Calculated in Death (20 page)

“You don’t want to see him now. I’ll do what I can to arrange it later if it’s what you want.”

“He’s not close to his family,” Whitestone told her. “And they’re—most of them—up in Michigan. I think Rob and I will want to make . . . the arrangements. I think we should see him when we can. How did he die?”

She could tell them now, or let them find out when the media blasted the details. “He was beaten to death.” She continued when Newton simply covered his face with his hands. “I need the medical examiner to confirm, but I believe he was stunned first, and most likely unconscious. If that’s the case, he didn’t suffer. He didn’t feel anything.”

“If he did what you think . . .” Whitestone spoke carefully in a voice that wavered. “. . . if he did these things, it was a game to him. It was wrong, but a game. He liked being a player, liked being important. He made mistakes, bad ones, but he didn’t deserve to die for them.”

•   •   •

W
hen Eve went back outside, the business of murder progressed. She watched the morgue team roll the body bag into the wagon, saw the sweepers moving in and out, and the uniforms keep the scene secured from the curious.

“I arranged details to keep an eye on the other partners and Newton’s fiancée.”

“You think he’d go after them?”

“I think he’s unpredictable, impulsive, and having a hell of a good time now. He may not wait for orders, and I’m not taking chances.”

“The team you had sent to the vic’s apartment’s transporting his electronics to Central.”

“Any sign we didn’t get there first?”

“They’re going to review the security discs, but there’s no overt sign of a break-in.”

“Here either,” she said as McNab came up the stairs to the sidewalk.

“Same deal,” he told Eve. “The owner changed the codes, but they breezed right in. Maybe the vic unlocked the door.”

“I think the killer was waiting for him. Ambush is more his style. I need you on the vic’s electronics. The partners are cooperating so you can take everything. There’s a unit here, but they claim it hasn’t been loaded as yet. There’s two more at their other offices. And a team’s bringing in what he had at his residence.”

“We’re on it,” he assured her. “That was some serious overkill in there. Not like the first vic. It doesn’t seem like it could be the same guy.”

“If it’s not, we’ve got a bigger problem. Run those electronics, McNab. Find me that damn fingerprint you told me about. I want the hacker, hopefully before he ends up in a body bag, too. Peabody, with me.”

Eve ignored the fact that Peabody and McNab did a quick pucker-up behind her back. She didn’t have time to dress them down.

“Get Mira the preliminary data, the crime scene record on this and on Parzarri. I want her familiar with the details before I meet with her. Let’s find out where Ingersol stayed when he went to Miami. I want to dig into where he went, who he met with. I don’t know if there’s a reason Parzarri would’ve traveled, same time, same place, but we need to find out.”

“Got it. I figured we were heading back to Central.”

“We are. I want to backtrack to the underpass. Try to calculate our killer’s route. Where’d he get the hammer? Was it impulse? Did he stop along the route, buy it? Does he have his own little woodshed/toolshed?”

“The sweeper who bagged it said it looked new. It has to be processed, but that’s an on-site observation.”

“I had the same one. I have to go with probabilities. They’re going to deal with two people in one morning, then they’d take the most direct and quickest route from the first killing to the second.”

“They sure didn’t stop for coffee and donuts,” Peabody put in.

“Maybe after the morning’s work. So if the hammer was impulse and new, he got the idea en route, stopped, made the buy. He had to see somewhere that sells tools.”

“Okay. One minute.”

“What are you doing?” Eve asked as Peabody went to work on her PPC.

“I’m plotting out the route, then I’m going to do a search for anywhere I can buy myself a hammer.”

“Good thinking.” Meanwhile, Eve kept her eye out.

“I’ve got two places,” Peabody announced. “One’s—”

“Big Apple Hardware.” Eve pulled over, once again double-parking and raising the ire of fellow drivers. As she flipped on the On Duty light, she wondered just how many “fuck offs” she’d amassed just that morning.

She might’ve been approaching a record.

She stepped into the tiny shop with its myriad shelves and Peg-Boards holding various tools, bins full of screws, nails, bolts, stacks of tarps, protective gear, goggles, earplugs. Cans of paint, brushes, rollers, sprayers, toothy blades all crowded into the space.

She wondered how anything got built if the process required so many implements and choices.

A husky guy sat on a stool behind a jumbled counter watching some kind of action vid on a portable screen.

“Help ya?”

“Maybe.” She pulled out her badge.

“Can’t do no cop discounts. Sorry.”

“No problem. I’m looking for a man with a hammer. Big guy, easy six four, two-fifty. Did somebody like that come in and buy a hammer this morning?”

“What kinda hammer?”

“The kind that bangs.”

“You got your claw hammer, your ball-peen hammer, your sledgehammer, your—”

“Claw,” Peabody said before he continued his litany.

“Curved claw, ripped claw or framing?”

“Mister,” Eve said, “did an individual matching that description come in this morning and buy any damn kind and size of hammer?”

“Yeah, okay, I’m just trying to get the details. Yeah, I sold a thirteen-inch, high-carbon steel, smooth face, curved claw to a guy like that a couple hours ago.”

Bingo.

Peabody stepped over, lifted down a hammer from a congregation of others. “One of these?”

“Yeah, that one. You know your hammers, girlie.”

“I’ve got a brother who’s a carpenter, and my father does some.”

“I can give discounts to people in the trade,” he began.

“We don’t want to buy anything, and we don’t need a discount,” Eve interrupted. “We need to see your security disc.”

The man glanced up to the camera. “Ain’t nothing to see. We can’t afford a real camera. That’s just what you call a deterrent. Not that anybody bothers us. They gonna rob somebody, there’s the liquor store down the block. People buy more booze than screws.”

“How’d he pay?”

“Cash.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“Nothing wrong with my eyes. He was standing right there where you’re standing.”

“I need you to come down to Central, work with a sketch artist.”

“I can’t close this place down to go work with no artist. I gotta make a living here.”

“I’ll send someone to you, Mister . . .”

“Burnbaum. Ernie. What the guy do, hit somebody over the head with the hammer?”

“Something like that. Peabody, I want Yancy.”

“I’ll get him.”

“Now, Ernie, why don’t you describe the hammer guy for me, and tell me what the two of you talked about.”

“Like you said, he’s a big guy. Big white guy.”

“Hair? Short, long, dark, light.”

“Short, buzzed, kinda medium.”

“Eyes? The color of his eyes?”

“Ah, brown. Maybe brown. I think brown.”

“Any scars, tats, piercings, anything that stood out?”

“No, can’t say there was. Had a kinda squared-off jaw, I guess. Hard-looking guy. Tough-looking.”

Yancy would get more, she thought. “What did he say to you?”

“He comes in—”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, just him. And he says he wants to buy a hammer. So I say, what kind? He just walks over there, takes the curved claw off the wall. He said, ‘This one.’ Pretty sure about that, how he just walked over and picked the hammer. I asked if he needed anything else, and he said he wanted a coverall. I asked what kind. He got a little irritated, I guess you could say, but you gotta know what kind. I showed him the stock in XXL, being he was big. He took one of the clear, full-body styles. I said something about what kind of project he had going, and he just said, ‘What’s the price.’ So I rang it up, he paid cash, and that’s that.”

“Do you have the money?”

“Course I got the money. You think I ate it?”

“I’m going to need it. You’ll get a receipt, and it will be returned to you in full.”

“Yancy’s on his way,” Peabody told her.

“Get some sweepers in here. Maybe we can get some prints. That wall, the counter. I need the money, Ernie.”

“It’s all together.” He unlocked the under-counter safe, took out a red zipper pouch. “Most people use credit or debit, but we get cash sales. I put the money in with the cash from yesterday and the day before. I don’t know which was his money.”

“All right, count it up. I’ll give you a receipt.”

“It’s over five hundred dollars!” He clutched the envelope to his breast like a beloved child she meant to kidnap.

“And you’ll get every dollar of it back. The man who came in here, bought the hammer, is suspected of killing two people this morning.”

Ernie’s jaw dropped. “With my hammer?”

“One of them. Ernie, your money’s going to be safe. I’m going to put in for you to get a ten percent use fee.”

His grip loosened. “Ten percent?”

“Yeah, and if you work with the artist, and your description and cooperation aids in the arrest of this individual, I’ll put in for another fifty.”

“A hundred bucks?”

“That’s right.”

He held out the envelope. “I still want the receipt.”

After he’d carefully counted the cash twice, Eve printed out a receipt, added her card.

“What do I do if he comes back? Maybe he wants a skill saw.”

Jesus, Eve hoped not. “I don’t think he’ll be back, but if he comes in, sell him whatever he wants. Contact me when he leaves. Did you notice which way he went, if he got into a car?”

“He went out the door. That’s all I know.”

“Okay, thanks for your cooperation.” Eve went out the door as well.

“I’m going to drop you off at the lab,” Eve began as she got behind the wheel. “I want you to take the money straight to Dickhead. He needs to run any prints he finds against military databases, police, private security. Eliminate females, anyone out of the suspect’s age range and race.”

“You want me to tell Berenski to run five hundred dollars in small bills, which have surely been passed through many fingers, for a set of prints. A set belonging to we don’t know who.”

“That’s right. If we get a decent likeness, we can run a secondary search. He’s Alexander’s, we
know
that, but he’s not his head of security. The head of security doesn’t match the description. I think this is personal security, and not necessarily on the company payroll. Not that it shows. He’s Alexander’s strong-arm, probably travels with him, or travels ahead to clear the road. We’re not going to find him on the company directory. I already tried that. So we’ll try this.”

“He’s going to want a bribe. Dickhead, I mean.”

“Tell him to go . . .” Eve reconsidered. “No, tell him I’ll clear him for two tickets to the premiere deal tomorrow. VIP section. I think I can do that.”

“That’s a good one.”

“Don’t toss it out until he wheedles, and make it like you’re going to have to pry it out of me. He’ll think it’s a bigger deal. I’ll check with Morris, then meet with Mira. If we’re lucky either Yancy or Dickhead will hit, and we can go after this bastard before he buys a skill saw.”

“Eeww.”

Eve couldn’t argue.

“Feeney and I caught a hacksaw job a few years back, before you. Before he took over EDD. This guy killed his wife—she threatened divorce, and she was the money train. So he bashed her with this brass statue of a mermaid, then oh shit, she’s dead, what do I do? He sawed her up into small pieces with a hacksaw he had in his little workshop, put it all in big waste bags, then dumped her in the river.”

“I repeat. Eeww.”

“It wasn’t pretty. He told everybody she’d gone to Europe. But, oops, one of the bags got caught in this other guy’s boat hook thing. It took awhile to put her back together, and not long to hook the husband. He tried the temporary insanity, diminished capacity, fugue fucking state bull crap. But since we had the saw, and CI determined it would take about six sweaty hours to cut her into the more compact and portable pieces, that didn’t fly.”

Peabody said nothing for a moment. “Do we lead interesting lives or really disgusting ones?”

“Both, depending. Out,” she said as she swung toward the curb near the lab. “Get me prints.”

SHE FOUND MORRIS, WITH SOME SORT OF
bass-heavy rock bumping out of his speakers, working on the seriously bludgeoned Jake Ingersol. Parzarri, chest still wide open, lay on a second slab.

“Two slabs,” Morris said as he poked around in Ingersol’s chest. “No waiting.”

“I bet they’d have been happy to.”

“No doubt. Your accountant had a standard mix of painkillers and relaxants in his system. He would’ve been quite happy before having his air supply so rudely cut off. Manually, and with a large hand.”

“Any chance of prints?”

“Sorry, no. We can give you a reasonable reproduction of the size and shape of his right thumb and forefinger from the bruising, and estimate the size of his hand. I believe you’ll be able to say with confidence, it’s the same hand that bruised the first victim’s face.”

“That couldn’t hurt.”

“This second vic’s hands and feet were restrained during the attack, and despite the drugs, the victim had a strong survival instinct. He struggled hard as you can see from the bruising on his wrists and ankles. As for the third victim, he never had a chance to struggle at all.”

Morris, his hair in a long, sleek tail today, offered Eve microgoggles. “Your observation at the crime scene was correct. You can see the discoloration from a stun stream, mid-body. A full charge from the look of it. He never felt what came after.”

“I want to hear Mira’s take, but I don’t think he stunned him unconscious to spare him pain. He was dealing with a man this time, and not one hurt, doped up, or restrained. So he put him out.”

“Taking no chances? Careful then, and you could say cowardly.”

“I do.”

“A careful coward with this much rage? A dangerous combination.”

“Maybe. Rage, sure, but fun, too. Knees, groin—that one’s personal—chest, face, head, hands.”

“My analysis is the hands were crushed rather than broken.”

“Crushed. More stomped on than hammered?”

“I believe so.”

“He really didn’t like this guy. He took Parzarri’s travel case and Ingersol’s briefcase and ’link and appointment book. And he left four hundred in cash on Ingersol, and a fistful of credit cards, a six-figure wrist unit. He didn’t care about making this one look like a robbery. What’s the point? And still, leaving the cash, the wrist unit . . . it tells me the hacker was most likely the one to take the cash out of the safe at Brewer’s, and he either wasn’t inside when this happened, or he’s a little too delicate to root around in the blood and gore for profit.”

She tucked her thumbs in her front pockets. “This is about money, more of it, greed for more. These two died for it, but money’s not the killer’s god.”

“These two will have some explaining to do if and when they meet theirs.”

“Yeah. It’s tough to buy your way past those gates. I wonder how they, it, he, she, whatever keeps track.”

“The higher power? Of the dead?”

“Yeah. I mean, think of the number of dead just you and I deal with. And we’re just two people and one city. Then expand that pretty much by infinity. It’s a lot. It makes you wonder if there’s a bunch of people up there with ledgers, checking people off. Okay, John Smith from Albuquerque, too bad about that shuttle crash. Follow the green line to Orientation. And what if two John Smiths from Albuquerque happened to be in the same crash? It could happen. Plenty of room for clerical error there.”

And over death, Morris smiled at her. “Entirely too much room. Let’s hope the system’s a bit more sophisticated.”

“Yeah, but it makes you wonder.”

She put existential musing aside and headed into Central.

She heard rolls of laughter as she approached Homicide, noted a small clutch of uniforms—that weren’t hers—crowding the doorway of the bullpen.

“Has crime taken the day off, Officers?”

They scattered quickly, making a hole for her to go in.

She saw the reason for the party atmosphere in the person of Marlo Durn—vid star, celebrity darling, and the actress playing Eve in
The Icove Agenda
.

She’d let her hair grow and had gone blonde again, a vague relief to Eve as they no longer resembled each other closely. She sat on the edge of Baxter’s desk, obviously in full flirt mode as she entertained the detectives and uniforms currently
not
doing any work.

Baxter looked like he’d been hit with a heart-shaped stunner.

Peabody spotted her first, dropped the cowboy boots she’d propped on her desk to the ground. “Hey, Dallas. Ah, look who’s here.”

“Dallas!” Wreathed in smiles, Marlo jumped off the desk and rushed to catch Eve in a hard, bouncing hug. “It’s so good to see you. Matthew and I got into New York late last night, and I took a chance I’d be able to see you. We’re all so excited about the premiere tomorrow.”

“Yeah. It should be something.”

“You’d rather be out looking for a killer than walking the red carpet, but it
will
be fun. Peabody said you’re in the middle of a multimurder investigation now.”

Peabody hunched her shoulders as Eve slid her a stony stare. “You’ll have this in Homicide. In fact, I’d wager every cop in this room has a case that needs attending to on his or her desk. Right now.”

Immediately cops shifted, shuffled, opened files, picked up ’links.

“And you’re busy. You wouldn’t have just a few minutes?”

“I’ve got a few. Peabody, Dickhead?”

“On it. Bitchily, but on it.”

With a nod, Eve gestured Marlo toward her office.

“I’ve missed it,” Marlo began. “All this. I know it was just a set, but I miss the feel of the place. And—” She paused as she saw the murder board. “You are in the middle. I think about K.T., and all that happened. Matthew and I don’t talk about it much, but it’s there. Hovering, I guess. I’ve talked with Julian a few times. He’s in rehab, taking a couple of days out now for the premiere, but plans to go back, finish the full program.”

She turned away from the board. “I know it seems we’re in and out of rehab like a boutique in our world, but I really think he’s better. What happened with K.T., nearly dying himself, it pushed him to evaluate. It’s terrible to say, but all that horror was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to him. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Do you want coffee?”

“No, but thanks. The trial, the scandal, Joel—a major producer, a Hollywood icon like Joel Steinburger a murderer? It’s dominating the media back on the Coast, and of course, by association Marlo Durn, Matthew Zank, Mason, Connie, and the rest of us. It’s a relief to be away, though I expect we’ll deal with some of that here, too.”

“It’ll pass,” Eve said as Marlo wandered her office.

“Yes, it will. It’s actually, in a terrible way, bumping up promotion for the vid, even for the studio. It’s depressing, and I refuse to be depressed because—I wanted to tell you—Matthew and I are going to get married.”

“Congratulations.” Eve thought of the charming actor who’d played geeky McNab.

“I know it’s fast, and that’s another perception. Actors, always falling in and out of love, especially with other actors. But I do love him, so much. We’re only telling a few people. We don’t want a splash or the media hype. We went away for a while after the vid wrapped, after everything. It was good for us, good to be away, be together, have time to talk it all through. We love what we do, and despite all the shine, we live and work in a hard, stressful world. You understand hard, stressful worlds, and making a life, a real life inside one.”

“I guess I do. As well as anybody can.”

“I wanted to tell you because
being
you, so to speak, helped me understand and evaluate and decide on priorities. On what’s really important. Good work, yes, in whatever you do. But when you find someone, the one, it changes everything. It changes you, and you’re better for it. I have friends I can say that to, and they’d understand, but not the way you can. Because of that, I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“Okay.”

“Matthew and I are going to have a small, private wedding at Mason’s and Connie’s here in New York, the day after tomorrow. Will you stand up for me?”

“What?”

“Will you come—you and Roarke—and will you stand up for me? If you can. If you’re not working.”

“Marlo, you have to have people, friends you’re tight with, someone—”

“I do, and I thought about it.” Reaching out a hand to take Eve’s, Marlo flashed her megawatt smile. “I want you, if you will, if you can. When I make promises to Matthew, I want someone beside me who really understands how important those promises are. We want to keep it simple, private. Later we’ll have some big, crazy party back home, but this part—the promises—we want to keep the rest out of it.”

Eve remembered when she’d understood, really understood that’s what marriage meant. Promises, making them and keeping them.

“All right. Sure, if—”

“I know the ifs.” Marlo looked back at the board. “And if one comes up, that’s okay. Thank you, so much.” She gave Eve’s hand a grateful squeeze. “I was nervous to ask you. I feel much better now. Any time you need a favor, just ask.”

“I could use two VIP tickets for tomorrow. I had to bribe someone.”

“I’ll take care of it. Just let me—and hello.” The flirt went back on as Roarke stepped into the doorway. Then Marlo laughed, moved to him for a friendly kiss. “I didn’t expect to be able to see both of you when I came in. This is an extra treat.”

“How are you, Marlo?”

“I’m just about perfect. Dallas will fill you in as I’ve interrupted her work long enough. We’re all looking forward to the after-party tomorrow. Plenty of time to catch up there.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. Marlo! How nice to see you.”

When Mira came in, Eve thought:
What
next? A brass band?

Now she had to wait for all the
how are you
s
, you look wonderful
s, and blah, blah, blah with people crowded into her office sucking up her oxygen.

Roarke sent Eve an amused look over Mira’s head. “Marlo,” he began, “I was about to go up to EDD. Would you like to come along, have a little look around?”

“I’d love to, and then I can fill you in myself. I’ll see both of you tomorrow. And thank you, Dallas. Again. I’ll take care of those tickets.”

“Thanks.”

When Roarke led Marlo out, quietly closed the door, Eve let out a huge breath. “God! Why are there so many people?”

“She looks happy,” Mira commented. “You look impatient.”

“She is. I am. I was coming to you as soon as I updated my book and board.”

“I read the reports, studied the recording Peabody sent me, and I wanted to speak with you right away. He’s evolving, Eve.”

“I got that much.”

Mira shook her head. “Update your board. Put this morning’s victims and crime scenes up.”

“Okay.” She went to her unit to load the recorder, make the prints.

“I’m programming coffee,” Mira told her.

“I’ve got some of that tea stuff you like stocked in there.”

“I want coffee.” While Eve worked, Mira programmed two cups.

“You see the first victim,” Mira began. “A clean, quick kill, and the attempt to disguise murder as mugging.”

“It was a job. He didn’t know her. Business.”

“I agree, as we discussed before. The second murder is unnecessarily cruel, would have caused suffering, and was done face-to-face.”

“More personal. I get it,” Eve repeated. “He knew the guy, and he’s got a little taste for it.”

“Face-to-face,” Mira said again, “but a victim in a drugged state, and the restraints. You believe the killer is a big man, a strong man, yet he restrained the smaller, weaker man.”

“He’s a coward at the bottom of it.”

“Yes, he is. The third victim, all but on the heels of the second, fast work, and in the last case, extremely violent. You believe the victim was stunned prior to the bludgeoning.”

“Confirmed by Morris, yes.”

“And that he lay in wait, lured the victim in, incapacitated him, then beat him violently. It’s a very quick escalation, an experimentation in methods, perhaps, but more it’s an embrace of that violence, one that, to escalate so quickly, has always been there. A big, strong man, capable of snapping a woman’s neck, both physically and mentally. And yet a coward, and the cowardice, even more than the strength and violence, makes him very dangerous.”

“Because he’ll ambush, come from behind.”

“It’s more than that. Despite the relative ease of the first killing, he failed. It wasn’t judged a mugging, and it turned the spotlight on his employer. The reaction to that?”

“Try for me and Peabody.”

“Yes. Impulsively, and without any consideration for people who might have been hurt. And his cowardice is clearly shown—and has been touted all over the media—by using a child as a shield and weapon. Again, he failed, and this time he’s been called a coward, a monster, while you’re cheered as a hero.”

“I caught the kid,” Eve began. “It wasn’t heroic, it was a good catch.”

“I disagree, and so does the very vocal public. But the point is, he’s termed a coward. You’re termed a hero.”

“All right. That’d be a pisser for him.”