Promises in Death (8 page)

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Thanks.”

Peabody sniffled when they stepped outside. “God, he nearly had me dripping. I think he loved her—sincerely. Not like I want to roll with you in chocolate sauce, but like a daughter or something.”

“She’s coming across as having that effect on people. Maybe she was going out to meet another weasel. One she was courting.”

“I like that better than thinking somebody in her own squad did her.”

“There has to be something in her notes, or on her comps. Something, somewhere, if she was working with another informant—or working on cultivating one.” Eve got in the car, sat, considered. “She could have stepped into something bigger than she knew. Or courted somebody who strung her along for a while. She said the wrong thing, asked the wrong question. The weasel, or somebody higher up the chain, has to take her out.”

“She worked a lot of robberies, burglaries. Whoever it was got into her building, slick and smooth. So, somebody who’s into more than petty stuff.”

Still considering, Eve pulled out to head back to the scene. “We’ll get Feeney, nobody does a search and cross faster. Well, except maybe Roarke. Feeney can check with Robbery, Robbery Homicide, Major Case. Whatever might link up. Cross with her case files. Maybe something will pop.”

“Even with Feeney, and McNab—and maybe the magic of Roarke—that’s going to take a lot of man-hours. Feeney would spring Callendar into it, if you asked. She’s fast.”

Before she could respond, Eve spotted the Chinese restaurant. Less than two blocks from Coltraine’s apartment, she thought as she pulled over. “Did you get that list of restaurants?”

“Yeah.” Peabody pulled out her PPC. “This one has to be on it as we’re nearly to her place. China Garden. It’s the closest coming from this direction. There’s another, the other side of her building, that’s a little closer. Plenty of others in a five-block radius.”

“She took the stairs. I bet she walked to work when she could. It’s close to a mile, but she needed to learn the streets, and she used the stairs. She’d walk right by here. Even if she took the subway, she’d get off a block down, and still walk by here. Let’s check it out.”

The narrow dining room sparkled red and gold. Despite the recent consumption of sandwiches, Eve realized it was past the usual lunch hour, still too early for dinner. Still, several tables were occupied by people drinking from small cups or nibbling on mini eggrolls. When they entered, a woman with a short, spiky crown of hair slid out from a corner booth to come forward.

“Good afternoon. Would you like a table?”

“No, thanks.” Eve palmed her badge, held it down at her side.

“Ah.” The woman glanced down, then up again. Her eyes, a sea green in her exotic face, showed both understanding and sadness. “You’re here about Detective Coltraine. Please, come sit. You’ll have tea.”

She turned, called out a quiet order in musical Chinese as she walked back to the booth. The young woman who’d been sitting with her rose quickly and hurried into the back. “I’m Mary Hon.” She gestured Eve and Peabody to sit. “My family and I were very sorry, very sad, to hear about what happened.”

“You knew Detective Coltraine.”

“She was a good customer, a lovely lady. We’re all praying for her safe passage, and praying that her killer is brought to justice.”

“Did she come in yesterday?”

“I served her myself.” Mary nodded as the fresh pot of tea, the cups arrived. She poured from the squat white pot. “I thought back after we heard, in case it was important. It was early, before six. Maybe close to six. She told me she’d window-shopped on her way home, and tried on shoes she couldn’t afford. We joked a little about shoes. She didn’t know what she wanted to eat, and asked me to surprise her. Sometimes she did that. I gave her the moo-shu chicken—it was very good last night—and two spring rolls, because I knew she was fond of them.”

“She came in alone?”

“Yes. She said she wanted takeout as she’d be eating at home, alone, and doing some work. It was early, as I said, and we weren’t very busy yet. So we talked while the kitchen put her food together. I asked why she didn’t have a date. She told me she had to work, and her boyfriend was also working. Putting in extra time because they were going on a long weekend together soon. She seemed very happy. She took the order and paid, without even looking at what we’d given her. She said good-bye, and she would see me soon. I think she was only here for fifteen minutes. Not long. Not very long.”

“Did she usually come in alone?”

“Most always.” Mary lifted her teacup with her elegant hands. She wore a wide gold ring, and her nails were long, painted a glossy rich red. “Once or twice she came with the man she was seeing. She called him Li. They had love all around them. I hope you won’t tell me he’s the one who hurt her.”

“No, he’s not the one who hurt her. Thank you, Mrs. Hon. You’ve been very helpful.”

“I’ll miss seeing her.”

“Sadder and sadder,” Peabody said when they were back on the sidewalk. “I guess you don’t think of how many people you brush up against, or how they might remember you. The guy at your corner deli, or the owner of your favorite take-out spot. The clerk where you usually shop for clothes. Not to sound too Free-Agey, but it matters. It all matters, what we leave behind with the people we brush up against.”

“Someone she brushed up against wanted her dead. Let’s walk from here. Follow her steps.”

Somewhere around six, Eve calculated, Amaryllis Coltraine walked this way, carrying take-out Chinese for one. Nice day, nicer than today when the sky couldn’t make up its mind if it wanted to rain or just stay gloomy. Had she strolled, or had she picked up the New York pace and clipped right along?

Strolled, Eve decided. What was the hurry? She wasn’t especially hungry, wouldn’t eat for an hour or so. By all appearances, she’d planned to spend the evening in, catching up on a little work.

“Even if she took her time, less than five minutes to walk it.” Eve went in the front, as Coltraine would have, using her master where Coltraine would have used her key card. “Check her snail-mail drop.”

Peabody used her master on the narrow box, as she had that morning. And as it had been that morning, the box was empty.

“She’d take the stairs.”

They walked past the elevators, cut to the right. They passed through the fire door, and Eve paused to study the layout again. Back door straight across, stairs going up and down to the right.

“Which way was she going, out the front or the back? She didn’t have a ride, so was someone picking her up, or was she getting wherever she thought she was going on foot, subway, cab? They didn’t ambush her here. It doesn’t make sense, not if they were inside, to take her this close to the lobby fire door. Someone’s more likely to walk in from this level than any of the others.”

“Maybe she went out the back, or started to. They were lying in wait, dropped her. They wouldn’t have had to gain access that way. She’d have opened the door.”

“Possible. Yeah, possible. But when you hang around the rear of a building, you’re exposed. You look suspicious. Still, if you were quick enough . . . possible.”

They started up. “The stairs are clean. No litter, no graffiti, no hand smudges on the rail or the walls—the kind you’d get from long, regular use. Most people probably take the elevator.” Eve paused on the next landing. “Here’s where I’d have taken her. Keep behind the stairs. You’d hear her coming down, be able to judge her speed. She turns here, to round for the next level, you’re facing her. Close. Blast. Done. You haul her up, or you and your accomplice haul her up, carry her down two levels. It’s not likely you’d run into anybody that time of night, but if you do, you’re armed. You just take them down, too.”

Eve narrowed her eyes, studied Peabody. “You weigh more than she did.”

“Thanks for reminding me of the eight pounds I can’t get off my ass.”

“She was more my weight,” Eve continued, ignoring the sulk. “Shorter, but we weighed in close to the same. You’ve got a strong back. Haul me down to the basement.”

“Huh?”

“Over the shoulder. Firefighter’s carry. That’s the way he’d have done it. Leave his weapon hand free if he needs it.” Eve pressed back against the wall, imagining slapping against it from a hard stun. And let herself slide to the floor. “Haul me up, cart me down.”

“Man.” Peabody rolled her shoulders. She squatted, grunted. It took her two tries to get Eve’s deadweight over her shoulder. And another long grunt to straighten back up.

“I feel stupid,” she muttered as she trudged to the stairs. “Plus you’re heavier than you look.”

“She wouldn’t’ve been a feather.” Eve lay limp over Peabody’s shoulder. “Unconscious, carrying two weapons, her ’link, her communicator, restraints. Whatever else she took out with her. You’re making good time,” she added, as Peabody turned on the last landing. “Even bitching about it. If the killer was male, he probably had more muscle, more height than you. Plus he’s got purpose. Get her down, through the door fast. He wants to get it done.”

“Okay.” Puffing only a little, Peabody stopped at the basement door. “What now? Door’s sealed.”

“Break the seal, use your master. He’d have used his, or her key card to open the door.” Eve scowled as Peabody bumped her up, shifting the weight to dig out what she needed. When they were in, she closed the door with her self-maligned butt.

“Okay, you’re going to kill me shortly. What do you do first?”

“I dump you on the floor.”

“But he didn’t. She’d have had more bumps and bruises if he’d just dumped her. He laid her down. Lay me down.”

“Jeez.”

She managed it, then just crouched, bent forward with her elbows on her thighs.

“You need more gym time, pal.” Eve lay where she was. “He disarms her. I’ll break your fingers if you try it,” she warned Peabody. “Takes her badge, her ’link. Takes it all. Brings her around with a stimulant.” Frowning again, Eve checked the time. “She left the apartment—we’ve got to estimate about twenty-three twenty-two. Maybe she fooled around after she turned the droid off, but we’ve got to estimate that. No more than a minute or two to get down the stairs. Ambush, cart her down. Less than three minutes with you hauling me. Make it twenty-three-twenty-five to get to this point. Even adding time in to take the weapons, the badge, jewelry, add more for the stimulant—which would’ve jumped her right back—that leaves ten minutes or so before TOD. That’s a long time.”

“He had things to say.”

“Yeah, or things he wanted her to say. A conversation? Emotional torture? He does her, but he doesn’t rush the leaving. He didn’t unjam the cameras for another ten minutes.”

“Maybe he didn’t take her weapon and the rest until after he killed her?”

“Disarm first. SOP. You’d be stupid to leave her weapons on her—just in case. He was checking his tracks after he’d finished her. Making sure, I’d say. Making sure he didn’t leave any trace, make any mistakes.” Eve sat up, studied the room from her vantage point. “So far as we can tell, he didn’t. Unless he’s idiot enough to try to hock her ring, her weapon, he left nothing behind.”

She got to her feet. “Let’s take another pass through her place, then we’ll go back to Central, hook Feeney into it, and put together what we have.”

 

 

 

S
he wished it was more, Eve thought as she sat back at her desk at Central. A full day’s work, and most of what she had was impressions—how people saw the victim, felt about her. She had her own image of Coltraine to add to it. She could walk in her footprints, create what she believed was a fairly accurate time line of events. But she couldn’t know who or what had drawn the dead cop out of her apartment.

The hour she and Peabody had spent searching, hoping to find an answer, or a hidey-hole where Coltraine had stashed some secret, hadn’t given her any more.

She had Feeney and some of his best e-geeks on research and cross-check. She had several of her own men pouring over Coltraine’s cases, past and present. She had Coltraine’s backup date book, with no entry on the night she died.

It just wasn’t enough.

She copied all data to Dr. Mira, the department’s top profiler, and requested a meet at the doctor’s earliest convenience. She copied all data to her commander, then to her home unit.

She started to rise. One more cup of coffee, one more pass before she took it all home and tried a fresh approach on it there.

Baxter came in, carrying a sealed box. “This came for you, special messenger. They scanned it downstairs. There are weapons inside. Police issue.”

“Where’s the messenger?”

“In holding. It’s been scanned for prints. The messenger’s are on it, and two more sets—both employees of the mail drop where it was left. No explosives scanned.”

Peabody crowded in behind Baxter. “They’ve got to be hers. What else could they be?”

“Let’s find out. Record on. Package, addressed to Lieutenant Eve Dallas, Homicide Division, Cop Central, delivered by special messenger. Scanned and cleared.” She took out a knife, cut through the seal.

Inside were two police-issues, Coltraine’s badge, and her ID. A single disc snugged into a protective case. Eve shoved down impatience. “Let’s get the contents checked for prints, and this disc cleared.”

“I’ve got a minikit in my desk.” Peabody rushed out.

“It’s a slap in the face,” Baxter said, his fury barely held under the surface. “We already know that. Here, I took this off a cop, killed her. See what you can do about it.”

“Yeah. But if you’re cocky enough to take the slap, you’re cocky enough to start making mistakes.” She took the print kit Peabody brought in, used it herself. “Wiped down. Contents, interior of the box, all clean. No hair, no fiber, no nothing.”

She ran the disc through a hand analyzer. “Text disc. No video, no audio. No viruses detected. Let’s see what the bastard has to say.”