Kindred in Death (24 page)

“Eve, don’t do this. The data wasn’t there to be found. There was no Irene Schultz to show up on your search of rape-murder victims. The very nature of who these people are—were—may be tomorrow—makes it tricky and time-consuming to find them. Consider the fact you found this connection at all, and will save the lives of other targets.”

“I know you can’t save them all. I know it. But when you have to swallow that hours would have made the difference, it doesn’t go down easy. She was getting married on Saturday. Robins.”

“Ah. Well.” Following instinct he put his hands on her shoulders, drew her in.

“I’m standing in that apartment where she lived with the man she was marrying in a couple days, and I’m seeing all that wedding junk. Like at Louise’s. Goddamn it, Roarke.”

He said nothing. There was nothing to be said.

“I know you can’t save them all,” she repeated. “I know you can’t catch them all, and even some you catch will slither through the system. But this one’s not going to. Sick, smug son of a bitch.”

“All right then. What’s next?”

She stepped away. “We interview all those involved in the Irene Schultz matter, and we find out if he’s made contact with anyone’s daughter, son, sister, brother, mother, father, second cousin twice removed. We set up for tomorrow’s memorial. We work the case. We push on the electronics. And why aren’t you huddled with your EDD pals?”

“We’ll discuss that at the briefing.”

“Then let’s get started.”

In the conference room, Eve gave a brief overview of the investigation for the benefit of the members she’d added to the team. She followed it with a report on the early steps of the Robins case.

“Peabody.”

“After the notification to Hampton, I went to City Choice. I spoke with the vic’s supervisor and two of her coworkers. None of them could identify the suspect by the pictures we have. It’s not unusual for a client not to come in to the offices, and in fact, more usual for the real estate agent to meet same at a property or another location.”

“Handy for him.”

“All three individuals I spoke with recall the vic speaking of a Drew Pittering, and one, specifically recalls the vic telling her she’d tapped a new client when he contacted her. Her office log lists a contact from Pittering on May fifteenth, with the note he was looking most specifically for space in SoHo, and his preferences for same. It also lists meeting him at two properties in that sector, and providing him with two virtual tours of other locations. Finally, it lists her appointment with him at the SoHo loft for nine-thirty a.m., yesterday.”

“Reineke, Jenkinson, you’ll follow up with the other properties, knock on doors, show the photo. Peabody,” she repeated.

“EDD has all the electronics from her home and her work space, as well as those from the crime scene. With a grief counselor I notified the victim’s parents.” She let out a breath. “Um. When questioned, Jaynie Robins did not immediately recall Irene Schultz or the case. She agreed to come into Central today to speak with the lieutenant, and stated she would look through her archive of case notes and files to try to refresh herself on the matter. The fact is, she was pretty shaken up, and I’m not sure she was taking in any of the details on this old case. I left them with the grief counselor, and they’ll be escorted in shortly.”

“Okay. Good work. Feeney, progress?”

“I’m going to pass this to the civilian.”

When Eve looked toward Roarke, Feeney shook his head. “Wrong civilian. Brief the lieutenant, Jamie.”

“McNab and I have been putting in some long hours on this, and back with Feeney and Roarke and a couple of the others upstairs. But we just couldn’t figure any way to speed the cleaning process. Not with the extent of the corruption. Then Roarke said something about trying to split another matrix clone on a second JPL and merge texels with the corrupted pixels and stir up the ppi to defuck the bitmapping.”

“Did you say defuck?” Eve asked. “Is that a technical term?”

“Ah, it just sort of expresses the procedure. See, for this particular application, the regions are made up of supixels, and when infected the standard triad—”

“Stop the madness.” She resisted, barely, just slapping her hands over her ears. “I’m begging you.”

“Well, it’s frosty max if you get how it works and why. When Roarke talked about the clone and merge, I started thinking maybe we could go rad and do a merge and ramp, input an HIP to counteract, then extrapolate, do the clone, and restart the defuck from that point.”

“Makes me proud,” Feeney said as Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes.

“Will somebody just give me the progress. In English?”

“Picture’s worth a thousand. Put it up, Jamie,” Feeney ordered.

“Roger that.” Using a remote, Jamie displayed an image on screen.

Eve shifted, stepped back. There, on screen, Darrin Pauley was captured in midstep as he climbed the stairs to the victim’s front door. He wore a cap, which she identified as from Columbia, shades, and a shy smile. Deena, young, pretty, beaming, stood in the open doorway, her hand held out for his.

“Excellent,” Eve murmured.

“Bloody brilliant,” Roarke stated.

“I wouldn’t’ve thought of it if you hadn’t started the ball.” Jamie nodded toward Roarke. “And you were the one who actually did the conversion and—”

Roarke shot a finger at Jamie. “Bloody brilliant.”

“Well.” Though he shrugged, pleasure shone on Jamie’s face. “Yeah.”

“The PA will have to be a complete screwup not to cage this bastard for First Degree. But we have to catch him first. Can you do the same with the SoHo security?”

“Now that we’ve identified the virus, have the process?” Feeney bared his teeth in a smile. “We’ll have all of the MacMasters and the SoHo vids for you before end of shift.”

“Nice work, all of you. Damn nice work. He’s wearing a backpack, handy for holding his supplies. The same shoes the wit ID’d from the park.”

“That brings me to retail,” Peabody put in. “I’ve got a strong lead on the shoes, and the rest. An outlet right on campus, which unfortunately screwed my downtown hunch. The shoes, the sweatshirt, sweatpants, cap, shades, backpack, airboard, several T-shirts, and a windbreaker were purchased there by a Donald Petrie, on March thirty-first.”

“Address?”

“The address that came up is in Ohio, and actually is the home of one Donal Petri, age sixty-eight, who was pretty steamed when he got the charges for a bunch of stuff from a college outlet in New York. He reported the fraud in mid-April upon getting the bill. I’ve got the name of the clerk whose ID number was on the sale. I haven’t yet been able to contact. She’s a student at the university.”

“We’ll run it down. Tomorrow’s memorial,” Eve continued and outlined the plan.

Toward the end of the briefing, Eve received word the Robinses were being escorted into Central. Because she wanted privacy, she directed them to be taken to Interview A. She gathered the case file on Irene Schultz and the mug shot.

She found them sitting together at the table, hands linked. She supposed the best term for the way they looked would be shell-shocked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Robins, I’m Lieutenant Dallas. You remember Detective Peabody. We want to thank you for coming in like this, and to offer our sincere sympathy for your loss.”

“I talked to her yesterday morning.” Jaynie’s voice quavered. “When she was on her way to . . . that appointment. I wanted to tell her my sister and her family were getting in this morning. My niece, her cousin, is one of the bridesmaids. We were going to have a get-together tonight. She was so excited. About the wedding, and she was so confident she’d make this sale. She was so happy.”

“She talked to you about this man?”

“Not really. She just said it was the perfect client for the perfect property, and the sale would be the perfect wedding gift. I have her dress, her wedding dress.” Disbelief swirled with the grief in Jaynie’s eyes. “I’m keeping it because she doesn’t want Tony to see it. It’s in the closet in her bedroom at home.”

Peabody put a cup of water on the table, laid a hand on Jaynie’s shoulder before taking her seat across the table.

“He didn’t care about her, Mrs. Robins. But I do.” Eve waited until the woman looked at her again, focused on her. “I care about Karlene, and with your help I’m going to find the person responsible and see that he pays for what he did to her.”

“She didn’t do anything to him.” Owen Robins stared out of shattered eyes. “She never hurt anyone.”

“He doesn’t care,” Eve repeated. “Not about Karlene, not about sixteen-year-old Deena MacMasters. He cares about what he sees as payback. He cares about hurting everyone he believes took something from him. Irene Schultz. That’s all he cares about.”

Eve took the photo from the file, laid it on the table. “I need you to try to remember her.”

“I looked back at my archives. It was so long ago. I believed in the work, believed in putting the welfare and best interest of the child above all. Still, it was never easy to remove a child from the home, even when it was best. I lasted almost ten years. A long time. Then we moved to Brooklyn, and I counsel families. I try to help. I always did.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t really remember her, this woman. Not clearly, I’m sorry. There were so many. Too many. My notes, I brought them. You can have them. I made note that the living conditions seemed very good, and the child well-cared for. Temporary removal was based on the mother’s arrest, and the suspicion that the father was complicit. There were no friends or relatives, so the boy was placed with a foster family. And he was returned to the father within forty-eight hours. I don’t understand how he could take my child’s life because I put him in a safe place for two days. He wasn’t harmed.”

“Do you remember anything about the father?”

“I have in my notes he was upset, but polite. That he appeared to relate well to the child, showed concern for him. He packed toys and clothes for the child himself, and soothed the boy when he said good-bye. I would have testified to that in court, had it become necessary.”

Her lips trembled until she had to press them hard together to still them. “It’s important to make note of the relationship, the environment. I have in my notes that in the initial observation he appeared to be a good parent. As he was cleared of any knowledge of his wife’s illegal activities, the child was returned to him. There were no follow-ups, and the case was closed.”

“All right. Thank you.”

“It’s no help. None of it helps Karlene.”

“I think your notes and impressions will be a great help. I’m going to have you taken back home. I have to ask you not to speak to the media. They’ll come, they’ll push. For the sake of other children he may have targeted, I’m going to ask you to say nothing to anyone about this conversation. For the best interest of the child, Mrs. Robins.”

“You’ll keep us informed about . . . you’ll tell us?”

“You have my word.” Rising, she went to the door, signaled the uniforms waiting. “These officers will take you back home.”

“We need to go to Tony.”

“They’ll take you there. They’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

Peabody watched them go. “It was good of you to tell them they helped. They really didn’t.”

“We can’t know what might help.”

“It breaks my heart, Dallas. Instead of going to their daughter’s wedding, they’ll go to her funeral.”

“Then let’s make damn sure it’s the last funeral he’s responsible for.”

18

WHEN EVE FOUND ROARKE IN HER OFFICE again, she frowned. “Why are you still here?”

“They don’t need me in EDD at this point. I can deal with some of my own work as easily from here as anywhere, with the benefit of being with my wife.”

“I’m going back in the field. I have to go by the morgue, then track down the student who sold the suspect his gear.”

“I’ve nothing more interesting to do.”

She considered it. She could leave Peabody to write and file the reports, nag the lab, run the probabilities on which target might be next.

“Fine. You’re with me.”

“My favorite place.”

With the work dumped on Peabody, Eve took the morgue first.

“You don’t need to go in. I don’t expect any surprises here, no revelations. It’s just procedure.”

“In any case.” He continued down the white tunnel with her. “I remember when we brought Nixie here,” he said, speaking of the little girl whose family had been slaughtered in a home invasion. “Brutal. But then, I suppose, it always is. She’s doing well with Elizabeth and Richard, and young Kevin. They’re making a family. I think she’s able to do that because you gave her resolution.”

“She’s tough. She’ll make it okay.” She paused outside the doors to Morris’s suite. “The one who’s responsible for what’s in there? He didn’t have to crawl through his mother’s blood like Nixie did, he didn’t have his entire family slaughtered in their own beds. He doesn’t have half Nixie’s spine. He’s weak, and I’m going to give him one hell of a resolution.”

There, Roarke thought, there she was. She could feel the blame, and the pain—perhaps she needed to—but she could and would always come back to purpose.

Morris wore mourning black today, with a shirt of deep red. Music wove quietly through the air as he closed the Y-cut on Karlene with sure strokes.

“You’re done with her?”

“I started on her immediately. Hello, Roarke.”

“Morris. How are you?”

“Better than I was. I hoped I wouldn’t see either of you until the wedding, and under much happier circumstances. I pushed the tox screen,” he told Eve. “And found the same combination, though I might have missed it if I hadn’t been specifically looking. She’d been dosed approximately six and a half hours prior to death, and in a lesser amount than our first.”

“He realized he didn’t need her to be out as long,” Eve concluded. “And he didn’t have as much time to work on her. Or didn’t want to take as much time.”

“Other than that, and the use of elasticized cord rather than police restraints, his method remains the same. Bound, ankles and wrists. Ankle restraints removed and reapplied. Multiple rapes, vaginal and anal, an almost casual beating considering the violence of the rapes. Sporadic smothering and choking. COD manual strangulation. She fought. As evidenced by the abrasions, lacerations, contusions on her wrists and ankles.”

“He varies in small ways to suit the circumstances, but sticks with the overall method.”

“There’s one other variation,” Morris said. “She was pregnant.”

“Shit.” It punched straight through her. “Goddamn it.”

“Under a week along. She may not have known.”

Eve shoved at her hair. She didn’t bother to curse again. “Her people are going to come in. Her parents, her cohab. They were getting married Saturday.”

Morris released a long sigh. “Fate’s a cruel bastard.”

“Fuck fate, people are cruel bastards. There’s no need to tell her people about the pregnancy, unless they ask. Not yet anyway.”

“No, there’s not.” He stepped back. “First the virgin, now the bride.”

“What?” Eve’s head came up, her eyes sharpened. “Wait. What comes after?”

“After?”

“Virgin, bride—what’s next? If it’s a kind of progression. Logical, organized. What’s after bride?”

“Newlywed,” Morris suggested.

“Wife. For some . . .” Roarke looked down at Karlene with pity. “Pregnancy, motherhood. A cynic might say divorce often fits in there at some point.”

“It might be a way of selecting the order, even the specific vic. You drive. I want to work it. Thanks, Morris.”

She had her PPC out even as she strode back down the tunnel.

“It would be monumentally fortunate from his point of view,” Roarke said, “for him to be able to find the proper victims for the sort of progression you’re proposing.”

“I don’t think so. They don’t have to be female—though I imagine he prefers. Newlywed—either sex. Then you could say husband instead of wife, expectant father, and so on. He’s got kids, grandkids, siblings, parents—maybe extended family—to choose from.”

She slid into the car. “I told Peabody to work probability on stage of contact. MacMasters, then the CS supervisor, the CS rep, the PD. Maybe he’s picking them in order of appearance. Or maybe this way. But there has to be some sort of selection process. A timetable, for trolling them, researching them, arranging the meet, developing the relationship. And there’s overlap. He contacted Karlene while he was working Deena. Started the second round before finishing the first.”

“So, by that criteria, he’s started round three.”

“Yeah, and maybe beyond that. I figured the PD most likely, and we’re on her, but she doesn’t have anyone who fits this other progression.” Eve shook her head as she scanned the data. “She’s been divorced six years, no kids. She has a sister, married over twenty-five years—that’s no newlywed. A niece and a nephew, neither married.”

“You don’t have to be married to be pregnant, or to have a relationship that results in a pregnancy.”

“Good point. Could be one of them for that stage if so, could be the sister for the wife—the long-term kind. We’ll keep them covered, but I don’t think they’re next.”

“Speaking of next, where am I going?”

“Hmm? Columbia. I need to find the clerk. She lists a dorm as her address, and the retail place as her employment. She hasn’t answered her ’link and hasn’t returned any of Peabody’s requests for contact. I just want to tie that one up.”

“Then why not go to the orchard?”

“Trees?”

“And pick a Peach.” He used the in-dash ’link to do it himself.

Dressed in a power-red suit and shoes that emphasized her height— and made Eve’s ankles throb when she noted them—Peach Lapkoff waited outside the administration building. Those razor-sharp eyes took on a sultry hue as she held out both hands to Roarke.

“It’s wonderful to see you.”

Eve stood by, brows raised as they bussed cheeks. “And you,” Roarke said. “You look brilliant.”

“I’m off to reach into the deep pockets of some alumni shortly. It’s best to look the part. Lieutenant.” She offered Eve her hand. “I’ve found Fiona. She’s been in a two-day retreat. No communication devices allowed. I’ve had her pulled out, as it seemed important enough to interrupt. She’ll be brought here. I wasn’t sure if you’d require my office, or some other area.”

“It’s not necessary. It shouldn’t take long.”

“I heard the reports that there’d been another murder. Another young woman raped and murdered.”

“We can’t confirm the cases are connected.”

“The media doesn’t have a problem throwing out speculations about a serial killer, targeting young women. We have a lot of young women on campus. There’s serious concern.”

“I’d advise your students and staff to take sensible precautions. But the media’s claims or speculations have no confirmation from the NYPSD.”

Peach continued to stare at Eve as if trying to X-ray her brain. “I was worried when you requested Fiona Wallace be located. That you might have reason to believe she’s in some danger.”

“Absolutely not. It pertains to a sale she made last March in Sports Center that may connect to the investigation.”

“I’m relieved.” Peach’s gaze shifted over Eve’s head. “Here she comes.”

“Do you recognize all your students on sight, Dr. Lapkoff?”

“Peach,” she said. “No, I don’t, but I looked her up when you requested I locate her. Miss Wallace.”

“Dr. Lapkoff.” The girl was no more than twenty with skin pale as the moon and what looked to be several pounds of red hair piled on top of her head. She was slightly out of breath from, Eve concluded, the trip across campus and fear at being summoned by the president.

“You’re not in any trouble.” The power female took on a faint maternal tone. “And you won’t be penalized for the time out of the retreat. This is Lieutenant Dallas, with the NYPSD. She hopes you can help her.”

“Help?”

“Yes. Would you like me to step away, Lieutenant?”

“It’s not necessary. You work at Sports Center.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m a year-round student, and I work there to help with living expenses. I’ve worked there for over a year now.”

“You were working there on March thirty-first.”

“Ah. I’m not sure. Maybe.”

“You sold several items to this man.” Eve drew out the sketch. “Do you remember him?”

“I’m not sure. Exactly. It’s over two months ago, and we’re a really popular store. It can get really busy.”

“I have a list of what he bought. It might help you remember.” Eve started down the list, saw Fiona blink when she got to the shoes. “You remember?”

“I do. It was a really big sale, and the shoes are really high. I remember because I told him they were going on sale, for one day, in just another week. Ten percent, and that’s a lot when they go for three and a half bills, you know? But he wanted them right then. He looked a little different from this picture. That’s why I didn’t recognize him right away.”

“How so?”

“His hair was a lot longer, and wavy. He had mag hair. He was really cute. I guess I flirted with him a little, the way you do, asked if he lived on campus, and what his major was. I think he said he was living off campus. He was nice, but he didn’t flirt back, so I figured he was seeing someone or I didn’t push the buzzer for him. I made some joke about him hitting the jackpot or something because he was buying so much. I remember he smiled, because, wow, killer smile. And he said—because I thought it was funny—clothes make the man. It seemed like a weird thing to say when he’s buying sweatshirts and that kind of thing. I bagged it all up, and he left.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, Fiona. Thanks.”

“Did he do something illegal?”

“We’re interested in talking to him. If you do see him, do me a favor. Don’t approach him, and contact me.” Eve handed her a card.

“Sure. Should I go back to the retreat now?”

“Yes,” Peach told her. “Straight back.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did that help?” Peach asked as Fiona hurried off.

“It confirms some information, continues to establish pattern, and tells me he’s got smug going up against careful, and sometimes smug wins. Yeah, that’s helpful. As you’ve been. Thank you.”

“I’m happy I could help, and I hope the media reports, very soon, that you’ve arrested this man.”

“So do I.”

When they reached the car, Roarke asked, “What next?”

“I need to go back over the list of names and data of those connected with the Irene Schultz arrest. I need to talk to them, all of them, and try to figure out his next target.”

“They don’t all live in New York.”

“No.” She got into the car. “But he’s got, apparently, an endless supply of IDs, and credit to go with them. Maybe his next target’s in New York, maybe not. I need to interview all the connections to possible targets to try to work it out.”

“Not all the connections live in New York either, or in the city. You could, of course, shuttle around to and from, or conduct the interviews via ’link.”

“I’d rather a face-to-face, but it’s not practical, so most of it will have to be by ’link. The problem is people expand. They get married and/or have kids. The kids do the same. Or they have sibs who do it. In twenty-odd years, you’ve got a horde spiraling out of one person.”

“People and their propensity for progeny.” Amused at her, Roarke shook his head. “What can be done?”

“What I’d like to do is get them all into Central, take them one at a time, then if necessary, pool them altogether, to see if one person’s answers jogs something salient from another.”

“I can arrange that.”

She slanted him a bland look as he drove them home. “What? You’ll have everyone transported to Central—from wherever they happen to be? Not only impractical, but plenty of them won’t go for it. Another problem with people is they have lives, and can get fussy when asked to put them on hold to aid in a police investigation they may or may not believe really involves them.”

“There’s transporting,” he said, “and there’s transporting.”

“Well, sure, your transports are all slick and shiny, but—”

“Eve, while I often have to travel for business, or have someone brought in, how much more often do I conduct business halfway around the world, even off planet, without leaving New York?”

“Yeah, but you’ve got . . .” She had a sudden memory of walking into his office unannounced while he conducted a meeting. A holographic meeting. “It could work,” she considered. “We don’t use holo for interviews generally because if you’re dealing with a suspect, even witnesses in some cases, the defense will try to get anything gathered by that method tossed. It’s tricky because it can be manipulated. You want to make it solid, you need a confession or hard evidence face-to-face, on record. But this . . .”

“You’re not looking for a confession, not interviewing suspects, or even people of interest.”

“Yeah, it could work. I’ll want to run it by an APA, make sure there’s no procedural angle I need to cover. If any information I get leads to an arrest, we don’t want some slick lawyer trying to claim the information was tainted, therefore, blah, blah. But I think we can do this.”

“You used holo on Ricker.”

“Yeah, and he’s already doing life without possibility of parole. They can try to dance around the method for slapping him with conspiracy on Coltraine. But you order a cop’s murder, from the inside of an off-planet penal colony where holo-visitations and legal consultations are allowed? It’s going to be hard for anyone to argue the method, and I cleared it first. Cleo wasn’t part of the holo, and she was allowed to view it. I didn’t use any evidence, per se, from the holo in drawing her confession, and I, again, cleared it first. The judge already tossed her lawyer’s petition to dismiss on that one.”