New York to Dallas (10 page)

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

Eve moved fast, had him against the wall, arms behind his back. She slapped restraints on him.

“No! What are you doing? You can’t! I’m cooperating.”

“Not by my gauge. You’re under arrest for taking a bribe while in the employ of the State of New York, for aiding and abetting a convicted felon, for accessory to that felon’s escape, for murder, for—”

“Murder!”

“Nathan Rigby. McQueen slit his throat in the escape, and you’re going down for it.”

“I didn’t know. How could I know?”

“Give me a name.” Eve perp-walked him to the door. “I want his partner.”

“Sister Suzan! It’s Sister Suzan. Let me go.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I swear to God.”

She paused, just inside the door, slightly loosened her grip. “How do you know he picked her?”

“I took messages in and out for them, after she told me he wanted to stop the visits. Memo cubes and discs. I don’t know what was on them. He’d tell me where to send hers, different mail drops. That’s all I know.”

“Oh, I doubt it, but it’s a start.”

She muscled him out the door.

“I cooperated. You can’t arrest me for anything.”

“Watch me.”

 

 

Eve planned to move
him through processing, let him sweat, then hit him again. He had more to give, and she had little doubt he’d give it. While she worked him, Peabody could do a deeper search on and for Sister Suzan Devon.

But as she pulled into the garage at Central her communicator signaled.

“Dallas.”

“You’re to report to Commander Whitney’s office immediately, Lieutenant.”

“On my way.”

“Do you think something broke?” Peabody wondered.

“I’ll find out when I get up there. Can you handle this asshole?”

Peabody glanced back at Stibble, who’d sobbed the entire way in. “I think I can manage him.”

“Pass him off, then have him put in a box until I get there.”

He sobbed on the elevator, too. With absolute relief, Eve jumped off at the first opportunity, shifted to the glides for the trip to the commander’s office.

The admin showed her in immediately, shut the door.

“Commander. Detective Peabody and I took Randall Stibble into custody. He gave up the partner.”

“We’ll get to that. Sit down, Lieutenant.”

Though she preferred standing, and he knew it, she sat, because his tone brooked no argument.

“Sir.”

“McQueen’s surfaced. He’s taken a hostage.”

“A hostage?”

“We assume hostage as she no longer fits his victim type.”

“No longer fits.” Her belly clutched. “He’s taken one of his former victims. He has one of those girls. I never considered—I should have.” She shook it off; tried to shake it off. “How do we know she’s with McQueen?”

“He left a message.” He paused at the knock, nodded when Dr. Mira came in.

Now Eve felt a prickle at the back of her neck.

“Eve.” Mira sat in the chair angled toward hers. Her face, as always, was quiet and lovely—but the worry in her eyes pushed Eve to her feet.

“Commander.”

“I want you to sit down, Dallas. I’ve asked Dr. Mira to join us as I—as we both—value her insight and opinion. I’ve already briefed her.”

When she obeyed, he brought his chair over—something she’d never known him to do—so he sat across from her, at eye level.

“At approximately midnight, Central Time, Isaac McQueen abducted Melinda Jones, one of the twin girls and last victims he previously abducted from the Times Square area.”

“I know who she is,” Eve said quietly. “She went to see him in prison when she was nineteen. I didn’t follow up on it.”

Her mouth went dry now, and her heart began to thump. “She lives in Dallas, she and her sister. The sister’s a cop. They live in Dallas. My name.”

Because she’d been found there, beaten, brutalized, and unable—or unwilling—to remember.

“What was the message?”

“This recording answered when Detective Jones called her sister’s’link.”

Whitney kept his eyes on her, ordered his computer to replay the message copied to him by the Dallas police.

“Did they trace the ’link?”

“In her vehicle,” Whitney told her. “Barely a mile from her apartment.”

“What time did the sister try to tag the ’link?”

“At ten forty-three this morning.”

“It’s still shy of noon. We’re good on time.”

“We have no proof of life,” Whitney began.

“He wouldn’t kill her, sir. Not right off the jump. He chose Melinda Jones for specific reasons. She confronted him while he was in prison. There are no visitor records listing any of his other victims or family members. In addition, he’s gone to some trouble to set this up. He had to have ways and means to get to her, a place to keep her, and that means he’s done his research and utilized his partner to make arrangements. No point in all that just to kill her.”

“While I tend to agree, it’s very possible she’s no more than bait—dead or alive—to lure you down. He wants you there, out of your element and without your usual resources. And we agree he’s gone to some trouble, used a partner, with you as the target.”

He paused, leaned toward her slightly. “Understand me, Lieutenant. I won’t order you to go.”

“Wherever he wants to take me on, Commander, he won’t stop until that happens.”

She’d known, Eve thought now. She’d known it wouldn’t be New York, that he wouldn’t wage this battle on her ground.

But Dallas. She’d never considered he’d use Dallas and a former victim.

And she should have.

“There are another twenty-one survivors from that room,” she continued, “and he can pick and choose. And there are countless others who fit his needs. He wants to engage me. He’ll torture Melinda Jones, and/or take other victims until he does. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s an either/or until I go where he wants me to go.”

No choice, she thought. He’d left her no choice at all. First strike to him.

“I’d prefer having your permission and support, Commander, and the cooperation of the Dallas PSD. But I’ll go without it. I have personal time coming, and I’ll take it.”

“I’ve spoken with Detective Jones’s lieutenant. He’s willing to accept your help, and include you in their investigation as a consultant. However . . .” Whitney laid the palms of his hands on his thighs, tapped them twice. “Dallas, we’re all aware of your background, your history in that city. We have to assume McQueen knows parts of it.”

A small, hard ball of ice formed in her belly. “It’s likely he dug up the basics. That I’d been found there, my condition. It would only add to his determination to draw me back. You know him.” She turned to Mira. “You know that would play.”

“Commander, if I could have a few moments in private with the lieutenant.”

His eyebrows drew together, but he nodded and rose. “Of course.”

“We’re wasting time,” Eve said the minute the door shut behind him. “We all know I have to go, so there’s no damn point in talking it all to death.”

“And I’ll block you leaving New York unless you talk to me.”

“You can’t.”

Mira’s eyes, a mild, soft blue hardened to steel. “Don’t be so sure.”

“You’d let him torture, dismember, kill an innocent woman so, what, I don’t experience some emotional trauma?” Eve shoved to her feet. “I’m a cop. It’s not your job to decide.”

“It’s precisely my job,” Mira corrected with a rare flash of temper. “You didn’t blink. You didn’t hesitate. And you’d better do both now, here with me. Or would you rather bull forward and go, then find yourself unable to deal with it when that innocent’s—and your own—life is on the line? You were beaten and raped in Dallas.”

“Chicago, too. I remember it some, and a couple other places. Do I have to give you a list of cities so you can clear my travel?”

“You didn’t kill your abuser in Chicago. You were finally able to defend yourself in Dallas, a child of eight, who—covered with blood, her arm broken, her mind frozen in shock—wandered the streets.”

“I know what happened. I was there.”

“And blocked it out for years, protected yourself from the memories of years of abuse as best you could. Lived with nightmares.”

“I don’t have them anymore. I dealt with it. They stopped.” Almost entirely.

“Have you considered, even for a moment, what going back under these circumstances might mean? Going there, of all places, to hunt a man who abuses—physically, sexually, emotionally—children, just as your father did to you. Have you considered how this might affect you, personally and professionally?”

“Do you think I want to go?” It burst out of her, a quick flood of anger and heat. “I went back once, to that room, to those streets, even to the alley where they found me. I got through that, and I promised myself I’d never go back. He’s dead here, and here,” she said, putting her hands on her head. “And I don’t know if going there will bring him back again. God, I don’t want to face that again, having him alive in my head. What do you expect me to do? Let her die because I’m afraid of him, of all of it?”

“No.” Mira spoke quietly now. “I expect you to go, to do your job, to find him, and to stop him.”

“You just wanted me to break down first?”

“Yes, exactly. I care about you, Eve. You’re so much more to me than another case file. I care about you as I do about my own children, and am perfectly aware those feelings can and do make it difficult for both of us from time to time.”

She let out a sound, a mix of sorrow and regret. “A mother protects her child above all. She also has to let her go, but not without being sure her child is prepared and armed and ready. If you couldn’t admit to yourself and to me those fears, those doubts, you couldn’t be ready. Now I can let you go, even wishing I could stop you.”

“I don’t want to go.” The breath Eve let out scraped at her throat like nails. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

“I know. He’ll use whatever he knows about your history, like salt in a wound. He’ll play mind games, prodding where you’re most vulnerable. I need you to promise you’ll contact me if you need help.”

Eve walked back, sat. “It makes it difficult from time to time, on my end, because my memories of a mother are twisted and ugly. She hated me. That’s the foremost memory I have of her. The hate in her eyes when she looked at me. So I don’t know how to respond when the offer of, I guess, a maternal type of affection and support is . . . pure or whatever.”

“I understand that. It’s something we can delve into deeper when you’re ready.” Mira laid a hand over Eve’s. “Promise you’ll let me know if you need my help.”

“I do. I will.”

Rising, Mira started for the door, stopped. “You’re stronger than you were, and you were always strong. You’re smarter than you were, and you were always smart. You have more because you let yourself give and take more. He hasn’t changed since you stopped him. You have. Use that,” she said, and opened the door.

“Commander,” Mira said when Whitney came back in. “In my opinion, Lieutenant Dallas is clear for this assignment.”

“The choice is yours, Lieutenant.”

“You know I’ve made it, sir.”

“Very well. Lieutenant Ricchio has cleared you as well, and to take another investigator at your discretion. If you want Peabody, I’ll have it done.”

“Peabody’s needed here, Commander. She’s studied the case files, already has the research and data on the partner. As well as a suspect in custody for accessory who may have more information. I want her to continue to work the case from here. To work it as primary.”

“That’s your call.”

“I’ll brief her. I’ll take Roarke, as expert consultant, civilian, if he’s available.”

“Make whatever arrangements you deem best, and contact me when you’re in the air.” He drew a disc from his pocket. “Data on Ricchio, Detective Jones, the other detectives and officers you’ll most likely work with.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s . . . thorough.”

“I know my cops,” he said briefly. “It’ll save you from running them. Good hunting, Lieutenant.”