Devoted in Death (14 page)

“It’s a fine way to start a snowy day.”

“Snow?” She looked up, looked toward the window into the gray and the white.

Not the thin spit of yesterday’s snow, she saw. But thick, fast white flakes.

“Shit.”

“It’s lovely from here, with breakfast on the table and the fire crackling.”

“Which would be great if we could sit right here until it stops.”

“Is there anything you can’t do here through the morning?”

She could probably work at home. Her equipment here – and the other equipment available to her – put what she had at Central to shame. But —

“I need Peabody,” she began.

“I can arrange transportation for her.”

He could, she thought, and would. And still
but
.

“I just got back from leave. My people need me around, as much as I can manage. And Trueheart takes his detective’s exam tomorrow. Baxter’s a wreck over it.”

“Being a wreck over his young aide speaks well of him. And don’t claim you didn’t fret about it when Peabody took hers.”

“I trained her. If she’d bombed it, I’d have kicked her ass.”

“How do you think our young Trueheart will do?”

“He’ll pass. If he doesn’t it means he’s not ready. It means he let nerves screw him up. A cop can’t let nerves screw him up, so that would be not ready. Unless he and Baxter catch a hot, I’m going to use them on my investigation. It’s more hands and eyes, and it’ll keep them both busy and occupied.”

“You’re a good boss, Lieutenant.”

“The cops under me deserve one, so I need to be. If Trueheart makes it I’m going to request another uniform.”

“Anyone in mind?”

“A couple I’ll look into, if and when.” She felt the cat start to slink down the sofa like a snake when she picked up some bacon. “What’s on your plate today?”

“A number of meetings, reviews – much of which, lucky for me, I can handle from here via ’link or holograph. I’ll venture out later. I want to go by the youth shelter – work’s progressing very well there. And as I’ve also been away, I’ll want to spend time at my office.” He scooped up oatmeal happily enough. “I’m also a good boss.”

“Of legions.”

As the cat bellied over, eyes fixed on bacon, Roarke merely turned his head, raised an eyebrow. Galahad rolled onto his back, yawned hugely.

“Why does he think he’s going to get away with it?” Eve wondered. “He never does.”

“You can’t get the prize without reaching for it.”

Acknowledging the point, she reached for the prize of more coffee – and her communicator signaled.

“Hell.” She rose, went over to pick it up from the dresser. “Dallas.”

“Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the woman at 623 Bond, apartment 902. Whittiker, Kari has reported a possible missing person. Notification of possible missings flagged at your request.”

“Right. Who’s missing?”

“Campbell, Jayla, age twenty-four, mixed-race female. Last seen, 754 Carmine, apartment 615, at approximately twenty-four-thirty hours.”

“Acknowledged. I’ll take it. Dallas out.”

She frowned at the comm before setting it down again. “Probably nothing. Probably hooked up with somebody, but I had them flag any missings or possible missings over the age of sixteen. They’ve never gone for kids, that we know of.”

“Small blessings. Do you want me to go with you?”

“No point. I’ll take it solo, just meet up with Peabody at Central. The woman hasn’t been out of touch for even eight hours, so it’s probably nothing.”

“And yet.”

“And yet.” She headed for the closet. “If this turns out to be one of theirs, we’ve got a hell of a lot more time than anybody’s had before. That’s a start.”

She came out with a navy-blue crew neck sweater, brown trousers and a brown jacket. And frowned again when he gave her the Galahad/bacon raised eyebrow.

“What? What’s wrong with this stuff?”

“Keep the sweater and trousers.” He rose, plucked the jacket away from her, and strolled into the closet.

“Why can’t I get it right?” she demanded. “I think I do get it right, but you like to make me think I don’t get it right.”

“It’s not altogether wrong. There’s just a better choice.”

She yanked on a support tank, muttering about better choices, wriggled into underwear, and was hooking the trousers when he came out with a jacket – a brown one, damn it.

But one that had a subtle needle-stripe of navy. The boots were navy, too, with a wider brown stripe up the sides to the ankle.

She knew she’d never seen them before.

“Waterproof, insulated,” he told her. “Your feet will be happier.”

“How many pairs of boots do I have in there?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You keep buying them, so you ought to know.” She tugged the sweater on, shoved at her hair when her head came out.

And he kissed her. “One of my small pleasures. Would you deny me?”

She took the boots, sat down. Felt the warmth, the solid support the minute her feet were inside. “Do you know how many pairs of boots I had before I met you?”

He only smiled as she rose, reached for her weapon harness – which told her he undoubtedly did.

“Two, and one pair didn’t really count as they were emergency use only because they were trashed. I still caught the bad guys.”

“You did. Now you get to catch them with more comfortable and stylish feet.”

She took the jacket from him, put it on and began to stow what she needed in various pockets. “You know I married you for sex and coffee, not boots.”

“Isn’t it nice, then, to have the bonus?”

This time she grabbed his face, kissed him. “Yeah. I’m going to grab a few things from the office here, then I’m in the field. See you tonight.”

“I’ll be here until about eleven, I’m thinking, if you’ve need of me. Meanwhile, take care of my cop.”

“Nearly top of my list,” she said and strode out.

“It’s not, no, not nearly top.” He glanced over, saw the cat had managed to take advantage of the distraction and snag the bit of bacon still on Eve’s plate. “And that’s why you continue to try, isn’t it? Now and again, you hoist the prize.”

Galahad ran his tongue over his whiskers, and belched.

By the time she got downstairs her coat lay draped over the newelpost with the Peabody scarf folded neatly over it, the Mr. Mira snowflake hat on that, and a fresh pair of gloves added to the mix.

She thought to stuff the hat in her pocket, thought of the thick snow, reconsidered. She’d just look at it like a good-luck charm, she decided. Until she managed to lose it like she lost every hat and every pair of gloves she’d ever owned. She wound the scarf on, and because dangling ends were – to her mind – an opponent’s opportunity to strangle in any hand-to-hand, tucked them inside the coat.

Pulling the gloves on, she walked out into the wall of snow where her car already sat running, heaters, she imagined, turned to blast.

Routine, she thought again. Such things had become routine. That didn’t mean she took them for granted.

She imagined Summerset had given a dry, ghoulish snicker as he set out the snowflake hat, and sniffed when he’d set out the surely doomed gloves. But he’d put them out.

“So thanks,” she muttered, and drove off in her warm, ugly car.

She sent Peabody a voice mail, letting her partner know she was checking out a possible missing persons, and to plan to report to Central as usual.

“Push on the potentials I copied you on,” she added. “Let’s get a sense of the vics, and the local cops on them. If anything rings on this possible I’m checking, I’ll bring you in.”

She could have Baxter and Trueheart start on the two she hadn’t reviewed thoroughly, she considered. But it could wait.

She worked her way down to NoHo, forced to drive defensively on every block. Because there were snow-phobic morons on every block, she concluded. Which included pedestrians in such a hurry to get out of the snow, they didn’t bother to look when they used the crosswalk.

Maxibuses inched along until she wanted to obliterate every last one of them – and she comforted herself that at least the weather held off the hyping ad blimps.

It took her twice as long as it should have to get to Bond, and the shock of finding a parking space nearly in front of the building almost caused her to lose it to a sneaky sedan.

She hit the sirens, shocked the sneaky sedan, and slid smoothly into the space.

The sedan, obviously pissed and suspicious, remained inches away. Eve stepped out of the car, thinking: Want to take me on, pal?

She opened her coat, flashing her weapon in its harness, held up her badge. Stared.

The sedan moved along.

Another nice note to the morning, she decided, and trudged through the snow to the entrance of the building with its nicely repointed brick, snow-covered steps and curly iron rail.

A solid building, she determined, carefully rehabbed, decent security with cams and palm plates.

She started to use her master, thought better of it, and pressed for 902.

The answer was quick enough to tell her whoever was on the other end had been standing close.

“Yes.”

“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. Ms. Whittiker.”

“Yes. Yes. I’m buzzing you in. Please come right up. I’m waiting. Come right up.”

Eve pushed in the door at the buzz, at the
thunk
of locks deactivating. The small lobby showed the same care as the exterior with clean fake wood floors and a pair of elevators with shiny black doors.

She took one to the ninth floor, pleased when it ran smooth and nearly soundlessly. Even as she stepped out, a door down the corridor opened.

The woman wore short, stylish dreds around a carved-in-ebony face. Huge brown eyes looked exhausted and worried as she gripped her hands together.

“Are you the police?”

Eve took out her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas. You’re Kari Whittiker?”

“Yes, come inside. They said, when I contacted the police, they said Jayla hadn’t been out of touch long enough to be considered missing. Even when I explained everything, they said to wait another day, to try contacting her ’link, other friends. Then they tagged me just a little while ago, and said somebody was coming.

“Did you find her? Is that why you’re here?”

“No. I’m just following up.”

“You’re a lieutenant.” Those tired, worried eyes sparked. “Lieutenants don’t just follow up. My father’s a Marine, so’s my brother. I know how rank works.”

“I’m following up as I’m checking into any reports of missing persons in connection with another case. Why don’t we sit down, and you can explain to me what you explained when you called this in?”

“What other case?”

Smart and sharp, Eve thought, which might be helpful. But right now she needed data. “Ms. Whittiker, asking me questions isn’t going to help locate your friend. Answering mine might.”

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t get any sleep.”

She gestured to a chair in a living area that said female without the frills. Warm colors, a multitude of pillows, soft throws, flowers and candles.

“When did you last see Ms. Campbell?” Eve asked.

“She went out about nine last night, with Mattio. Mattio Diaz. They were going to a party, I’m not sure where. In the West Village, I think.”

“You’re roommates?”

“That’s right. We’ve lived together for nearly four years now – roomed in college, and got this place right after.”

“I’m going to assume she’s stayed out all night before this, and you have another reason to be concerned.”

“Yes, yes to both.”

Kari clasped her hands together again. She wore skin pants the color of iron and a thick hip-length sweater in red – and to Eve’s eye worked hard to stay calm and coherent.

“She texted me at about twelve-thirty last night, said she was on her way home because I’d been right and Mattio was a dick. She asked me to wait up if I wasn’t already in bed – I wasn’t. I mean I was, but I was watching a vid. So I got up, got out a bottle of wine and our stash of emergency chocolate brownies. But she didn’t come home. I waited until about one, tried her ’link, but it wouldn’t go through.”

“Wouldn’t go through?”

“Like the charge died, or the ’link broke, or something. I couldn’t even get to her v-mail. I tried again and again, but she never answered.”

“How about this Mattio?”

“Oh, I tagged that fuckhead.” Now she radiated disgust. “I waited until nearly two in the morning because I didn’t want to talk to him, but I tagged him. Still at the party, stoned – big surprise. He said she’d left – couldn’t say when, didn’t much care if you ask me, and had his usual line about how she’d misunderstood, and gotten jealous.”

Tears swam into her eyes but didn’t blur the fire behind them.

“He’s a cheat, and a loser. And I was so glad when Jayla texted me because she really sounded done this time. I can play it back for you.”

“Yeah, do that.”

Kari pulled it out of her pocket. “I’ve played it over and over, as if this time I’ll realize I missed something, but —”

She hit play.

Eve listened, and began to feel the burn.

It was the voice of a woman who was pissed, who was heading home because she wanted her girlfriend and a sympathetic ear. Not one who’d have decided to go back to a party or hook up with some other guy for the night.

“How would she have gotten home?”

“She’d have cabbed if she could. She doesn’t like the subway, doesn’t like being underground. So if she couldn’t find a cab, she’d have walked.”

“It’s a long walk on a cold night.”

“She was pissed, and that would keep her going awhile. Lieutenant, I know what you’re thinking. She’s a grown woman. She had a fight with her boyfriend, started home, changed her mind. Maybe she ducked into a bar, or hired an LC, or ran into somebody she knew and went with him. But she wouldn’t. She asked me to wait up for her. She’d never have left me worried this way. She’d have contacted me. We’re friends. We’re best friends. We’re like sisters. I
know
her, and she wouldn’t do this. Something happened to her.”

“Where does she work?”

“She works for a modeling agency – which is where she met Mattio Dickwad Diaz. He’s a model. She books models with ad agencies, with designers. Frosted. She worked for Frosted. They’re in the Flatiron Building here in New York. They’ve got agencies in Europe and Asia. She travels sometimes.”