed to consult with Charles, get a solid opinion on the practice and procedure.

By the time she reached Peabody she had the route mapped in her head. “He probably made it here with her in under twenty. Probability’s high this was his first stop, and her last.”

“I did a run on her. She had over a dozen years in, not a single citation. Clean and regular health checks, paid her fees on time, worked her way up the chain. She’s diamond level, and if I remember what Charles said that means she earns about ten thousand for a four-hour date. She’s certified for male and female, groups, bondage, submissive or dominant. Name it, she’s licensed. There are only half a dozen LCs in the city at her level. Only one other female.”

“He wants or needs exclusive.” She turned as Officer Milway came back in.

“Lieutenant. She didn’t book transpo, but I checked for private going to her address tonight. There was a pickup for that address, her name, booked at twenty-two-thirty. Elegant Transportation. The driver, Wanda Fickle, dropped her off at the main entrance at twenty-three-ten. The car was ordered by and paid for by a Foster M. Urich. He’s got an address in the Village.”

“Good work.”

“Yes, sir. We’re asking around. We found a couple of people who think they saw her. With a male, but they’re vague and contradictory on the male. We’ll keep on it.”

“If you get anything solid there, I want to know ASAP.”

“Yes, sir.”

She pulled out her ’link. “I’ve got to go to the Village.”

“Take the car,” Roarke told her. “McNab and I will get ourselves and the discs into Central.”

Since suggesting he go home and get some sleep first would be a waste of time, she didn’t bother. “I’ll see you there.”

“Morgue’s in the house.” Peabody tucked away her communicator. “Sweepers right behind them.”

“Good, let’s get things wrapped here, and go see Foster M. Urich. Do a run.”

“Already on it. Forty-three, Caucasian male, recently divorced, one child—daughter, age eight. CEO of Intelicore. Minor bust for zoner at age twenty. Nothing else on his record.”

“What’s Intelicore?”

“Data gathering and storing services. Major player globally and off planet. Three generations in.”

“Interesting,” Eve murmured. “That’s another two for two.”

8

THE MINUTE SHE SPOTTED THE CAR PEABODY wiggled her hips and swung her arms in the air. “Hotdiggity damn!”

“Stop that.”

“It’s so pretty.” She settled for wiggling her shoulders. “It’s so sexy. It’s so frosty. It’s so Roarke.”

“Keep it up and you’ll be taking public transportation to the Village.”

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good. I’ll be especially good if we can have the top down. Can we? Please, please?”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.” Eve uncoded the locks.

“Not even close. It’s all smooth and shiny.” She purred as she stroked fingertips along the hood.

“Your ass’ll be all smooth and shiny when I’m finished kicking it. I’m putting the top down.” Eve’s snarl and pointed finger cut off Peabody’s squeal. It came out as more of a peep.

“Because it’s hot, and because the wind will blow away some of your idiocy.”

Eve turned the car on.

“Ooh, it sounds like a lion that’s just fed.”

“How do you know what a lion that’s just fed sounds like?”

“I watch nature shows on-screen sometimes to further my education.”

“Because you never know when we’re going to have to track a lion through Midtown.” She ordered the top down, and Peabody executed a quick seat wiggle.

“If you’re finished with your vehicular orgasms see if you can make any connections between Dudley and Intelicore.” Eve activated the GPS on her wrist unit, read in Urich’s address.

“We are so freaking high-tech!”

“I’m just seeing if it works.” She shot out of the lot. Peabody let out a joyous, “Whee!”

“There’s just not enough wind.”

“You’re going ‘Whee,’ too. Inside.”

Maybe, Eve thought.

“If the killer isn’t Urich—and nothing’s that easy—then he has to look enough like him, or have made himself look enough like him to fool the vic. He could change his hair, add weight, take it off, do some face work, but there should be at least a surface resemblance. The killer’s probably Caucasian or looks it, likely in the neighborhood of five ten and a hundred seventy like Urich. Unless he’s just randomly hacking IDs for his kills, we’ll find a connection between Sweet and Urich.”

“He’s picking the top in their field for his victims,” Peabody said as she worked. “Sweet and Urich both work for important companies, and have important positions in them.”

“It’s more,” Eve said with a shake of her head. “When you think of the top companies, the wealthiest corporations, the biggest businesses, what comes to mind first?”

“Roarke.”

“Yeah, but this guy’s taken out two without crossing into Roarke’s businesses.”

“The amusement park.”

“Yeah, which Roarke has a piece of, and a part in. But it’s hard to pick a company without bumping into one of Roarke’s, and the killer didn’t go there for his cover either time. There’s going to be a connection between the men and/or their companies. It’s not random. Neither are the vics. They’re not personal, but they’re specific. We’ll run a search to see if there’s any connection between Houston and Crampton, but it’s going to be the men, the companies, not the victims.”

“I don’t find anything on this first round. None of the subsidiaries are connected or even in direct competition. They do have offices in some of the same cities, but that’s a stretch. They do each have long-running charitable foundations, but again, they veer off into different areas of interest and support.”

“It’s in there somewhere,” Eve noted.

Peabody put her head back, closed her eyes. “Maybe employees who crossed over, or interbusiness marriages, relations. So the killer has at least some data on both.”

“Possible.”

“Or somebody who knows and has a hard-on against Sweet and Urich.”

“A lot of trouble to go to, and pretty fucking extreme to take a punch at somebody. But we’ll be looking for connections between Sweet and Urich. The methods aren’t random either. They’re planned well in advance, so they’re deliberate. A bid for attention. He’s showing off. Send an alert to Mira’s office,” she said referring to the department’s top profiler and shrink. “I want a consult tomorrow. Send her the files so she can take a look.”

When she pulled up in front of the dignified old brownstone, she smiled at her wrist unit. “Bastard really works.”

She got out of the car, took a moment to study the townhouse, the neighborhood. “Nice spot. Quiet, established, monied but not flashy. Urich was married once and did it in a twelve-year stretch. He’s worked for the same company for close to twenty years. He sticks. Got a little garden going here that looks all tidy and organized. Everything all nice and settled.”

She passed through the short wrought-iron gate, to the walkway between a small, structured front garden, and up the stairs to the main door.

“Locks down at night.” She nodded toward the steady red light on the security pad before pressing the buzzer.

This residence is protected by Secure One,
the computer informed her.
The occupant does not accept solicitations. Please state your name and your business.

“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody.” Eve held up her badge for the scanner. “NYPSD. We need to speak with Foster Urich.”

Your information will be relayed. Please wait.

Good security, Eve thought, but Urich kept it simple and straightforward.

It took several minutes, but the security light switched to green, and the door opened.

Urich stood in loose pants and T-shirt, his feet bare. His hair looked sleep tumbled and curled around a sharp-featured face. Fear lived in his eyes.

“Has something happened to Marilee? My daughter. Is my daughter—”

“We’re not here about your daughter, Mr. Urich.”

“She’s okay? Her mother—”

“We’re not here about your family.”

He closed his eyes a moment, and when he opened them the fear died. “My daughter’s at camp. It’s her first time.” He let out a breath. “What’s this about? Jesus, it’s after three in the morning.”

“We’re sorry to disturb you at this hour, but we need to ask you some questions. Can we come in?”

“It’s the middle of the night. If I’m going to let you in, I want to know what this is about.”

“We’re investigating a homicide. Your name came up.”

“My—a murder? Who’s dead?”

“Ava Crampton.”

His face creased in puzzlement. “I don’t know anybody by that name. All right, come in. Let’s get this cleared up.”

The long entrance hall opened on the side to a living area with deep colors, oversized seating, a wide wall screen. On the table in front of a long high-backed couch sat two wineglasses and a bottle of red. A pair of high-heeled sandals sat under the table.

“Who’s Ava Crampton, and how did my name come up?”

“Are you alone, Mr. Urich?”

“I don’t see that’s any of your business.”

“If you’ve had company this evening, it may clear up some questions.”

He was blushing, Eve noted.

“I’m with a friend. I don’t like being interrogated about my personal life.”

“I don’t blame you, but Ava Crampton lost her personal life.”

“I’m sorry about that, but it has nothing to do with me. And I’d really like to know why you think it does.”

“Elegant Transportation took Ms. Crampton to Coney Island tonight.”

He looked both irritated and baffled. “Lieutenant Dallas, if you’re questioning everyone who routinely uses Elegant Transpo, you’re in for a really long night.”

“The reservation for the limo was in your name, and secured with your credit card.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would I order a limo for a woman I don’t even know?”

“That’s a question,” Eve said.

Irritation increased enough to smother the bafflement. “When was it booked?” He snapped out the question. “What card was supposedly used?”

When Eve told him, he took a moment before speaking. “That’s my company card. I use that transpo service routinely for both business and personal, but I know neither I nor my admin reserved transportation for tonight.”

“Let’s get this part out of the way. Where were you between ten P.M. and one A.M.?”

“Foster?”

The pretty woman wore a man’s robe miles too big for her. Her short, bark-colored hair fell to her jaw. Like Urich, she hadn’t thought to comb it.

“I’m sorry. I got worried.”

“It’s all right, Julia. It’s just some sort of mix-up. Julia and I spent the evening together.” His color came up again. “I, ah, picked her up about seven-forty-five. We had an eight o’clock at Paulo’s. Then we, ah, came back here. I don’t remember the time.”

“It was a little after ten,” Julia supplied. “We’ve been in since. What’s happened?”

He walked to her, ran a hand down her arm. “Someone’s been killed.”

“Oh, no! Who?”

“I don’t know her, but there’s some confusion about the use of my company card. I need to straighten it out. I can’t think straight,” he added. “I’m going to make some coffee.”

“I’ll do it. No, I’ll do it, Foster. You sit down. Would you like coffee?” she said to Eve and Peabody.

“That’d be great,” Eve answered.

“Foster, sit down with the police. I’ll just be a minute.”

“Sorry,” he said when Julia went out. “Sit down. This has just thrown me off. I don’t know how my company account could’ve been used. We change the code every couple of weeks.”

Eve took the ID photo out of her bag. “Do you recognize her?”

He took a good look at the picture, then scooped back his untidy hair and took another, longer study before he shook his head. “No. And I don’t think that’s a face I’d forget. She’s beautiful. Coney Island, you said,” he added when he handed the photo back.

“Yes. You’ve been there.”

He smiled. “I’ve taken my daughter there several times since it reopened. She’s going to be nine next month. I’m divorced,” he said quickly. “Her mother and I have been divorced for several months.”

“Understood. Do you know an Augustus Sweet?”

“I don’t think so. It’s not a familiar name. I meet a lot of people, Officer—”

“Lieutenant.”

“Sorry, yes, Lieutenant Dallas. In my work . . . You already know what I do, where I work. You’d have checked.”

“Yes. Who’d have access to your account information?”

“My admin. Della McLaughlin. She’s worked with me for over fifteen years. She wouldn’t be involved in this. Her assistant, Christian Gavin, would also have the information, but I have to say the same. He’s been with us nearly eight years. Julia.” He smiled again when she came back with a tray, and rose to take it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She stood as he set down the tray. “Should I go?”

“No, please. Lieutenant, I need to go put a block on that account, and initiate a search for use. I may be able to tell you who used it once I do.”

“Go ahead.”

He grabbed coffee, dumped creamer into it. “I’ll only be a couple minutes.”

Julia sat, tugged on her robe. “This is strange and . . . just strange.”

“Can I ask how long you and Mr. Urich have been involved?”

“Involved? I guess about a month, but we’ve known each other for three years. Since our daughters became friends. They’re at camp together. Kelsey’s father and I divorced several years ago. Since Foster and Gemma divorced, Foster and I . . . Well, we spent some time together with the girls, playdates and parks and that kind of thing. And we’d talk. He needed someone to talk to who’d been there. Then . . . it sort of evolved. This is actually the first time we’ve . . . Anyway, I don’t suppose any of that’s relevant.”

You’d be surprised, Eve thought.

“Difficult divorce for Mr. Urich?” Peabody asked, picking up the theme.

“They’re all difficult. But it was civilized. They both love their daughter very much. Gemma just wanted something else. I think that’s what was hardest for Foster to understand. It wasn’t any one thing. She just didn’t want what they had.”

“Is she involved with someone else?”

“I don’t think so. That’s part of the something else. She just didn’t want a relationship. Not now anyway. She didn’t leave for someone else, if that’s what you mean. She’s a very decent person.”

Urich came back, stood on the other side of the coffee table. “It’s my code. Whoever reserved the transportation knew my code, my password. I don’t know how that could be. I’ve ordered a sweep and sniff, to confirm we were hacked. It’s the only explanation I have.”

“Can you think of anyone who’d want to cause you trouble?” Eve asked. “Want the cops at your door at three in the morning?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but frowned into the distance. “When you hold a position with a company like Intelicore as I do, you do generate some resentment, some anger, some hard feelings. People get fired or transferred, or written up. I can imagine there are some who wouldn’t mind seeing me hassled or inconvenienced. There are probably some who’d enjoy hearing I’d been questioned by the police. But this is more than that. This is using my name in connection with murder. No, I can’t think of anyone who’d do that.”

“I’m going to send e-detectives to your office and your home to do their own check of your equipment. Any problem with that?”

“No. I want answers on this, and quickly. I’ll have to tell The Third,” he muttered.

“The Third?”

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “The head of the company. I’ll need to inform him there’s been a breach, and that there’s a criminal investigation connected to it.” He dragged a hand through his hair.

“He can’t blame you,” Julia began.

“It’s my account. At some point, someone’s head’s going to roll. So believe me, Lieutenant, when I say I want answers. I don’t want that head to be mine.”

“We appreciate your cooperation.” Eve got to her feet. “If he’s the head of the company, why do you call him The Third?”

“Sylvester B. Moriarity the Third. His grandfather started the company.”

She had that information already, but circled around it. “And he takes an active role in the company.”

“He’s involved, certainly. I’ll walk you out.”