Obsession in Death (19 page)

“Get a driver – until this is done. A driver who knows how to handle himself. Herself. Whichever. You don’t want to go down into the garage here unattended. He could work here. He could be a cop or support staff. And you don’t want to get out of your car here or at home and have someone go at you. It would take that off my head.”

“All right. Dennis and I have already talked about some of this, and I use a service sometimes anyway.”

“The driver has to have training,” Eve insisted. “And you know about answering the door for a delivery, but Mr. Mira can be a little forgetful.”

“Not when it’s important.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She started for the door. “It’ll probably be tonight. The next. I’m not going to be able to stop it.”

“You’re not responsible, Eve.”

“No. A couple of airboards weren’t responsible for two kids getting sliced up on their way home from the boarding park. But they were a motive. This isn’t any different. Get the driver,” she added, and left.

She wanted to be out in the field, doing something active. Intimidating somebody, maybe kicking some ass. Instead she closed herself in her office again with her board, her notes, and the coffee Mira thought she’d already had too much of.

While she thought of the killer, the killer thought of her.

I finally have an hour to myself. I’ve watched Eve’s media conference three times. She looked so good, sounded so tough. She really gave those asshole reporters the business! It’s just amazing the way she can cut them down without raising her voice. I’ve never been able to do that, never been able to put anybody in their place. Someone always puts me in what they wanted to be my place.

Until now.

But why did she say it was inaccurate? Why didn’t she answer that question truthfully, tell everyone I’d written to her? I’d killed on her behalf, and she wouldn’t give me credit.

That’s really upsetting. It hurts my feelings. Can’t she see that?

I thought this would be the time – just the right time – for her to talk about me, a little. Really, all she had to say was yes, there were messages left for me at the scene.

She didn’t have to give the content, just the acknowledgment, the feeling. I kept looking for some signal from her. Something. Anything.

There were a couple times I felt she was looking right at me, like she was trying to say something just to me. I’ll watch again, maybe I missed it. Maybe I’m letting myself get upset over nothing.

When she said she’d do her job? Maybe that was it. Like a warning to me she’d have to come after me. There’s no question of that, it’s who she is, it’s what makes her the amazing person she is. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been so careful. No one will be able to say she didn’t do all she could do, more than anyone else could do.

Could she have been telling me to keep being careful? I hope that was it. I have to believe that was it.

If it is, it’s almost like we’ve talked, at last. One day we will, in person. Just the two of us. We’ll have some wine. We’ll open the bottle I bought especially – the same kind she was drinking in that picture I found of her, the one taken when she went to Italy.

With him.

She won’t need him once we’re finally able to be together, work together. We’ll talk and talk and talk, about everything, share everything.

She won’t need anyone but me. I hope she’s starting to understand that now. I have to show her so she understands.

I know I have to wait, I know there’s more work to be done first, but I hope it’s soon.

Maybe after tonight. Maybe after one more. I’m really looking forward to this one – doing it for her, and for myself. It’s like discovering I have an innate talent for playing the violin or painting watercolors.

I have an innate talent for execution.

There will be one fewer disrespectful asshole in the world after tonight. As Eve would say, he can bite me.

But the dead don’t bite.

She spent a long time studying both messages. Key words: JUSTICE, RESPECT, FRIENDS. Words most repeated – or emphasized in the lab rat’s analysis – in the longer, second message: RESPECT, DISRESPECT, SOCIETY, FRIEND, JUSTICE.

She’d look for repetition and emphasis on those words when she ran the correspondence. If the killer had a message, these words made up an important part of it.

He’d have used them before.

She took another look at Mason. Despite the alibi, he had a connection to the cops. But with or without the alibi, she admitted, he just didn’t fit. Not only didn’t fit her own instincts, but didn’t fit the profile.

He was smarter than he appeared, and as she skimmed his files, admitted he was organized. But he wasn’t careful, didn’t live alone or close himself off.

She found a disc labeled “Ledo,” another labeled “The Square.”

She ran Ledo’s first, waded through Mason’s stiff and formal version of a police report, then backtracked, zeroed in.

Observed deliveryman traveling west on foot, pausing outside subject’s building before continuing on. Then observed same deliveryman cross over to south side of the street, traveling on foot, east. This individual appeared unable to find the address, took out a ’link, but – in my opinion – took a photograph with said ’link.

As I am a public servant and know this area well, I approached the deliveryman, called out to same. I said: Can I help you find an address?

The individual turned away, shaking his head, and continued east with more haste.

I went back to my surveillance of the subject’s building.

“You saw him.”

Eve turned to her ’link, pulled up the contact information.

Mason’s earnest face filled her screen. “This is Mason Tobias. I can only talk for a minute because I’m working and not allowed personal communications.”

“I’ll fix it, Mason. It’s Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant. I’m on a walking delivery, so I can talk for a minute.”

“Great. Mason, I’m reading your reports, and —”

He lit up like a candle. “You are? You’re reading them yourself?”

“Yeah, and I’m reading the one you filed on December fifteenth while surveilling Ledo’s building.”

“That was before you told me not to, to observe from inside.”

“Right, before that. You report seeing a deliveryman, one who appeared unable to locate an address. Do you remember that?”

“I have a really good memory.”

“You said deliveryman. Are you certain the individual was male?”

“I… That’s inaccurate, Lieutenant. I assumed.” Distress clouded his eyes. “I didn’t accurately report.”

“It’s okay. Did you see this person’s face?”

“I saw a portion of the face. The individual was wearing brown pants, a brown coat and ski cap, wraparound sunshades, and a lighter brown scarf around the lower portion of the face. Also gloves. The individual carried a shipping box.”

Deflated, Eve nodded. “Okay, Mason, good work.”

“The individual removed the sunshades in order to – I believe – take a picture of the building across the street.”

Eve held her breath. “Describe what you saw.”

“The individual appeared to be mixed race. This I observed from the tone of the skin, which was like coffee regular. The cap was pulled to the eyebrows, but what I could see of the eyebrows were brown. Dark brown. I wasn’t close enough to see his eyes, or the color, I mean. When I approached, he put the shades back on. So I didn’t see the eyes. I’m sorry.”

“Did you get any sense of the shape of the face?”

On screen, Mason’s forehead creased in thought. “I would say on the narrow side. I would judge this person to be about five feet, ten inches in height and one hundred and fifty pounds.

“Is this a person of interest, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, I’m very interested.”

“I could go back and surveil.”

“No, that’s a negative, Mason. I’d like you to work with a police artist. I’m going to send him to you. A Detective Yancy. You’ll be at the diner?”

“I have deliveries, and I have dishes.”

“I’m going to fix it, Mason. This is official police business. Make your delivery and go back. Just do your job, and I’ll send Detective Yancy to you. I’ll fix it with your boss.”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant. Is this the bad guy?”

“Yes, this is the bad guy. You’re helping me out. I’m going to talk to your boss now. Get your delivery done.”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant. Mason Tobias, out.”

On a half laugh for blind luck, Eve tagged the diner, and had a short, firm, no-bullshit talk with Mason’s boss. She made the tag to Yancy, gave him the particulars.

Then she sat back, studied her board again.

“Maybe a little break,” she muttered. “Just maybe.”

She’d lucked out with Mason Tobias. He might’ve been a little dingy, but he had exceptional observation skills, a good eye for detail.

And as Peabody had said, was puppy-dog earnest.

Maybe she could get him in a mentoring program. If he kept going out on “patrol” he was going to end up hurt or dead.

She zinged off a quick e-mail to the civilian liaison, then put Mason aside to work.

She brought up the next batch of names, and taking Mira’s advice, ran them with the profile. She eliminated two, then one more out-of-towner when she checked the travel and employment.

Two potentials, one in the city, the other in Hoboken – with employment in Midtown. Five minutes with a supervisor over the ’link eliminated Hoboken. He’d been in a meeting with the supervisor and two other software developers from four-thirty to just before six on the day of Bastwick’s murder – then had joined his coworkers for an after-work drink until after seven.

That left a forty-year-old criminology instructor – and she liked that connection. Only five-eight, but he could’ve worn lifts. On the thin side at 148, but padding would take care of that. Brown eyes, mixed race.

The syntax of his correspondence didn’t jibe with the written messages for her, but since everything else did – and it would get her the hell out in the field – she grabbed her coat.

“Peabody, with me.”

“LT.” Jenkinson started toward her as she swung on her coat. “We got ’em. Stupid fucks were riding the airboards. We’ve got two of them in separate interview rooms, sweating it, and the third…”

He glanced over toward his desk.

Eve saw the third slumped in a chair, wearing restraints and a sneer.

“What is he? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

“He’s twelve.”

“Oh fuck me.”

“What I said. Big for his age, and mean as a rattler. His older brother took him along, I figure like an initiation. We’ve got him here waiting on his grandmother – she’s custodial – and a child advocate. I took a six-inch sticker off that kid, boss. It had dried blood on it, and I’m damn sure it’s going to belong to one of those kids.”

“Twelve,” Eve mumbled.

She thought of Tiko – junior entrepreneur. Smart as they came and canny with it.

He only had a grandmother, too. One who gave him room to be himself, and rules to live by. And a foundation that meant he’d never find himself in a cop shop with a bloodstained sticker in evidence.

What made the difference, she wondered, between a kid who did things right, and one who killed for a board?

“He won’t flip,” she said, studying the boy and his defiant, self-satisfied smirk. “He likes being here, thinks it makes him a man. Thinks he’ll cruise through juvie with a bad-ass rep.”

“Lawyer, when he gets one, is going to clean him up, dress him like a kid, push the twelve-years-old, was-led-astray bullshit.”

“Yeah, that’s how I’d play it. If that blood on his sticker turns out to be one of the vics’, you make sure the PA sees pictures of the boys they cut up – before and after. They may not be so ready to make a deal with that in front of them. They may not try him as an adult, but you take the shot.”

“We’ll be doing that. The tagalong’s going to flip. Third guy,” Jenkinson explained. “Put on the tough, but he started shaking when we loaded him into interview. Got a sticker, wiped clean, but the lab’ll find trace, and a roll of Jump on him. He’ll flip. Brother of this one, he’ll hold tough. He’s already done five for assault with intent, and did his own stint in juvie prior. Third sticker on him and a shiny new wrist unit I bet he cut some other poor bastard for.”

“Sweat them out, wrap them up. Good work, Jenkinson. Same to Reineke.”

“I’ll tell him. He’s getting an ice pack. Kid there caught him with an elbow shot. We hadn’t had a pair of uniforms with us to help take them down, it would’ve been bloody.”

He shrugged. “That’s the job.”

“It is.”

“The brothers – the dead boys? Memorial’s tomorrow morning.”

“Take the time, go. That’s the job, too.”

“Appreciate that, Dallas.”

She signaled to the waiting Peabody, started out.

“I heard they bagged the three who killed those kids.”

“Yeah. Looks like they’ve got them cold.”

As she turned to the elevators, a woman got off, looking lost, looking exhausted.

From the shoes Eve pegged her as housekeeper or waitstaff, maybe a hospital employee – something that kept her on her feet most of the day.

“Excuse me, miss? I’m looking for…” Her chin trembled; her eyes shone with tears. “The Homicide Division. Detective Jenkinson or Reen-eek.”

“Reineke,” Eve corrected. “Straight down, on the left.”

“Thank you.” She walked away, every step showing the weight she carried on her shoulders.

Eve turned away, muscled onto a brutally crowded elevator.

“How does that happen?” Peabody wondered. “A woman like that? You can tell she works hard. She’s well-spoken, polite. You figure she’s doing the best she can, trying to raise two boys when she’s already raised her own. And they do something so vicious, they kill another mother’s son for toys, and they’ll spend their lives, or a good part of it, in cages for it.”

“How does it happen?” Eve repeated. “Some people just like to kill. Sometimes it’s not any more complicated than that.”