Thankless in Death (20 page)

“It’s a long list, Dallas.”

“We’re going to contact every name on it, and we’re going to ask everyone we contact if they know of anyone else we should add on. If any of them wants protection, we’ll put a cop on them. I’ll find it in the budget.”

“He had a tantrum down in the kitchen, at least it looks like one.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“It’s mean when you really look at it. Broken dishes, gouged counters
and appliances, glassware shattered, food tossed around. Something pissed him off.”

She took one last look at the body. “I hope it was her. He wanted her to suffer. He learned the perks of that with the ex. That’s part of the fun, the power, the payback. He kept her alive the longest. He’d want to keep the next one alive so he can enjoy himself.”

She started out just as a uniform started up the stairs. “Lieutenant? We’ve got a wit outside says he saw a man fitting the morph description.”

“I’ll take him.”

“Yes, sir. And the sweepers just pulled up.”

“We’re ready for them.”

She stepped outside where between her vehicle, the black-and-white, and the sweeper’s van they’d screwed traffic to hell and back.

Eve ignored the blasting horns, the enthusiastic cursing, and homed in on a boy of about sixteen in a fake leather jacket, high-step airboots, and a mop of brown hair shaved high on one side to show off the cluster of silver studs along his ear canal.

Didn’t it hurt, she wondered, to get holes punched there?

“Lieutenant Dallas. Your name?”

“X.”

“Your name’s X.”

“It’s like Xavier. Xavier Paque. I’m X.”

“Okay, X. You saw this man?”

The kid glanced at the morph again, bopped his shoulders up and down twice. “Yeah, hey. So I live, like, over there.” He gestured across the street. “Just riding my board back up from the mart. Went for a fizz and a pop, and I saw the dude over here, gimping along with a couple of rollies.”

“He limped?”

“Yeah, hey, you know.” The boy demonstrated, hobbling some. “Looked peeved, got it? But nice, tight threads.”

“Describe said threads.”

“Good jacket, looked like real cow. Mostly that’s what I noticed, and the gimping. Maybe nice boots.” He screwed up his face in thought. “Yeah, nice boots. Cow, too, I bet, so he had some. The one rolly was mag—duffel style, sharp. But the other? Been around. Pretty dumpy, and man, it was
red
. Bogus for a dude. Wrap shades. Had some, busted them. Bummed.”

“Limping, tight threads, and pulling a rolling duffel and a red suitcase.”

“Yeah, big red rolly.”

“How about his hair? Long, short, color?”

Now the boy scratched his head. “Short. Not you short, but not me long. Blondie, I think. Maybe he had a patch.” The thoughtful face again. “Maybe a patch,” he said, tapping his chin. “I only took the good look because his jacket was fine, and he’s gimping along with the rollies like he’s hurting bad.”

“Heading west?”

“Yeah, that way.” X’s eyes shifted to the Farnsworth house. “Something wrong with Ms. F?”

“Yeah.”

“Like what?”

Word would spread, and quickly. No point, she decided, in evading. “She’s dead. We suspect the man you saw is responsible.”

In a fingersnap he went from frosty teen to stunned boy. His eyes filled, the sheen of tears, the gleam of shock. “Come on, no, man. Fuck that. No way.”

“I’m sorry. You knew her?”

“Ms. F? This is sick bad. Ms. F? She’s up, you know? She helps
me with my e-shit for school. It’s not my thing, but she helps me out. That gimp bastard did her? I’da stopped him. I’da done something.”

“You have. Talking to me, telling me what you saw, it’s going to help us find him.”

“Where’s her dog? Where’s the Snuff-man?”

“He’s at the vet,” Peabody told him.

“Is he hurt? Man, more sick bad. She freaking loves that dog.”

“They’re taking care of him.”

“I want to go talk to my mom. I want to go home.”

“Go ahead.” Eve dug out a card. “If you think of anything else, you contact me.”

“She never hurt anybody. It’s not right. She never hurt anybody.” He stuffed Eve’s card in his pocket before running across the street.

“Maybe she did,” Eve said. “Maybe she managed to hurt him. Cabs, Peabody.”

“I’m already there.” Working her ’link, Peabody started back to the car with Eve.

“Officer!”

Eve stopped, waiting as the new father rushed up. “Lieutenant,” she corrected.

“Oh, sorry. They’re keeping Snuffy overnight at least. I thought you might need the name of the vet, so I had them give me a card.”

“Thanks.”

“Is … is Ms. Farnsworth really …”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name.”

“Brad Peters. Was it a burglary?”

“Not exactly.”

“She … she was really good to us. We moved in right after Margot got pregnant. Margot’s family lives in St. Paul, so it was nice for her
to have a, well, motherly type right next door. I didn’t hear anything, or see … We’re so wrapped up in the baby.”

“There was nothing you could do.”

“Can we keep the dog?”

“Ah …”

“She really loved that dog.” And like the boy, his eyes filmed with tears. “I don’t want Snuffy to end up in the shelter because there’s nobody to take him. We’ll pay the vet bills. He knows us. He likes us. They were like a unit. He’s going to miss her something fierce.”

“I’ll see what I can do. She may have relatives or an heir who’d need to sign off on that.”

“Okay. But we’ll take care of him until … He shouldn’t have to go to a shelter with strangers. He
was
her family.”

Eve thought of Galahad. “I’ll clear it so he can go from the vet to you, unless family claims him.”

“Thanks. I’d better go tell Margot. I don’t know how this could happen. Right next door.”

It happens everywhere, Eve thought as he walked away. Because there’s always someone like Jerry Reinhold.

“Cab,” she repeated to Peabody.

“They’re checking. A lot of pickups, so—”

“Have them cross-check with a drop-off at a clinic or health center, urgent care, ER—a medical. Closest one going west from here. Limping, hurting. Maybe he dropped something on his foot. Or maybe the vic managed to drop herself and the chair on him. I like that image.”

“Hard not to.” Peabody retagged the cab company, gave her contact the drop-off element. “Score! Pickup Varick and Laight, drop-off Church Street Urgent Care. Single passenger, two bags.”

“Let’s move.”

Maybe he’d still be there, stuck in a waiting room, cooling heels in exam. She resisted the urge to go in hot, but not the one to leapfrog through traffic until Peabody’s color dropped away.

“I might need this place,” Peabody managed as Eve, once again, double-parked.

Eve simply strode across the sidewalk, shoved inside the spacious, and unfortunately uncrowded waiting area. A crowd might have kept him hanging until treatment.

She headed straight to the receptionist on duty, held up her badge, signaled Peabody for the morph. “Is he here?”

The receptionist frowned at Eve, at the badge, at the morph. “No, but he was.”

Frustration wanted to choke her. “When did he leave?”

“Maybe an hour ago. About an hour.”

“Do you know where he was going, his mode of transportation?”

“No, he walked out the door. Why?”

“What was wrong with him?”

Now she pokered up. “I’m not allowed to share any patient’s information.”

“Name. What name?”

The receptionist checked her computer. “He signed in as John. That’s all that’s required if no insurance is involved. He paid cash.”

“I want to see his doctor. Now.”

“If you’d have a seat in chairs, I’ll see if—”

“I said now.” Eve leaned over the counter. “I just left a retired schoolteacher who’s on her way to the morgue. You treated the man who sent her there. I’m about an hour behind him, according to you. I’m not going to waste time arguing. Get the medical who treated him out here, or I go back there and make a hell of a mess.”

“Wait. Just wait.” The receptionist all but flew back, vanished around a corner. In under a minute she was back in the wake of a tall, lean Asian man with a flapping white lab coat.

“What’s all this?”

“All this is murder. This man has killed four people. I need to know why he came in, what you did, what he said. Everything.”

Without a word, he gestured her back around the same corner and into a small office with a lush potted palm near a fake window.

“The patient is a murder suspect?”

“Multiple. I need to know what name he used, his injuries, his treatment, and if he scheduled any sort of follow-up.”

“You don’t have a warrant.”

“I have four dead bodies. But we can play that way. Peabody?”

The doctor just lifted a hand, waved it. “He elected not to use his full name. Just John, and neglected to check the privacy form. So. The patient had two broken metatarsals on his right foot, along with a hairline fracture of the first cuneiform.”

He picked up a tablet, tapped, swiped. And showed Eve a diagram of a foot.

“So … A couple of broken toes, and a hairline deal on this part here, before the arch?”

“Basically, yes. There’s little you can do, other than wand, wrap, and treat for discomfort, advise the patient to rest the foot. All of which I did. He also had some minor bruising along his diaphragm. There were no internal injuries. He left—perfectly ambulatory, and with the medication in no particular discomfort.”

“No follow-up, no referral.”

“Offered and declined. He said he was traveling—and he had a couple of suitcases with him. He claimed someone had dropped a heavy case on his foot at the transpo center, then he’d tripped over it,
jamming it into his diaphragm. He’d assumed the foot was just bruised, but soon decided it might be more, so came in for exam and treatment. He paid for the exam, the treatment, the meds, the wrap, and the soft cast in cash.”

“How long before it heals?”

“It depends. With daily wand treatments, rest, he could be fine in a matter of days. Without the follow-ups, a couple of weeks. The first treatment is the most intense.”

“Yeah, been there. If he comes back, decides to do another treatment, contact me. Don’t let him know, just keep him waiting, or draw the treatment out. He’s violent, he’s dangerous, and he won’t hesitate to kill.”

“Then I’ll hope he doesn’t. We often have children in here.”

“Just give him a seat, tell him to wait his turn, and tag me. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The minute she walked outside, Eve strode over, kicked her own tire. “Crap! He just
has
to luck into a fast, efficient medical. He couldn’t get bogged down with hackers and bleeders and pukers for an hour.”

She kicked the tire again, then walked around to the driver’s door, sliding behind the wheel to a cacophony of horns.

“Cab,” she said yet again to Peabody.

“Already on it.”

AFTER BOMBING WITH THE CAB ANGLE, EVE
swung back into Homicide, arrowed straight to her office. She’d update the board and book while Peabody contacted every potential target on the list.

Once she had, had reviewed her notes, written an updated report, she sat, coffee in hand, and studied her board.

Parents to ex to teacher.

He wasn’t killing chronologically. Not by a measure of intimacy. Not by financial gain as he’d known or had certainly believed Farnsworth had more there than Lori.

Was it, in his mind, by level of offense? By what or who insulted or angered him most? Ease of access?

Circle back, she ordered herself.

First killing, mother. Impulse. Fit of rage, convenience of weapon.

Second killing, premeditated, lying in wait, choice of weapon.

Third, planned, lying in wait, purchase of weapons, elements of torture.

Fourth, planned, possible lying in wait—probable, she decided—uncertain if he found the murder weapon or brought it with him. More extensive torture, additional use of vic for financial gain and very likely for false ID.

Different weapon for each, but the use of the bat on three out of four, use of tape and cord on the last two.

And all four killed in their own homes.

He’d probably stick with that, she decided, but ran a probability to back up her own conclusion. Would he sully his own nest, wherever he built it? And he liked, didn’t he, killing them where they felt safest. Pawing through their things, eating their food.

Didn’t that add another level of humiliation to murder?

“The place matters,” she said aloud.

She heard the thwack of Peabody’s cowboy boots coming fast, pushed away from her desk.

“What do you have?” she demanded.

“We might have something on the electronics. There’s a woman out here who came in. She works at Fast Cash Pawnbroker, five blocks from the Farnsworth crime scene. I’ve got her waiting at my desk. She says she checked in three comps that match the numbers on Farnsworth’s equipment. I checked, and they do.”

“I’ll talk to her. Get McNab or whoever Feeney can spare over there to pick them up.”

T
he girl—as she barely hit legal age to Eve’s gauge—fidgeted in her chair. She was bone-thin, black, with hair in ruler-straight corn-row braids. She wore a red jacket over coat-of-paint jeans, and bit her nails.

“Juana Printz,” Peabody told Eve. “Juana, this is Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Okay. Hi. I have to report it. It’s the law, right?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you have to report?”

“I work for Mr. Rinskit at Fast Cash? And this droid, you know how you can tell it’s a droid, even mostly the really good ones?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“He came in hand carrying three comps—full, high-end D&Cs. It was a load, right? Maybe I thought it was a little tilted, but hey, you get all kinds. But then I’m supposed to check them in after the transaction, and I saw the alert. I told Mr. Rinskit, and said how I’d report it, and he said to mind my business. And I said, ‘But, Mr. Rinskit, there’s the alert, and they’re stolen and part of a police investigation thing,’ and he said to just shut up, check them in, and forget it if I wanted to keep my job.”

She stopped biting her nails long enough to bite her bottom lip. “I did—I mean I shut up and checked them in, but I didn’t forget it. So I took the bus here as soon as I got off work. Because it’s the law.”

“You did the right thing. Have you seen the droid before?”

“No, ma’am, no. But I think, maybe, Mr. Rinskit doesn’t report like he’s supposed to. And maybe I shut up about it, but this was
three
high-end, and I just couldn’t keep shutting up. Does he have to know I told?”

She started on her nails again, her dark eyes full of worry. “If he knows I reported it after he said not to, he’ll fire me for sure. I’m going to lose my job.”

“You like your job?”

“It blows.” Juana smiled a little. “It blows wide, but I gotta work.”

“Hang on a minute.”

“McNab and two uniforms are on their way to pick up the evidence,” Peabody reported.

“Good. Arrange a voucher for Juana. A hundred for the report.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Eve held up a finger, signaling Juana to wait another minute as she pulled out her ’link.

She’d expected Roarke’s admin to pick up, but got the man himself. “Hey.”

“And a hey to you. I’m just leaving the office.”

“Oh. I’m not. I’ve got another DB, three stolen comps coming in that may help me find the route to money transferred from the DB’s account to the killer’s, and a little thing.”

“E-work, is it? I could use some recreation. Why don’t I come to you?”

“You could do that, but it would be to Feeney at this point.”

“I prefer you, but I’ll settle. What’s the little thing?”

“It’s actually why I tagged you. I want to give someone a job.”

“Doing what?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. And actually, I want you to give someone a job.”

His eyebrows rose. “You want me to give someone a job doing … you don’t know what?”

“What’s the point of having somebody who employs half the planet anyway if you can’t say, ‘Give this girl a job’?”

“A girl.”

“Well, early twenties. Honest, straightforward. She’s going to lose her job in a pawnshop for reporting those comps, but she came in anyway. She’s neat, clean, polite—and honest,” she repeated. “You must have something—Lower West would work best.”

He said, “Eve,” on a sigh. “Have her contact Kyle Pruett,” he began and rattled off information.

“Who is that?”

“One of the assistants in Human Resources, downtown. She’ll have to pass a background check, come in for an interview, but I imagine Kyle can find something. Give me her information, and I’ll pass it on.”

“Great. I’ll send it to you, and I’ll owe you.”

“You certainly will.” But he smiled at her. “I’m on my way to you, via Feeney.”

Satisfied, she turned back to Juana. “Peabody, did you get all Juana’s information?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Send it to Roarke.” The look she sent Peabody cut off any questions. “Juana, I need you to note something down.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

“Lieutenant,” Eve said as Juana pulled out an old, battered ’link.

“Yes, ma’am, Lieutenant.”

Close enough. “Kyle Pruett,” Eve said, giving Juana the information to key in. “Contact him. He’ll be expecting it. He’s going to help you find a job.”

Juana looked up from her ’link, blinked twice. “A job?”

“We’re going to shut your boss down for seventy-two hours, more if we find other stolen merchandise. He’s going to be fined, and he may face criminal charges. Unless he’s an absolute moron, he’s going to know you reported him. Don’t go back there. Use the contact I gave you. Be honest with him the way you were with me. If there’s anything off in your background, tell him up front. Have you ever been arrested, Juana?”

Those dark eyes went huge. “No, ma’am! Sir! Lieutenant! My mama would skin my butt.”

“Make the contact. And thank you for coming in.”

“Detective Peabody gave me this voucher. I didn’t know you got paid to report. I didn’t come in for the money, but we can use it. And I can sure use a chance for the work.” She got to her feet, held out a hand to shake. “Thank you for the chance. Mama says doing the right thing’s its own reward, but she’ll sure be happy I got this. We’ll be saying a special thank-you before Thanksgiving dinner. Thank you, both of you. I’m going straight home to tell her.”

“That was a nice thing to do,” Peabody commented when Juana hurried out.

“This could be a solid break, and she gave it to us.” She shifted to block Baxter before he could pass. “Where are you going?”

Wiggling his eyebrows, he smoothed the knot of his tie. “I’m off shift and onto a hot date.”

“You’re back on, and your hot date will have to cool down some.”

“Man.” He cast his eyes to the ceiling. “I was
this
close.”

“Peabody, split the list of potential targets up geographically.”

“Is this the Reinhold murders, Lieutenant?” Trueheart, looking eager, stepped beside Baxter.

“That’s right. We’ve got a list of people who’ve pissed Reinhold off in the past, and any one of them might be next. They’ve all been notified, offered protection.”

“You want us to babysit?” Baxter asked.

“No. His tally’s four, and all were killed in their own homes. I want face-to-face interviews, in those homes, and a full report on the locations, the accesses, the security, the basic rhythm of the households. Also take note of easily portable valuables, keen eye on electronics. If
said potentials know of other potentials not currently on the list, I want to know. Show them all the morph. If they have cohabs or family members living with them, show them, talk to them. If he doesn’t already have his next kill picked, he’s picking one now.”

“How long’s the list?” Baxter wondered.

“Your date’s going to cool off some,” Eve repeated. “If you can’t heat her back up, it’s on you.”

He flashed a grin. “Heating up’s my specialty.”

“Give them above SoHo,” Eve decided. “You and I will take SoHo and down. You get a model, reputedly frosty, as a reward,” she told Baxter.

“Hot dog.”

“Got it, sending to your PPCs,” Peabody announced.

“Full reports,” Eve repeated before turning back to Peabody. “Split up ours. I want to talk to Morris before I work the list. You can take a uniform if you want any help.”

“I’ve got it. Sending your share.”

“Saddle up then. I’m checking in with EDD, then heading out. Anything pops, tag me.”

Eve detoured into her office, grabbed her coat, a file bag, and avoiding even the thought of the elevator took the glides to EDD.

Apparently half of Central had the same idea.

Even braced for the blast of color and movement that was EDD, it rocked her senses before she made it to Feeney’s sane office.

“I’m heading into the field, wanted to touch base first.”

“Juggled you in.”

Since it looked as if he had at least six programs going on his screens, she assumed he was doing considerable juggling.

“You said this asshole flunked Comp Science?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he learned enough to keep her making the transfers without an easy trail. We’re bouncing, vanishing, popping, then sinking. I’m saying offshore and off-planet, at least for the bulk, but we’re not there yet. I’m saying, too, he’ll go numbered and/or sheltered. We’re going to find the money, sooner or later, but we may not get an ID out of it any time this decade.”

He sent her a look out of basset hound eyes. “Not shooting straight anyway.”

She jammed her hands in her pockets. “I don’t want to give him so much as a rat hole for his lawyers to shove him through once we’ve got his sorry ass.”

“Some are good enough shooting angles not to make a rat hole. Not that I’m saying that’s the way.” He lifted his shoulders. “Roarke’s heading in.”

And he knew every angle. Had probably invented some. “He likes to play with his nerds.”

Feeney only smiled. “We can use him. I’m going to move into the lab once McNab gets back with the comps. I can run some of this on auto, for now. We may have quicker luck with the equipment.”

“Let me know when … That was quick,” she said when Roarke strolled in.

“Some luck with traffic.” His elegant dark suit and topcoat stood in contrast to the frenzy of color through the doorway behind him. He glanced at the screens, a quick scan with those wild blue eyes. “Ah, multishifts, cross-funnels, lateral dips.”

“Yeah,” Feeney confirmed. “And then some.”

“Won’t this be fun?”

“Have at it. I’m hitting the morgue, then I have some interviews with potential targets.”

And where, Roarke wondered, would any sort of food be in the mix? She looked, to his eye, tight and tired. “I’ll go with you.”

She frowned at him. “What about the fun?”

“I’ll work by remote, and have the best of both. You can send what you’d like me to do to my PPC,” Roarke said to Feeney.

“Can do. If you hang until McNab gets back—”

“He’s back,” Roarke interrupted. “I ran into him briefly. He was logging in evidence then bringing it up to the lab.”

“We’ll log out one of the comps. See what you can do with it.”

“Delighted. Should I meet you in the garage?” he asked Eve.

“I can wait.” She stepped to the side, pulled out her ’link, and took the time to notify those on her list to expect a visit.

She finished up with the last one walking with Roarke as he carried a sealed comp to the garage.

“You’re supposed to have a minion haul stuff when you dress like that.”

“Am I now? Are you volunteering?”

She ignored that, keyed in her code to unlock the car doors. “How are you supposed to work on that while we’re driving all over lower Manhattan?”

“Easily enough as you’ll be behind the wheel.”

He unsealed the comp then took some sort of minidrive out of his pocket, attached it to one port, attached his PPC to another. Glanced at her as she pulled out of the garage and into perfectly miserable traffic.

“You’re tired,” he said.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are, and you show it very likely because you haven’t had any real food since breakfast.”

“I had a cookie. And I have a little box of them—which, damn it, I left in my office. Say good-bye to those.”

“Real food,” he repeated.

Had she? She couldn’t remember. “I’ll eat when we get home. Mommy.”

He drilled a finger into her side in retaliation, then tapped and swiped on the in-dash ’link. “AC mode,” he commanded, “twelve-ounce protein shake, chocolate.”

“AC mode? What AC mode?”

“The one programmed into the system because my wife starves herself most days.”

He had to take off his seat belt, shift, reach through the seats to the back. She heard the quiet slide, little click, and frowned into the rear-view, but couldn’t quite get the angle.