Portrait in Death (36 page)

"Nobody prevents Roarke."

"Nobody," Sinead said with a nod, "but you."

"I wouldn't do anything to get in the way of something he needed. He needed to come here. He'll need to come back. Maybe you weren't looking in the right place when he introduced me to you, when he looked at you. He already loves you."

"Oh." Her eyes filled up before she could stop them, and she blinked, wiping at them quickly when she heard him coming back in. "I'll fix you some food for the journey."

"Don't trouble." Roarke touched her shoulder again. "There's plenty of it on the shuttle. I've made arrangements to have the car I drove here picked up."

"Well that'll be sad news for my Liam, who thinks it's as fine and fancy a machine as ever built. I've something for you." She reached in her pocket, closing her fingers over the treasure as she turned to him. "Siobhan didn't take all her things when she went to Dublin. She was going to come back and get them, or send for them, but, well, one thing and another."

She pulled out a thin chain and the rectangle of silver that dangled from it. "It's just a trinket, but she wore it often. You see this is her name, in Ogham script. I know she'd want you to have it."

Sinead pressed it into Roarke's hand, closed his fingers around it. "Safe journey then, and... ah, damn it."

The tears beat her, plopped onto her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around him. "Come back, will you? Come back sometime, and keep well until you do."

"I will." He closed his eyes, breathed her in. Vanilla and wild roses. He murmured in Gaelic as he pressed his lips to her hair.

She gave a watery laugh, pulled back to swipe at her cheeks. "I don't have that much of the Gaelic."

"I said thank you for showing me my mother's heart. I won't forget her, or you."

"See that you don't. Well, be off then before I start blubbering all over you. Good-bye to you, Eve, keep yourself safe."

"It was a pleasure to meet you." She took Sinead's hand in a firm grip. "A genuine pleasure. The shuttle runs both ways, if you decide to come to New York."

Roarke pressed a kiss to her temple as they walked to the field, and the waiting copter. "That was well done."

"She's a stand-up."

"That she is." He looked back toward the house, and the woman who stood in the back doorway to wave them off.

***

"You should get some sleep," he said to her when they were settled on the shuttle.

"Don't start poking at me, pal. You're the one who looks like he's been on a week's bender."

"Might stem from the fact that I've consumed more whiskey in the past two days than I have in the past two years, altogether. Why don't we both stretch out for a bit?"

She jiggled her foot, checked the time, did the math. "Too early to call Central and check in. I'll be back in a couple hours anyway, won't even have missed any time."

"Just missed sleep." He engaged the mechanism that turned the wide sofa into a wide bed.

"Too revved to sleep."

"Is that so?" Some of the light she loved was back in his eyes. "Well, what can we do to pass the time, help you relax? Cribbage, perhaps?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Cribbage? Is that some perverted sexual activity?"

He laughed, and grabbing her, tossed her onto the bed. "Why not?"

But he was gentle, and so was she. Tender, as she was. They watched each other as they touched. So she could see the shadows that had haunted him these last days lift away, and leave that deep and vivid blue clear again.

Love, she thought, the act of it, could chase away ghosts for a while, tuck the dead away. Here was life, with him filling her, life as she surrounded the hard length of him, and their fingers linked, their mouths meeting.

Life, he thought, while she rose to him so he could only sink into her. Their life.

***

She was definitely relaxed, and not particularly sleepy when they arrived at the transport dock in New York. Then again, she figured, if a woman wasn't relaxed after an energetic session of cribbage with Roarke, something was wrong with her.

She let him take the wheel of the city vehicle she'd left in his personal parking slot for the drive home so she could use her energies to alert Central she was back, and on duty.

"No point in mentioning you could have taken a couple of hours personal time before diving back in."

"I've had more than my quota of personal time. I'm fine." She looked over at him. "We're fine now."

He closed a hand over hers as he maneuvered through the early morning traffic. "We are, yes. My head's clearer than it's been in days. I guess I'm a bit anxious to get back to things myself."

"Good deal. So before we both get back to things, is there anything else you should tell me?"

He thought of Grogin, and how close he'd come to crossing a line. Eve's line. "No. Oh wait, there is one thing. It turns out I'm a year younger than I thought I was."

"No kidding. Huh. Does it feel weird?"

"A bit, actually."

"I guess you'll get used to it." She snuck a look at the time. "Listen, I'll dump you home, then head straight downtown to... Damn." Her communicator signaled.

DISPATCH, DALLAS, LIEUTENANT EVE.

"Dallas, acknowledged."

REPORT EAST SIDE HEALTH CENTER, SECOND LEVEL UNDERGROUND PARKING FACILITY. HOMICIDE VERIFIED BY FEENEY, CAPTAIN RYAN, ON SCENE.

"On my way. Dallas out. Goddamn it, goddamn it. I thought I had more time. I have to dump you now, Roarke."

"I'll take you. Let me do this," he said before she could object. "Let me do whatever I can."

Chapter 19

Sirens were screaming, and the lights from the emergency vehicle whirled as it sped by. Someone was in trouble.

But Alicia Dilbert had no more need for sirens or whirling lights; her trouble was over.

The scene was already cordoned off, with cops doing their busy work. The morning was beginning to steam, with the hot breath from the subway belching up through the sidewalk vent adding another layer.

On the corner, an enterprising glide-cart operator was set up and doing a brisk business selling coffee and fried egg sandwiches to cops and health workers-both of whom should have known better.

Eve smelled the stink of fake eggs sizzling on the grill, the body odor from men who'd been at work too long, and the medicinal scent of hospital that clung to the crowded air.

If the dog days of August didn't take a breather soon, the city was going to parboil in its own sweat.

She sealed up, and crouched with Feeney by the body.

"Got word you were back, so I held off having her bagged." He nodded toward Roarke who stood at the edge of the barricade. "Quick trip."

"Yeah. We're fine. He's fine. Shit, Feeney. Shit. I should've been here."

"Wouldn't have made a damn, and you know it. He didn't get past us. Van hasn't been touched. Nobody approached it."

"She's still dead, so he got past us one way or another." She fixed on microgoggles and studied the neat heart wound. "He keeps things orderly, stays on pattern." With the goggles in place, she could see the thin, faint line of bruises around the wrists.

"He posed her. When Morris gets her in, he'll find other marks from the wires he uses."

"Yeah. Dallas. He went a little off pattern this time around." Though his face was cold and set, there was a little flare of fury in his eyes as he reached in his evidence bag and took out a sealed note.

"She was holding this. He had it taped to her fingers." He turned the bag to show Eve the envelope, and her name printed on it.

Eve took the evidence bag, turned the note to read.

Lieutenant Dallas. You don't understand. How could you? Your scope is limited. Mine is expanded. You see here a victim, but you're wrong. She has been given a gift, a great gift, and by a small sacrifice offers that gift to others.

You think I'm a monster, I know. There will be those who agree with you and curse my name. But there will be more, many more, who will see, and finally understand the art, and the beauty, and the power I've discovered.

What I do is not simply for myself, but for all mankind.

Her light was brilliant, and is brilliant still. I hope one day you will know it.

You see too much death. One day there will only be life. And light.

It is almost done.

"Yeah, it's almost done," she muttered. She slid the note into her bag. "My scope's limited, Feeney, but what I see here is a pretty black girl, around twenty years of age, dressed in a medical uniform. About five-five, a hundred and thirty. No defensive wounds."

She bent close again, turned the girl's right palm up. "Slight round mark, consistent with pressure syringe, on her right palm. Hi, how you doing, nice to see you again. And the bastard tranqs her with a handshake. Dressed for work, so she was coming or going. We know which?"

"Med student, doing rotation here. Off shift at ten. We got statements from some of the staff who saw her clock out."

"Mmm." She continued to study the girl. Pretty face, high, sharp cheekbones. Glossy black hair, curly and drawn tidily back with a band at the nape of her neck. A trio of studs along the lobes of each ear.

"Pretty busy around here. Big risk to scoop her up right outside a health center at ten at night. You got her home address?"

"Got that, and the rest." Though he remembered, he pulled out his e-pad. "Alicia Dilbert, twenty. Student at NYU, Medicine. Residence on East Sixth, puts her place three blocks north of here. Next of kin's a brother, Wilson Buckley."

"What?" Her head came up. "What did you say?"

"Buckley, Wilson, next of kin."

"Damn." She massaged the back of her neck. "Goddamn, Feeney, we know him."

***

When she'd done all she could on scene, she walked to where Roarke stood beside Nadine. "Don't ask me now," she said before Nadine could speak. "I'll give you what I can when I can."

Something in Eve's expression had Nadine harnessing her natural instincts and nodding. "Okay. By ten, Dallas. I need something by ten, something more than the official line."

"When I can," Eve snapped back. "He sent you the transmission at oh-six-hundred."

"My usual wake-up call, yeah. I did my civic duty, Dallas. Feeney's got everything."

"So he told me. I can't give you more now, Nadine." Eve combed a hand through her hair.

Something's here, Nadine thought. Something bad. "What is it?" In a gesture of friendship, she touched Eve's tensed shoulder. "Off record, Dallas. What is it."

But Eve only shook her head. "Not now. I have to notify next of kin. I don't want her name out until I do. You can get the official line from Feeney. He'll be on scene for a while yet. I have to go. Roarke?"

"What is it you won't tell her?" he asked as they walked through the crowds and noise to her car. "What's different about this one?"

"Degrees of separation, I guess. I know her brother. So do you." She looked back at the scene before climbing behind the wheel. "You said you wanted to do what you could, so I'm using you. I want Peabody with Feeney, talking to the staff here, interviewing people at her residence. I'm going to need some help with the next of kin."

"Who is it?"

***

He'd kept himself close to his baby sister, Eve noted. Not in the same building, not even in the same block, but close. And had kept her distant from his business. The simple geography spoke to her.

Give her some room, let her spread her wings, but don't let her fly too far. And don't let the dregs that frequented the club smear her.

His building had good security. He'd be careful about such matters. Her badge got her through it, and up to the fifth floor where she took a long breath before pressing the buzzer.

Minutes passed before she saw the light blink on the scanner, and knew he was checking his security panel, seeing her standing there.

It blinked green, and he opened the door.

"Hey there, white girl. Why you gotta roust me during my sleeping time?"

He was huge, a huge black man naked but for a purple loincloth and many tattoos.

"I need to talk to you. Crack, we need to come in."

Puzzlement ran over his face, but he grinned. "Now, you ain't hassling me 'bout some trouble down to the D&D. No more going on there than the usual."

"It's not about the club." The Down and Dirty was his baby, a sex and music club in the bowels of the city where the drinks were the next thing to lethal.

She'd had what had passed for her bridal shower there.

"Shit. Gonna need coffee if I gonna be talking to some skinny-assed cop this time of day. Roarke, can't you keep this white girl busy enough so she leave me be?"

She stepped inside. The place didn't surprise her, nothing about Crack did. It was spacious and tidy, tastefully decorated in what she supposed was African art, the masks, the bright colors, the lush fabrics.

As a testament to his preference for the night, the wide windows were covered with long thick drapes that blocked out the morning in shades of crimson and sapphire.

"Guess you be wanting coffee, too," he began, but Eve laid a hand on his arm before he could move toward what she assumed was the kitchen.

"Not now. We need to sit down. I want you to sit down."

The first hints of irritation snapped into his voice. "What the hell's this about that I can't have me a hit of coffee when you get me out of bed before the crack of noon?"

"It's bad. It's bad, Crack. Let's sit down."

"Somebody hit my place? Sumbitch, somebody mess with the D&D? I locked up myself a couple hours ago. What the hell?"

"No. It's about your sister. It's about Alicia."

"Alicia? Get out." He snorted, waved one of his platter-sized hands in dismissal, but she saw the leap of fear in his eyes. "That girl's not in any trouble. That girl's good as gold. You messing with my baby girl, Dallas, you gonna mess with Crack."

No other way to do it, Eve thought. No other way. "I'm sorry to have to tell you, but your sister's dead. She was killed some time early this morning."

"That is bullshit!" He erupted, grabbing her by the arms, hauling her to her toes. Even as Roarke stepped forward, Eve shook her head to hold him back. "That's a goddamn lie. She's in medical school. She's going to be a doctor. She's in class right now. What's wrong with you, coming in here telling me lies about my baby?"