Treachery in Death (19 page)

“Lieutenant. Detective Janburry from the one-six. Sorry to get you up.”

“Then why are you?”

“Well, I’ve got a dead body here, on your crime scene. Your name’s on the seal.”

“Off Canal?”

“That’s the one. I’m on the DB, Lieutenant, but wanted to give you the heads up. Especially since the vic was on the job.”

Her belly contracted. “ID?” she demanded, but already knew.

“Garnet, Detective William. Illegals out of Central.”

“I need you to hold this until I get there. I’m on my way now. Don’t transport the DB.”

“I can hold it. I’m primary on this, Lieutenant. I didn’t inform you to pass this ball.”

“Understood, and the tag is appreciated, Detective. I’m on my way.”

She tossed the com down, pushed out of bed to pull at her hair, to pace, to curse. “I set him up; she took him out. Goddamn it, goddamn it. I could’ve taken him in. I could’ve slapped him in a cage, put the pressure on with what I had. But I wanted more. I wanted to make them sweat. I wanted more time to put it together, to see what she’d try next. Now he’s dead.”

“Don’t you stand there and take the blame for one dirty cop killing another.”

“I made a choice. The choice killed him.”

“Bollocks to that, Eve.” Roarke said it sharply enough to stop her, to make her turn. “His choices and Renee’s killed him. Do you think she couldn’t have gotten to him in a cage, had him done?”

“I’ll never know now. I miscalculated. I didn’t think she’d risk bringing this kind of attention to the squad, adding another avenue of investigation. She outplayed me on this.”

“I disagree. You’re angry, and foolishly guilty, so you’re not thinking it through.”

“I’m thinking it through—Garnet’s dead.”

“Yes, and killing him requires another tale spun. More lies, more cover-up. If
she’d
thought it through, she’d have found a way to placate him, to keep him level. Failing that, kill him, certainly, but get rid of the body, lay a path that indicates he packed up, left.”

She stopped dressing to frown at him. “Hmm.”

“Hmm? He’d been suspended, and after tonight, he’d lose his badge. He’d be disgraced. Christ, I can write the script myself. Eliminate him, destroy the body. Meanwhile, go into his apartment, pack what a man who’s angry, who’s fed up, who’s humiliated might pack. Toss a few things around—temper, temper—and so on. In a day or so, tap his account, use his credit—send a message to his lieutenant, maybe to you, telling you all to go to hell. You can keep the bloody badge. He’s done with it, with you, with New York.”

“Okay, I can see how that would work. It’s a little unnerving just how easily you came up with it, but I can see it.”

And calmer, Eve saw it clearly.

“Keep tapping the account,” she considered, “tapping the credit awhile, making it look like he’s traveling or gone to Vegas II, whatever. Then transfer the money out.”

“Basically. A few finer details to tie it up, but basically. He’s not dead. He’s just gone.”

“But she didn’t think of that—and she should have. Hell, I should have. But she wanted him dead
and
gone. She went with impulse—she may not see it that way, but that’s what it was. And what I didn’t expect. She went with impulse rather than planning. So there’ll be mistakes in there. One of them was not arranging for one of her crew to get the tag on this. No way Janburry contacts me this early if he’s with her.”

“Now you’re thinking. I’ll drive.”

“No. I’d appreciate the other set of eyes, and the scary brain, but if I’m hung up I need you here to start briefing the team.”

Those fabulous eyes stared right through her. “You want me to brief a room of cops? That’s appalling, Eve, on so many levels.”

“Nobody knows how to run a meeting as well as you. I’ll try to be back, but I have to follow this out.”

“I’m definitely going to want the costumes. I may have them designed for you.”

“One of us is worth a dozen of them,” she said, repeating his words. “You’re one of us.”

“I realize you see that as a compliment, but ...” He trailed off, sighed. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Roarke watched her rush out, sighed again. “Bloody hell.”

Since he was up, he’d get some work done—of his own, thank you—before the cops came to his door.

She went in hot. She didn’t want to give Janburry time to change his mind, and did a quick run on him on the way.

He looked solid. Fourteen years on the job, into his tenth as a detective—and recently promoted to second-grade. He was thirty-seven, on his second marriage—four years in—with a two-year-old kid.

Good service record, from what she could see. No big highs, no big lows. She knew his lieutenant a little. She could tug some lines if she needed to.

First, she’d see how Janburry wanted to play it.

She nosed in behind a black-and-white, hooked her badge in the breast pocket of her jacket.

A lot of cops, she noted, tapping her badge before ducking under the barricade. That’s the way it was when word went out one of their own had gone down.

How many here, she wondered, would consider Garnet one of their own if they knew?

Janburry stepped out as she approached.

He had a strong, dark face, with deep brown skin stretched over hard bones, deep brown eyes. Cop’s eyes, she thought, and held out her hand. “Detective Janburry, again I appreciate you contacting me.”

“Lieutenant. It was your scene first. Dead junkie. My vic worked Illegals. One and one add up to two in my book.”

“Yeah, mine, too. Is it okay with you if I take a look before you fill me in?”

“Sure.”

“My field kit’s still in my vehicle. Can I borrow some Seal-It?”

He nodded, and she saw he understood she didn’t intend to step on his toes. “Hey, Delfino. Toss me some Seal.”

He caught the can, tossed it to her.

“What time did you get the dispatch?” she asked as she sealed hands and boots.

“It came in at three-fifty. My partner and I arrived on scene at oh four hundred. Uniforms doing a drive-by saw the broken seal—the door open—and investigated. They’d secured the scene by the time we got here.”

“That’s good.”

She stepped inside, into the glare of cop lights.

He hadn’t gotten very far, Eve noted. Maybe six paces inside the door. He’d fallen on his back, so he lay faceup, arms and legs sprawled out. The long slice across his throat had pumped out blood that soaked his jacket, shirt, spread a lake on the dirty floor.

She noted the knife and sheath on his belt, and the lack of a sidearm. His penlight lay a few feet away, its beam still shining like a little white eye.

“What have you got so far?” she asked Janburry.

“No money, no ID. We ran his prints and identified him. My partner—Delfino!”

His partner, a small, spare woman with curly dark hair fought back in a tail, moved to join them. She nodded at Eve.

“Detective Delfino ran the vic while I worked the body.”

In a rhythm that told Eve they worked well together, Delfino picked it up. “I got his squad, his CO, and he just got a rip this afternoon. Ordered by you, Lieutenant.”

“That’s correct. Your vic didn’t like my investigative style on Rickie Keener. Keener was Garnet’s LT’s weasel, and it was necessary for me to . . . discuss that relationship and any cases involving my vic with Lieutenant Oberman. However, Garnet and his partner took it upon themselves to access my vic’s flop, without authority. On learning this I had a further discussion with Lieutenant Oberman and Detectives Garnet and Bix. During the discussion, Garnet used abusive language, made threats, and even after being warned, made physical contact.”

Delfino glanced down at Garnet. “That wasn’t very bright.”

“It was less bright for him to accost me in front of my home tonight. You may suspect that the facial bruises on your victim are a result of an altercation with his killer. I put them there.”

Janburry pursed his lips, ever so slightly. “Is that so?”

“Garnet laid in wait, blocked the entrance to my home with his vehicle. He subsequently threatened me again, again made physical contact. I reciprocated that. At that time, Garnet drew his weapon—one which has proven to be unregistered. I disarmed him. All of this is on record, both on my home security and my recorder, which I engaged before exiting my vehicle. And all this was reported, immediately, to Commander Whitney. I’ll make sure you get copies of everything for your file.”

“That’d be good.”

“Lieutenant.” Delfino gave her a clear-eyed stare. “I have to say, if some guy tries to bust on me twice in one day, draws down on me, I might want to do more than give him a black eye.”

“I can give you a statement on my whereabouts at TOD, if you tell me when TOD was.”

“Just after oh one hundred.”

“Okay. I was home, up, and still working. There’ll be a log of that on my comp. I can’t, at this time, give you the contents of the work. I can tell you Garnet was going to be dealt with tomorrow—today,” she corrected. “He was going to lose his badge and face criminal charges. You can confirm this with command. I wanted that a lot more than I wanted him dead.”

“Yeah,” Delfino said after a moment. “I’d like that better myself. Vic’s got some interesting trace on his right thumb and index finger.”

“I believe he made use of the product he was bound by duty to get off the streets. I believe I could have made a case on that. I believe he was a wrong cop—I know he was. But whatever he was, he’s your victim, and whoever slit his throat has to pay for it. I’ll give you all the information I’m authorized to give, as I’m authorized to give it.”

“Is he tied to your vic? To Keener?” Janburry asked.

“Short answer is yes. I’m not free to give you the long one. I’m not blocking you on this. It’s all I can tell you at this time.”

“Are there rats in the house?”

Eve nodded at Janburry, acknowledged IAB involvement.

He blew out a breath, said, “Shit. We’re still not passing the ball.”

“Understood. If I have any influence over the matter, I’ll do whatever blocking may be necessary to keep that ball in your hands.”

She watched the look that passed between the partners, and saw the tacit agreement.

“It reads like the victim entered, using a master. It was in his pocket. We’ll reverify the time the seal was broken, but at this point, given the read is so close to TOD they’re stepping on each other, we’d say the vic and killer entered together. Killer took him from behind—quick and dirty.”

“He had his back to the killer,” Eve said.

“That’s how it reads. Somebody punched me in the face a few hours ago, I’m not turning my back on them. Added to it, you’re a tall woman, Lieutenant, but not tall enough to have inflicted this wound at this angle unless you were standing on a box. We’ll take the comp log, the recording, and so on, but I can say Delfino and I aren’t looking at you for this.”

“Always good news. Did he have anything else on him?”

“The knife—still sheathed. Illegal length on the blade. Didn’t have a ’link, a wrist unit, a memo book, wallet. You might think, looking at it, it was some kind of deal that went bad. Killer took him out, grabbed what he could use or sell, and fled the scene. Left the door open.”

“You might think,” Eve agreed.

“I’d be interested in what you think,” Janburry told her.

Eve crouched down for a closer look at the body. No defensive wounds, she noted—and she could smell booze on him. She lifted his right hand—bagged now—by the wrist. No user would leave that much candy on his fingers.
That,
she thought,
was overkill.

“I think he and his killer entered together. Why, I can’t say, but I’d bet my ass Garnet believed they were here to screw either with me or my investigation. He not only knew his killer, but trusted him. Walked in ahead of him, got his light out, turned it on. A slice like that?”

She wished she had her gauge, but eyeballed it.

“I figure the killer pulled Garnet’s head back, exposed the area—gives him a wide, clear target, makes a wide, clean slice. The killer came here for that purpose, and then took the ID and the rest so it might appear to be a meet gone bad, followed by a robbery of opportunity.

“Keener’s OD was staged,” she continued. “This is more of the same.”

Janburry crouched down, kept his voice low. “You think another cop did this.”

“I think people who kill for expediency, for profit, for any reason other than self-defense or in defense of another aren’t cops. They just have a badge in their pockets.”

“How much muck are we stepping into?”

“I can’t tell you—yet—but I’d bring spare boots.”

16

WHEN PEABODY AND MCNAB WALKED INTO EVE’S home office, McNab’s heart, mind, and body arrowed directly to the breakfast buffet.

“Morning eats! Told ya.”

“I just said you shouldn’t count on it.” Peabody shifted her file bag and wished the scent of grilled bacon didn’t wrap around her system like a lover.

But since it did, she dumped the bag and surrendered to temptation, crunching into the first slice as Roarke came in.

“Morning,” she managed. “Best briefings ever.”

“No point in solving murders on an empty stomach. You’re looking rosy this morning, Peabody.”

“It’s the bacon.”

“Woot! French toast.” McNab grinned as Roarke poured himself some coffee. “Thanks for the spread.”

“Feeding cops has its rewards.”

And this one, Roarke assumed, had the metabolism of a manic chipmunk to eat as he did and remain thin as a wafer.

“We got here a little early,” McNab told him, “so Peabody could help Dallas set up.”

“And I want to go over some things with her on the Devin investigation.”

“While they’re at it,” McNab continued, heaping a plate, “I wanted to bounce this idea off you. Feeney and I kicked it around some last night.”

“Bounce away.”

“I think we could use the bugs we planted in Oberman’s vehicle to narrow in on the frequency of her disposable. We’d need to tweak and enhance the remote, narrow the focus to the disposable’s signal when she’s on it. It’d take some luck to lock it in, but if we could, we should be able to use it to triangulate.”

“Coordinate the plants and remote, boosting output while narrowing range, redirect, and trap her signal. Trap it,” Roarke considered, intrigued, “and clone it.”

“Yeah. If we pulled it off, we could—theoretically—use the clone to pick up her signals and conversations whenever and wherever she used the disposable.”

“Like a conference call,” Roarke mused. “Interesting.”

“Theoretically.”

“By boosting the strength, you’d run a risk of her picking up the bug on a full sweep, particularly during triangulation. But timed right, and with the right adjustments, it could work.”

“If you want to play with that idea,” Peabody interrupted, “I could hook with Dallas on my end.”

“She’s not back yet.” Roarke glanced at the time. “She responded to a second homicide at your original scene. Garnet’s dead.”

“Shit, that balls things up.” McNab stuffed a bite of French toast dripping with syrup into his mouth. “Feeney and I were going to start on his electronics today, and if we got the go, slip into his place and wire it up. No point now.”

“Why didn’t she tag me?” Peabody demanded. “If Garnet’s down, I should’ve gotten the tag.”

“It’s not her case—your case,” Roarke amended. “The primary on it contacted her early this morning, as a courtesy I’d say, and likely because he hoped she’d give him a lead.”

“It should be ours,” Peabody began, then settled down, backtracked. “No, it can’t be ours. She had two confrontations with him yesterday. McNab was monitoring when the asshole tried to jump her right out front here. We can’t work the case. Do you know who the primary is? How much she’s going to tell him?”

“Detective Janburry, but as to the rest, I couldn’t say.”

“Renee did this, because he went outside the box, became a negative factor. I have to run this Janburry.” Peabody forgot her love affair with bacon and moved off.

“Garnet made some bad moves,” McNab commented. “Too bad he’s dead because he earned a long stretch in a cage. But ...” With a shrug, McNab shoveled in more food. “How’d he buy it?”

“I don’t know that either. She hoped to be back to run the briefing.” Christ knew he’d hoped it. “If she doesn’t make it, and she’s cutting it close, I’ll lead things off.”

“Solid.”

Feeney came in, smiled at the buffet. “I told the wife I’d get plenty of the most important meal of the day. The boy tell you about his brainstorm?”

“Yes,” Roarke answered. “It would be interesting to program.”

“I’ve been playing with it—in my head,” Feeney said as he filled a plate. “It’ll come down to catching the waves.”

For the next ten minutes they discussed options, alternatives, possibilities.

“Morning, all.” Webster strolled in, looking relaxed and a little sleepy-eyed. “Man, I could use some fuel, and that looks prime.”

“I imagine you could use it,” Roarke said smoothly when Webster hit the buffet, and couldn’t help enjoying Webster’s lazy grin. “How was the play?”

“Unforgettable.”

“Darcia goes back soon.”

“Couple more days. I’ve got some time coming.” Webster scooped eggs onto his plate, spoke casually. “I’m going to check out this off-planet resort of yours personally.”

“You couldn’t have a better guide than the chief of police.”

Mira and Whitney came in together. Whitney scanned the room, then focused on Roarke. “She’s not back yet?”

“No. She asked me to begin the briefing if she was delayed. You can take the floor if you prefer.”

“No, we’ll follow Dallas’s line.” He poured coffee but skipped the food.

“You look tired, Charlotte,” Roarke said to Mira.

“I am a little. Long night.”

“Have some food. Get your energy up.”

“I don’t think that will help. It’s clear my colleague’s involved in this. A man I’ve worked with, a man I trusted.”

“I’m sorry.” Roarke touched a hand to her shoulder. “It’s a deeper kind of treachery, isn’t it, when there’s trust?”

“When I think how many police officers have trusted him with their secrets, their fears, their feelings, yes, it’s a very deep kind of treachery. All of this is, isn’t it?” She looked at the board. “On the deepest level. Doctor to patient, cop to cop, to the public, daughter to father.”

“You’ll stop it, all of you. Treachery only thrives in the dark. You’ll bring it into the light.”

“It weighs on him.” Mira glanced toward Whitney as he took a seat, alone with his coffee. “On all of us, but it’s his command. And what this small and, yes, treacherous, percentage of all the good men and women who work and risk and fight every single day has done to diminish that work, that risk, that fight, it weighs heavy.”

She walked over to take a seat beside Whitney.

And so, Roarke thought, he couldn’t put it off any longer.

He moved to the front of the room. “The lieutenant’s been delayed.”

“Dallas isn’t here?” Webster interrupted. “Where the hell is she?”

“At the scene, or hopefully on her way back from the scene, where Garnet was murdered.”

“Garnet? What the—” Webster broke off, and the relaxed body, the sleepy eyes vanished. “When the hell did this happen, and why wasn’t I apprised? She can’t investigate Garnet’s murder. Commander—”

“If you’d take your seat.” Roarke handled the outburst as he would at any meeting he conducted. Coolly. “You’ll be thoroughly briefed on this matter, and all others pertaining to these investigations. The lieutenant isn’t assigned to this last murder, but consulting with the officers who are—at their request.

“Now, as I have the floor, we’ll begin with some progress I made regarding the finances of three of the subjects. Data one on-screen,” he ordered, and the image of Garnet’s passport, with photo, came on.

“As you see, this is Detective William Garnet, aka Garnet Jacoby. Though they’re both dead now, it’s of interest that Garnet, under this assumed name, has amassed over thirty-five million dollars in cash, stocks, bonds, and property. He has quite a lovely home in the Canary Islands. Had, that is. Data two with image, on-screen.”

“How did you dig this out?” Webster asked him. “You never tagged me for a filter.”

“Carefully, tediously, and within the law. Barely,” Roarke added, “but within, as the lieutenant ordered and expected.”

“We could’ve hung him out to dry on this,” Webster muttered as his angry gaze scanned the screen, the image of the lavish house, the numbers. “Out to fucking dry.”

“A bit late on that. However, if you’d prefer we can move on, come back to this. It might improve your mood to see another stream of data. One-A, on-screen. Meet Marcia Anbrome, currently of Sardinia, Italy.”

“Oh yeah.” Though he said it between his teeth, and his face hardened further, Webster nodded. “That improves my mood.”

“Maybe the idea of taking her down on graft, on corruption brightens your day, Lieutenant,” Peabody said as she swung around. “But she’s killed cops. Not all of them were like Garnet. They’re dead because they weren’t like Garnet.”

“Understood, Detective. We all want the same thing here.”

“Detective Peabody.” Roarke’s tone was more gentle than the one he’d used on Webster. “I understand you’re pursuing a side investigation on the death of Detective Gail Devin. It might aid you in that investigation to know that Renee Oberman—as Marcia Anbrome—deposited two-point-eight million USD in her account two days after the operation in which Devin was killed. Garnet also made a large deposit at the same time. One-point-two. As did Bix, under his assumed identification.”

The hell with the screen, Roarke thought. He had all of it in his head. “As John Barry, Bix holds accounts in Montana—where he’s also purchased a cabin and fifty acres—in the Philippines, where he was once stationed while in the Army, and in Tokyo, where he was born. While we began with these three, we’re working through the squad. I have Freeman, Palmer, and Marcell complete. I should have the others within hours.”

“You’ll need to add Doctor Addams to your list.” Mira sat, hands folded in her lap. “As I’ve already informed the commander, in reviewing all the case files, testing results, evaluations, and history of each member of Lieutenant Oberman’s squad, I’ve found troubling inconsistencies, and what on closer study appear to be amended results in those squad members Doctor Addams examined, tested, or treated.”

“Of course.” No point in telling her he’d already added her colleague, already found some of the pots the man had buried.

“Detective Peabody,” Mira continued. “You should be aware that a few weeks before Detective Devin’s death, Lieutenant Oberman, according to Doctor Addams’s notes, expressed concern about Devin’s state of mind, citing the detective had difficulty focusing on her work, adhering to procedure, took excessive personal time. Addams arranged for sessions with Detective Devin. He saw her twice a week for seven weeks, until the time of her death.”

“She would have trusted him.”

“She may have come to, yes,” Mira agreed.

“If she did, she could have told him she thought something was off in the squad, and why. What she was going to do about it.”

“It’s possible.” The fatigue on Mira’s face deepened. “If she did, I believe Addams was certainly complicit in her death.”

Eve came in, her strides long and brisk. “Apologies for the delay.” She glanced at the screen, nodded. “I see you’ve been briefed on the financial angles. This gives us proof Renee, Garnet, and Bix procured false identification and with that hid property and funds.”

“Add Freeman, Palmer, and Marcell,” Roarke told her. “Others to come.”

“Good. This alone is enough to remove them from the force, to arrest them, charge them, try and convict them. We have to take Garnet out of that process as I’ve just come from examining his body, but the data on him weighs on all involved.”

“I’d like a report on Garnet’s homicide,” Whitney said.

“Sir. Detective Janburry is primary, and with his partner, Detective Delfino, is investigating. The detective contacted me, allowed me on scene. At which time I gave them a statement regarding both my altercations with the victim.”

“What do you mean ‘both’?” Webster asked.

“The second occurred at approximately twenty-two hundred last night when Garnet confronted me outside the gates of my home—where he had lain in wait for my return. My assumption is he was informed I left the residence by Detective Manford and/or Freeman who attempted a two-point tail on me some ninety minutes earlier.”

“What the hell is this, Dallas? Why wasn’t I kept informed?”

“You were busy,” she snapped at Webster. “And you’re being so informed. My altercation with Garnet is on record, and that record and my report on same was given to my commander.”

She paused a moment. “Moving on. Detective Garnet entered the building where Keener was killed at one this morning, breaking the seal, bypassing the locks. Or his killer did so and left the master on him. About six paces in the door, Garnet was attacked from behind. His throat was slit. There were no other visible injuries other than the bruises I put on his face at approximately twenty-two hundred.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Read the report, Webster. Watch the record. Garnet’s valuables were removed—except for the knife he had sheathed on his belt. The detectives have agreed to keep me informed of their progress.”

“What did you have to give them for that?” Webster demanded.

She rounded on him now, every bit as angry as he. “Not everything comes down to payment, to quid pro quo. I have an interest in their case—their vic is connected to mine and was killed in the same place. Since they’re cops with brains, they can follow the dots. I told them I couldn’t share certain details and areas of my own investigation with them, at this time. Which, again since they’re cops with brains, tells them it’s bigger than a dead junkie. Which they were smart enough to have already figured out. It will be the commander’s decision as to whether the officers investigating Garnet’s murder will be so informed.”

“I’ll review it,” Whitney told her.

“Yes, sir. From my own examination, from the angle of the wound, the killer was taller than the vic. The vic was a solid six foot. He was also taken from behind, indicating he entered ahead of his killer, had his back to his killer. Indicating this was someone he knew, trusted. I believe Bix killed Garnet, and given his pathology and profile, he did so on orders from his lieutenant.”

“A little housecleaning,” Feeney said.

“Yeah, Garnet was mucking up her tidy area. I suspect in the period between his altercation with me and his death, he contacted her or went to see her. He knew IAB was sniffing,” she added with a nod to Webster.