Calculated in Death (25 page)

Tears swam freely in his eyes now, and his voice came thick with them. “You’re a fucking bitch.”

“Again yeah, and thanks.” She opened the door, signaled to the uniforms. “Take him down, book him.” She reeled off a string of charges while Milo shouted for his lawyer. “And let him contact this lawyer he’s crying for. He’s to be kept separate from the general population, and he’s strictly denied access to any electronics. If and when the lawyer shows, it needs to be flagged in the file. No electronics allowed into his conference area.

“Peabody,” she said when her partner stepped up.

“You had a rhythm going so I didn’t come back in. I didn’t want to distract him. I watched in Observation, in case. It didn’t seem like you needed the information that I just got a minute ago. They got into his panic room. Working on the files and equipment in there now.”

“Fast work,” she said as the uniforms muscled Milo out.

“Yeah, apparently our team’s better than he is.” She smiled at Milo as he passed, then sobered again. “He really didn’t get it, Dallas. He just drove the van, just accessed information, so he’s not responsible.”

“He liked the power and money too much to believe otherwise. Greed, that rush, and stupidity. That’s the hat trick for this whole operation. I’d better talk to the PA’s office.”

“Reo came into Observation while you were leading Milo by the nose. She’s talking to her boss now.”

“Good. I’ll touch base with her. I want that face match, goddamn it. We need Alexander’s goon before we take down Alexander.”

“He’d roll on him, wouldn’t he? Alexander would hand us the goon for a deal.”

“I don’t want to deal, but even with that, once we pick up Alexander, the killer’s in the wind. No way around it. We need to keep any media play of Milo’s arrest down, even out if we can. We spook either of the other two, we could lose them. Let’s put a couple of men on Alexander. If it looks like he’s going to rabbit, we pick him up.”

“I’ll take care of it. Do you think Milo was telling it straight? He doesn’t know the name of the goon?”

“I think the guy spooked him. And I think he didn’t want to know so he could claim, and likely believe, just what he said in there. He didn’t know, so he’s not responsible.”

“He’ll have the rest of his life to think about how wrong he was.” Reo stepped out, compact and blonde, with a hint of magnolia on her tongue. “You wrapped him up so pretty, with a big, fluffy bow.”

“He knows electronics. He knows dick about people.”

“You did some of my job in there. We get to negotiate deals.”

“Just multitasking.”

“Well, in this case, the boss agrees with you. We’ll let the feds go after him on the fraud, if they want to add to his time. Most likely, they’ll give him a pass on it for his testimony on Alexander. When are you picking him up?”

“Not yet. I need his hammer first. I’m working on it.”

“Dallas, the feds may give the hacker a pass, but you can bet they’ll go full throttle after a shark as big and toothy as Sterling Alexander. They won’t quibble about trumping your three murders.”

“I’m working on it,” Eve repeated. “And if I don’t have his VP in charge of murder by tomorrow, I have a contingency plan.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Let’s take it in my office. I want to check on the face match.”

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Reo asked as they walked.

“I just told you I have a contingency.”

“I meant the premiere. Even this job takes a break once in a while.”

“Not exactly, and that’s the contingency.”

In her office Eve ran it through while Reo sat sipping water from a bottle she pulled out of a handbag the size of a baby elephant.

“You actually think he’ll try for you at a red carpet event.”

“I think he’s assured I’ll be there, and he’ll believe I’m off my guard basking in the sparkle and attention.”

“He doesn’t know you, does he? You’re never off your guard, and you don’t bask. Not in sparkle anyway.”

“His perception’s his reality, and it’s boosted by all that media on the flying baby, on Nadine’s interview with me, on the media hype for the event. Mira’s convinced he has to eliminate me in order to gain satisfaction for the job he’s done, and because his level of violence and his enjoyment of it increases with each killing. I can’t argue with it.”

“There’s room for slip ups here, Dallas.”

“There always is, but he’s going to be the one to slip. We take him, we take Alexander. We hand you conspiracy to murder, and a big, fat fraud and embezzlement bouquet you can pick through with the feds.”

“His operatives will scramble, but I expect the feds will gather them up.”

“Milo’s data should help with that. It’s a nice dish to offer the feds. They’ll owe us.”

“You’d think. It doesn’t always work that way, but it’s not only a good case, it’s a nice lever we may be able to pull at some point.”

She looked at Eve’s monitor, the screen split between Yancy’s sketch and a constant scroll of faces. “That’s the guy?”

“It’s what we’ve got. Yancy felt confident, but we’ve been searching for a match for hours without a solid hit.”

“Good luck. I hope you get that hit soon because I’ll have a much better time tomorrow without waiting for some hired killer with a grudge to take a shot at you.”

“I don’t know. It kind of adds a . . . sparkle.”

“Only you,” Reo said with a laugh and rose. “I’m going to check to see if Milo got his lawyer, then—”

She broke off when Eve’s computer beeped.

Facial recognition match, ninety-five-point-eight probability.

“Holy shit! You must be like a lucky charm. If I go to Vegas, I’m taking you with me.”

“That’s him,” Reo agreed, studying the ID photo over Eve’s shoulder. “Clinton Rosco Frye.”

“Age thirty-three, freelance personal security. Yeah, that’s the name for it. He’s not listing Alexander as employer.” She scanned down. “I
knew
it. See? Semi-pro football. It’s been about eight years, and it’s bush-league, but I
knew
it. Two years regular army, four years paramilitary Montana Patriots.”

“Straight out of high school into the army. Out of the army into the Montana Patriots, which—as I just looked them up,” Reo said, tapping her PPC, “gets a three and a half on the four-star lunatic fringe scale. Play some ball . . . How do you go from that to personal security to killer?”

“You can’t get into the bigs, can’t make it out of semi-pro. Screw it, use your build, your moves for bodyguarding and make more money. Fall in with just the right client—pays good, makes you his go-to for head-knocking. It just escalates. See, he’s got some dings on here, all involving violence. Assault, battery, destruction of property. He didn’t do any time, just paid fines, anger management bullshit, community service. No illegals playing in, no alcohol. He stays clean, keeps in shape. And according to his official report makes a damn good living freelancing. There’ll be more tucked away, but he doesn’t mind reporting a hefty sum, and paying the freight on it. He needs the success.”

“The address listed. It’s not far from the first crime scene, is it?”

“No, it’s not. Not far from Alexander and Pope. It’s handy to live close to work.” She rose, grabbed her coat.

“It looks like you’ll have to settle for the sparkle on my shoes tomorrow night,” Reo said. “They’re fabulous. I’ll get your warrant, and if I’m not here when you bring him in, just tag me. Work late tonight, party hard tomorrow.”

“Maybe.” She dragged on her coat as she strode into the bullpen. “Peabody, Uniform Carmichael, Franks, Baxter, Trueheart. Suit up. We got a hit on the UNSUB now ID’d as Clinton Frye. Let’s go get his ass.”

•   •   •

S
he set it up simply, pulling Callendar from EDD to run heat imaging, eyes, ears. She covered the exits on the eight-story building, considered the options of taking Frye from his top floor, corner apartment.

“Is he up there or not?” she asked Callendar.

“I’m scanning. I’m not finding any heat sources. No shields either. He’s not home, Dallas.”

“Damn it.”

“I can patch into building security, give you eyes in the hallway outside his apartment, in the elevators and stairwells.”

“Do it.”

“Do we sit on it, Dallas?” Peabody wondered. “Wait for him to come back?”

It could come to that, Eve thought. “Let’s see if we can get some information first. Is anyone in the apartment across the hall?”

“Give me a sec. Yeah,” Callendar confirmed. “I’ve got two. One’s either a kid or a midget.”

“Good enough. Peabody, let’s go talk to the neighbor. Everybody, just hold. If you spot him, don’t spook him. The bastard can run.”

She jogged across the street, scanning as she went. Nice neighborhood. A man could go out for a walk, drop down to the market, have a late lunch at the deli. She didn’t want Frye to wander toward home and spot her.

“He could be at work,” Peabody suggested as Eve bypassed the door locks with her master.

“I don’t think Alexander has him in all that much. He’s the kind of guy who stands out. Why have somebody hanging around who people notice? Maybe he keeps a separate office somewhere. Or he’s just out. Or he’s killing somebody else either on his own or at Alexander’s orders.”

“Who’s left?”

“Alexander would have a bigger slice of the pie, and remove a personal irritant if his half brother met an untimely demise.”

“Have Pope killed
while
we’re investigating three other murders with connections to him?”

“He may be that arrogant. My gut, and the probability I ran says he’ll wait a few months. But, like Frye, killing’s working for him. Why not use it again?”

They stepped off the elevator on eight, knocked on the door across from Frye’s.

“Good security, but not good and paranoid from the looks,” Eve commented as she studied Frye’s door.

When the neighbor’s door opened a woman in her middle thirties, hair tangled, clothes wrinkled, eyes exhausted stared out at Eve.

“Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” Eve held up her badge.

“You can’t arrest me for thinking about buying shackles and chaining my son to his bed for a nap, can you?”

“It’s probably not a smart thought to share with a cop.”

“I’m past smart. I have no brain left. This is day three of the kid with the cold from hell. Why, why can’t they fix a damn cold? I’d trade any technology for a cure.”

She gestured behind her to a boy of about six who sat on the floor surrounded by a junkyard of toys. His nose was a bright red beacon in a heavy-eyed face that nonetheless clearly projected the devious.

“He’s feeling better, and that’s my hell.”

“I want ice cream!” The boy shouted it and banged his heels on the floor. “I want ice cream!”

“You get nothing until after you take a nap.”

His answer was an ear-splitting scream.

“Take me in.” The woman held out her hands, wrists close. “Arrest me. Save me. They won’t take him back in school until tomorrow, and that’s only if I swear in my own blood, and I’m willing, that he’s not contagious. His father’s on a business trip, the lucky bastard.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“Ice cream!”

On the scream, the boy hurled the toy closest at hand. Eve dodged the toy truck that missed the mother by an inch.

“That’s it!” The woman whirled. “I’m done. Sick or not sick, Bailey Andrew Landon, your butt’s about to be as red as your nose.”

Though Eve considered that a reasonable response, she put a hand on the woman’s arm.

“Kid.” She pushed back her coat so her weapon came clearly into view. “You’ve just violated Code Eighty-two-seventy-six-B. You’ve got two choices. Go take a nap, or go to jail. There’s no ice cream in jail. No toys in jail, no cartoons on screen in jail. There’s just
jail
.”

The boy’s sleep-deprived eyes went huge. “Mommy!”

“There’s nothing I can do, honey. She’s the police. Please, Officer.” The mother turned to Eve, hands clasped as if in prayer, and with an almost insane grin on her face. “Please, give him another chance. He’s a good boy. He’s just tired and not feeling very well.”

“The law’s the law.” Eve aimed a hard, cold look at the kid. “Nap or jail.”

“I’ll take a nap!” He scrambled up and ran as if pursued by demons. Eve heard a door slam.

“I’ll be right in, baby,” the woman called out, then turned back to Eve. “If you take off your boots, I’ll kiss your feet. I’ll give you a pedicure. I’ll make you dinner.”

“Just answer a couple questions and we’re square.”

“We’ll never be square, but what do you want to know?”

“Clinton Frye.” Eve gestured across the hall. “When did you last see him?”

“Yesterday, about five, I guess. I had some food delivered because I can’t take Bailey out, and he was leaving.”

“Did he say where?”

“He doesn’t say anything. I haven’t had a conversation with him in the five years we’ve lived here. He’s not what you call neighborly.”

“Any trouble with him?”

“No. But I’m not surprised to find the police at my door asking about him. He just gives off that . . . vibe. I’ve never seen anybody visit, never seen him with a single friend.”

“And he hasn’t been home, that you’ve seen, since yesterday?”

“That’s right. He had a couple suitcases so I assumed he was taking a trip.”

“Suitcases.”

“Yeah. Anyone else, I’d have said something like, oh, you’re taking a trip. Him? I just kept my mouth shut.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Are you sure I can’t do anything else? Bake you a cake? I’ve never baked a cake, but I’d try it.”

“No, thanks. We appreciate the time.”

“He really is a good boy. He’s just been so miserable the last few days. I think we’ll both take a nap, and hopefully wake up human again.”

“Good luck.” Eve stepped back, looked across the hall.

“Do you think he went rabbit?” Peabody asked.

“I think he figured out we might come looking. The flying baby,” she said again. “All those vids. He couldn’t be sure somebody didn’t get his face, and we wouldn’t do just what we did with the sketch. So he took what he wanted, relocated. But he’s not in the wind, not blown far.”