Thankless in Death (25 page)

“Anytime.” He slipped his shades back on, strolled out.

She started making contacts herself, switching from full-service furnishings—a much smaller list—to gourmet markets when the computer spat that out. Then back again.

She juggled in conversations with building security and/or management. And had batted zero when Peabody poked in.

“I hit on the pizza.”

Her gradually-going-pissy mood jumped high. “Jesus, for a pie? Where is he?”

“Not that big a hit. But Vinnie’s sold a droid—matching the description of ours—the pie last night. It’s a different guy on the counter now, but the manager checked the discs for me.”

“I want a copy.”

“Already sent and copied.” Peabody handed it over.

“Did he call in the order?”

“No, the droid came in and ordered.”

“What time did the droid get the pizza?”

“Time stamp’s twenty-three-twenty-one on the order.”

“Nighttime hungries,” Eve mused. “Check on cabs—dropoffs, pickups at the pizzeria.”

“Already got that in.”

Eve ordered the pizzeria onto the map.

“I’m betting no cab, but if I’m wrong, we got really lucky.” Frowning at the map, she picked up the closest subway stations. “Mass transit’s possible, but still probably not. Not that he’d have a problem sending the droid on a mile hike to get a pizza, but I’m going with reasonable walking distance. You want pizza after eleven at night, you don’t want to wait a damn hour or more.

“Routines,” she thought aloud again. “Habits, favorites. He’s got a place close by what he knows. No other way.” It justified the time she’d spent on the damn map, and real estate, furniture.

“Okay, I’m going to generate another map, using the pizza joint as the bull’s-eye. Try a ten-block perimeter around it. It’s going to cut
the options down more. And I want pictures of the morph, and of the stolen droid at every shop in this sector, every diner, market, restaurant, glide-cart, street vendor. I want them in the hands of every beat cop, street LC, sidewalk sleeper, and illegals dealer.”

“That’ll be a trick.”

“I’ll squeeze a couple thousand out of the budget for a reward—information leading to capture. And yeah, look pained because we’re going to get a few million bogus sightings, but Reinhold’s here, and even saying he’s got the plushest of plush new digs, he’s going to want to get out and about. He has to live, right, and he’s damn well going to go after his next target sooner rather than later. Local clinics, too, in case he hits one for more pain meds. Get it done.”

“Getting it done.”

Eve turned back to the screen. “Okay, you bastard, let’s figure this out.”

An hour into it, she got up for more coffee. As she lifted the mug, she glanced toward her skinny window.

It was pouring outside.

“All right!” She pumped a fist in the air. “Let’s go rain!”

She executed a quick, happy boogie, did a spin, and spotted Roarke in her doorway.

“I had no idea you were so fond of inclement weather.”

“Rain, think about it. Big, pounding rain. No outside ceremony. They’ll have to move it inside.”

“And that matters?”

“To me. It’s”—she wiggled her shoulders, winced—“weird doing it out there, in front of the whole damn city. Inside it’s cops, and some politicians.”

“And media.”

“Yeah, you can’t get around that, but it’s more, I don’t know, contained. Are you here to work with Feeney?”

“I have been, a bit. There’s something …”

She leaped like a panther. “What? What something?”

“I don’t have it yet. We don’t,” he corrected. “But there’s something in the data we’ve been able to regenerate on one of the wiped drives. I think your Ms. Farnsworth wound some sort of code within the codes. I think she tried to leave us some clues, as best she could. If the drive hadn’t been wiped, we’d have an easier time deciphering, but we’re still working piecemeal.”

“But it’s something.”

“It is, yes. Definitely something. We’ll get back to it.”

“Get back?”

“Despite the heroic rain, you’ve just about got time to change before we’re due—wherever we’re due to be.”

“Shit.” She checked her wrist unit. “Shit.”

“As you’re not currently slapping Reinhold in restraints, we’re stuck with this. So be a good girl, and get into that oddly alluring uniform.”

“Shit,” she said again. “Give me—”

She snagged her signaling ’link. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant.” Kyung, media liaison, gave her his excellent smile. “I wanted to inform you, due to the unfortunate weather, we’re moving the medal ceremony indoors to Auditorium A, West Wing, Sector Six, Level Two.”

“Okay. Roarke’s with me now. I’ll pass it on.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you shortly, Lieutenant, and many congratulations.”

“Yeah, thanks.” She clicked off. “Give me fifteen,” she said to Roarke, “and meet me at the down glide.”

“That’s about all you have.” He made himself comfortable at her desk with his PPC as she dashed out.

She cut through the bullpen, shook her head at Peabody, and bolted straight into the locker room.

Changed, she fit her uniform hat on her head, gave herself a critical study. Okay, squared away. And when this was done, she’d change back, and get the hell to work again.

Deliberately avoiding the bullpen, and any possible questions, comments, ragging, she left by the side door.

She beat Roarke to the glide by about thirty seconds. And watched him walk toward her, the glint in his eye.

“Don’t get any ideas, ace.”

“Too late. You look sexily official.” He took her hand, and when she realized he intended to lift it, kiss it, she snatched it back.

“Come on!”

“We’ll save it all for later then.” He stepped on the glide with her.

“They’ll make speeches, especially the mayor,” she warned him.

“I’m aware.”

“After that it’s a little more blah-blah, presentation, photo op, done.”

“Hmmm.”

“You could’ve sent a rep. Nobody would’ve blinked if you’d done that, considering you’re managing most of the universe. It’s good you didn’t. It matters you didn’t.”

“That would’ve been ungrateful, and I’m not ungrateful. And when this gets out, there are countless cops in the universe you’re so fond of gifting to me who are going to be well buggered. And that’s a bit of a plus for me, isn’t it?”

“Hadn’t thought of that.”

“Oh well, I have. Still, I’ll need to duck out quickly as I’d like to be home to greet the family. And don’t worry, Lieutenant,” he added, “I’ll get back to work on this business as soon as I’ve settled them in.”

“If we can nail him today, he won’t have time, not that I can see, to kill anyone else. And, hell, easier to shove in the cranberry sauce when I’m not thinking about the bastard.”

“Agreed, altogether.”

He was right about being grateful for the acknowledgment from the department, she thought. And she wasn’t ungrateful for the family coming over from Ireland.

Thinking that, she told him, “Either way, I’ll carve out as much time as I can to, you know, be home.”

He trailed his fingers down her arm. “Something else to be thankful for.”

“A lot of that going around.”

After hopping off on Level Two, she aimed toward Sector Six. “This should take about thirty, maybe a little more because the mayor can’t shut up. I’m heading right up to change after.”

“That’s a pity.”

“I’m working on location, using a pizza joint as the hinge. He had the droid pick up a pie last night.”

“Interesting.”

“And I’m figuring he’s got to have furniture, so I’m checking outlets there. High-end, trendy—that’s my sense. And I’m on condos, apartments, townhouses. Something’s going to hit.”

Circling, Roarke thought again, but it seemed her circling was getting smaller and tighter. “You’ll bag him, Lieutenant. I have every faith.”

“Sooner’s better.”

Two uniforms flanked the double doors of Auditorium A, and they snapped to attention. Kyung, tall and lean in his meticulous charcoal suit, stepped forward to intercept her.

“Lieutenant, Roarke. I’ll escort you around to the back staging area.”

“Fine.”

“A pity about the rain,” he said as they walked. “The steps of Central provide such a fine and dignified visual.”

“Yeah, too bad.”

He smiled down at her, humor lively in his eyes. “I’m sure it’s a disappointment to you both. The mayor will speak first. Chief Tibble will follow with his remarks, then your commander will say a few words. Roarke will be presented first. A few remarks after the presentation and the photos are appreciated.”

“Certainly.”

“Then you’ll be presented, Lieutenant.”

“Got it.”

“The presentations will be followed by a short reception.”

She stopped dead. “What?”

“At the mayor’s … request,” he told her. “More photo ops, some quick interviews.”

“Is the mayor aware I’m neck-deep in tracking a killer already responsible for four bodies?”

“He is, as I am. Ten minutes,” Kyung promised, “less if I can manage it. I
will
get you out and away. My word on it.”

She scowled, then reminded herself Kyung wasn’t an asshole. “Ten. Tops.”

“Done.” Kyung pulled open the door to the staging area at the back of the auditorium.

Already too many people, she thought, tripping straight over to cranky. The mayor, the entourage, Tibble, a couple of uniforms, Whitney—and a couple of Trina types bustling around dabbing crap on faces or fiddling with hair.

When one aimed for her, Eve just bared her teeth. “Touch me with any of that, you’ll be eating it.”

Tibble stepped over, shook hands with Eve, then Roarke. “This is very well deserved, on both counts. I’ll speak to this in my remarks, but I want to say to you personally the NYPSD and the City of New York are fortunate to have you as one of their own, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And you,” he said to Roarke. “We’re grateful for the time, effort, and expertise you contribute.”

“You’re more than welcome for it.”

“And I think it’s safe to say that the time spent on acknowledgments such as this, however well earned, is something you’d both rather devote to work. But it’s important for the department and the city to make the acknowledgment.”

“Understood, sir, and appreciated.”

“Appreciated more, I expect, if we can keep it brief.” He gave them a nod, stepped off, had a word with Kyung.

Even as the mayor spotted them, which Eve knew could mean an endless blather, Kyung gently tapped his shoulder, gestured toward the door leading to the auditorium stage.

“Here we go,” Eve murmured.

They filed out. When she faced the auditorium, Eve had to order herself not to gape.

Not only was every seat filled, but people stood in the back, along the side walls.

She’d expected to see Nadine, no crime beat reporter would miss
the moment. She hadn’t expected Mavis, Leonardo, even the baby. Who the hell told them? She spotted her entire division, Mira, Feeney, McNab. Jesus, she thought, who was chasing bad guys?

And there, Charles, Morris, Caro, Reo.

She watched Jamie Lingstrom slide in the doors. Feeney’s godson, an e-ace who wanted to be a cop, had longer hair than the last time she’d seen him.

“It’s the family,” Roarke said quietly.

“What?”

“The family. They’re here.”

She followed his gaze, found his aunt Sinead, his uncles, grandmother, cousins, and God knew. And Summerset. He’d arranged it, Eve realized. Letting Roarke think they were coming in later, but bringing them for this.

For pride, for family. Hell, it
did
matter, she thought when she saw Sinead beaming. All of it mattered.

She started to say something to Roarke as the mayor approached the podium, then spotted another face in the crowd.

Nixie Swisher. Face sober, eyes steady. She didn’t smile, just continued to give Eve the serious, even stare. In the stare Eve read something she hadn’t considered.

This was for her, too—for Nixie. For all the victims, all the survivors. For every one of the dead she’d ever stood for, or would stand for.

So it mattered. All of it mattered.

IT TOOK TOO LONG, HAD TOO MANY WORDS
, far too many cameras. She could tune some of that out. The speeches, the media, the politics didn’t count, not in the long run.

But she allowed herself to touch her fingertips—just the slightest brush—to Roarke’s as Whitney called him up. What mattered was the sheen of pride in Sinead’s eyes, and yeah, even the glint of it in Summerset’s. The unmistakable satisfaction on Feeney’s face, the unified acknowledgment from her division.

The acceptance by the people in her world for the man who meant everything.

“It’s my privilege to present to you the New York City Police and Security Department’s highest civilian honor with gratitude for your invaluable assistance, your contribution, and your valor. You hold no
badge, you have no sworn duty, and yet you have given your time, resources, and skills, you have risked and incurred physical harm in the pursuit of justice for the people of New York. Today, we thank you and we honor you for that contribution.”

Did it surprise him that they stood for him? Eve wondered. The uniforms, the detectives, the brass, the rank and file and the bosses of NYPSD? He was so accustomed to power, to position, to holding a room of people in the palm of his hand. But yes, she thought, it surprised him when they all rose to their feet.

And she had no doubt he considered the irony of it all.

The Dublin street rat, the slick and slippery thief who’d spent most of his life outwitting and evading cops now had them standing for him.

“I thank you, all, for this honor. But it’s been my privilege to work with New York’s very finest, to come to know the men and women who serve. And more, to come to understand their dedication, their courage, and their sacrifice. You call it duty, but from what I’ve seen it’s more than that. It’s who and what you are. I’m grateful to have any part of that.”

When he stepped back Eve broke her dignified cop face long enough to grin at him as he stood with the brass for the quick photos.

“Nice,” she murmured when he stepped back beside her.

“So it was. The room would enjoy it if you kissed me now.”

“No.” She might have laughed, but she understood he was perfectly serious. “Firm on that.”

She put the dignified face back in place as Whitney began to speak again.

“We take an oath to protect and serve,” Whitney began. “Every cop takes that oath, accepts that duty. A good cop does more than accept
duty, but lives it. Lieutenant Eve Dallas is a good cop. Today she receives the NYPSD’s Medal of Honor, the highest honor given. It is never given lightly.

“The certification specifically addresses the Red Horse investigation, where under the lieutenant’s lead, through her dogged pursuit, her clear-eyed leadership, and her keen skill, Lewis Callaway and Gina MacMillon were identified, apprehended, and will face trial for mass murder and domestic terrorism.”

Applause rippled through the auditorium at that. Eve was tempted to join in—to applaud justice—but knew better.

“This successful investigation saved countless lives,” Whitney continued. “But it doesn’t tell the whole story. Throughout her career, from her very beginnings in uniform, Lieutenant Dallas has displayed the skill, the dedication, and the valor that merit this honor. For that, for the dozen years, for all the cases, all the risks, the sacrifices, for justice served, it’s my professional and personal pleasure to award the Medal of Honor to Lieutenant Eve Dallas. A good cop.”

It was those three words that got her.
A good cop
. For her that was the highest accolade, the most important tribute she could earn. She had to fight back the emotion that flooded through her—good cops didn’t choke up—as she stepped forward.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Not this time.” He pinned the medal on her, shook her hand. “Thank you, Lieutenant, for your exemplary service.”

He nearly did her in by stepping back, saluting.

She could take a minute, while the crowd stood and applauded, take a minute to pull herself together. And remember what she’d planned to say. Except she couldn’t remember a damn thing.

“Okay,” she managed, hoping that would settle everyone down,
including herself. But they just kept going. She glanced toward Kyung for help. And he only gave her a smile, an elegant shrug.

“Okay,” she said again, and as she took another breath, spotted Nixie again.

The young girl stood on her chair so she could see, smiling now. Kevin, the boy she’d be raised with, stood on the chair beside her. Richard and Elizabeth flanked them.

And they were all a part of this, she thought. Richard and Elizabeth, who’d lost their daughter; Kevin, whose junkie mother had deserted him; Nixie, whose entire family had been slaughtered.

And Jamie in the back of the room, once a grieving and defiant kid determined to avenge his sister’s murder.

All of them, and so many more.

“Okay,” she said a third time. “Okay, thanks. I’m … honored and grateful to be awarded this distinction. I’m honored to be part of the NYPSD, and to work with so many good cops. To be commanded by one, to have been trained by one, to partner with one, to head a department with many really good cops. And to have the brain and the canniness, I guess, of a civilian who’d make a pretty good cop himself if he wasn’t so opposed to it.”

That got enough of a laugh to settle her down. “This distinction is theirs as much as mine. Probably more. You don’t close cases without someone having your back, or trusting the cop—or the civilian—going through the door with you.

“This is for all of us. And it’s for every victim we’ve stood for or will stand for, every survivor we work to find answers for. They’re what count. They’re why we’re here. That’s it.”

Thank God, she thought, even as she was angled for photos, as applause rang out. Thank God that was over.

They wanted more photos of her with Roarke, and despite her instinct to shake him off, he took her hand and held it. “Well said, Lieutenant.”

“I was supposed to say something else, but I forgot what it was.”

He laughed, squeezed her hand. “And I’m not permitted to kiss you, even after that?”

“Forget it.”

She got through more blah-blah with the mayor, more handshakes, a few more photos. Then Kyung, in his delicate way, extracted them. “I realize you have very little time, Lieutenant, but there are a couple of people who’d very much like a moment.”

He led her offstage, gestured to where Nixie waited.

“Hey, kid.”

“You look different wearing that.”

“I feel different wearing this. A little weird.”

“We’re coming to your house tomorrow, after the parade.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“There’ll be lots of kids. We saw Summerset, and he said.”

“Yeah.” Eve glanced over, saw Roarke embrace his aunt while a herd of kids—various ages—flocked around. “He’s right.”

“I’m supposed to talk to you mostly tomorrow when you’re not so busy, but …”

“Go ahead.”

That laser look came back, straight into Eve’s eyes. “You said it was for all of us. My mom and my dad and my brother, and my friend. And everyone.”

“That’s right.”

“Then can I touch it?”

“Sure.” Eve crouched down, watched Nixie’s face—serious blue
eyes, soft cheeks, stubborn little mouth—as the girl handled the medal.

Then Nixie looked up. “It’s important.”

“It’s important.”

She smiled then, and that too-adult seriousness flicked away from her face. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

Nixie rolled her eyes. “A
surprise
. You can see it tomorrow when we come for Thanksgiving. I’m going to say congratulations to Roarke, then we have to go. Are you looking for a bad guy now?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Did he kill somebody?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Then you have to catch him.”

Simple as that, Eve thought. And maybe, on some level, it was. “That’s the plan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“And there’s our Eve.”

Sinead enfolded her in a hard, swaying hug. Soft skin, Eve thought, soft hair, strong arms. It was weird, this hard, loving embrace, Eve decided, like wearing the uniform was weird. Not bad, just different.

“Oh, it’s good to see you!” Hands on Eve’s shoulders, Sinead drew back, her green eyes damp, her smile brilliant. “And so stalwart you are in your uniform. We won’t be keeping you. Summerset told us you were very busy on an investigation, but we so wanted to come and see you and our Roarke honored. It meant so much to us, Eve. So much to all of us.”

“It meant a lot to him when he saw you.”

“His mother would be so proud, so I’ve her pride and my own to give to both of you. And I’ll be after getting a copy of one of those
photos of the two of you. Oh, this was such a thrill for all of us. I have to let you go, as if I don’t the whole family will swarm you. We’ll wait till you’re home to do that then.”

With a laugh, Sinead kissed Eve’s cheek.

She got caught a couple more times before Kyung touched her arm. “Excuse me, Lieutenant, you’re needed over here for a moment. I’m extracting you,” he murmured near her ear as he steered her away.

“Great. Good.”

“Roarke assures me he can handle his own extraction, and I imagine he does so often.”

“Yeah, he’s slippery.”

“You did very, very well,” he said, maneuvering her back into the staging area, then through.

“You, too. You got me out in under ten. I can take it from here.”

“Then I’ll go back and have some cake.”

That hitched her exit stride. “There was cake?”

“You wanted out in ten.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Talk about sacrifices.” But she hopped a glide and headed back to the locker room to change.

She hung up her uniform, put the medal in its case. Then wondered what she should do with it. Her office for now, she decided. She should probably take it home, put it away there.

She tucked it under her arm, stepped back out through the bullpen.

Her men rose, which would have put her right back to choked if they hadn’t all been wearing sunshades. Carmichael had put the crazy horse tie back on.

So the ovation made her laugh, and put her right back where she wanted to be.

“Get back to work, you idiots.”

“We saved you some cake,” Peabody told her.

“Seriously?” The idea of so much as a crumb getting past her men was as shocking as a stunner blast.

“In your office.”

“I take the ‘idiots’ back. Get to work anyway.”

She walked into her office, touched and still surprised to see the neat piece of cake on a small disposable plate on her desk. She stowed the medal in a drawer, programmed coffee.

And sitting at her desk, broke off a corner of the cake, and got back to work herself.

Fifty-five minutes, she thought. Longer than she’d hoped, but still the whole thing had taken under an hour. And what, she wondered, had Reinhold been up to for the last fifty-five minutes?

H
e had a plan. No reason he could see why it wouldn’t work—and he’d have some fun with it. Plus, changing things up would save him some legwork. His foot still hurt like a
bitch
!

He sent the droid out with a shopping list, and instructions to buy each item at a different shop.

And while he had the apartment to himself, he blasted music as he limped through, speculating on where to set the stage.

The living area. Sure, the second bedroom was big enough, but he liked having the easy access to the kitchen, and the dining room. It made more sense, he thought, since he was having company for Thanksgiving dinner.

It would be his most daring kill, and he’d do it all in his own space. Good practice for when he started selling his services, he decided.
Body disposal could be an option he needed to offer clients, after all.

Sometimes people like the Mafia or the CIA or whatever didn’t want bodies found. He’d read shit about that.

The cops didn’t have a clue where he was—how could they—or now
who
he was. In his own place, undisturbed, he could take all the time he wanted with his … selection.

No, prey. He liked that term. They, all of them, were prey, and he was, code name: Reaper. He really liked it.

Reaper. Death for sale. Anytime, anywhere. Terms to be negotiated.

Something like that, he decided.

When the droid got back, they’d set the place up, just the way he wanted it. Then, contact, lure, trap. Snap, snap.

He’d have all night, through the next day to do his work, while people were sitting around pretending friends and family meant a single happy shit.

He could stretch it out another night, if he wanted. If he got bored, he’d end it.

Then between him and the droid, they’d take care of body disposal.

“I have the best job in the world!” he shouted over the music, then dancing—wincing a little—out to the terrace.

For the hell of it, he yanked down his pants and mooned New York.

It seriously cracked him up.

He went back in, popped another pain pill, got a beer. It was great to be able to drink when he wanted, eat when he wanted, do whatever he wanted.

All of his life people had held him down, held him back, fucked with him.

Now he was the one doing the fucking.

And he was never going to stop.

“Found myself, Ma!” He cackled it. “And today, oh yeah, I am a man.”

He turned as the door opened, and the droid carted in a big box. He saw the droid’s mouth move, but couldn’t make out the words.

“What? Jesus. Music off. What?”

“Sir, I was unable to purchase and carry all the items in one trip. I—”

“Well, fuck.” Idiot. Maybe he’d spring for another droid. Female, he considered. One with sex options. “Go back and get the rest. I want to get started.”

“Yes, sir. Where do you want these items?”

“Just put the whole box down there.” Reinhold pointed to the center of the living area. “And go get the rest. Make it fast, Asshole.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll return shortly.”

“You’d better.” Excited, Reinhold sat on the floor and pulled things out of the box.