Purity in Death (15 page)

"Oh, God, don't say embryo." For some reason the word in combination with the squishy sound of the gel made Eve queasy.

"Come on, we all started out as one."

"Maybe. But I don't like to think about it."

"I'm like totally focused on it now. But wait, because I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyhow, when I was at Olympus, I got this feeling maybe I was baking-I was
whooshing
in the mornings and-"

"Okay, skip that part, too." Definitely queasy now, Eve realized, and made a mental note to sterilize the hand that had pressed against Mavis's bare belly.

"Right, so I took a preg test and it was positive. Then, you know, I got worried I'd messed it up because I wanted it so much, so I took three more. Liftoff."

She pushed off the desk, whirled around the room. "Then I went to the clinic up there, just to be more sure. I didn't want to say anything to my honeydew until I was abso-poso. I'm six weeks into the deal."

"Six weeks."

"We'd tapped out pretty regular, so I figured I was just feeling off at first and I was kind of afraid to do the check because you get so bummed when it's a no-go. But when the
whooshing
kept up-oh, sorry. I just
knew
something was up last week. I just went to the clinic here. Just one more check, you know, do an on planet deal. System's go. I went home and I told Leonardo. He cried."

Eve caught herself rubbing a hand over her heart. "In a good way?"

"Oh yeah. He stopped everything and started right away designing-well not
right
away because we had to celebrate by re-enacting the conception program-but afterward he starting designing me preg clothes for when I get fat. I can't
wait.
Can you imagine?"

"No. It's something else that's beyond my scope. You're really happy?"

"Dallas, every morning when I wake up and puke, I'm so happy I could just . . ." She trailed off and burst into tears.

"Oh God. Oh jeez." Eve sprang up, hurried over, then wasn't quite sure what to do. She tried a hug, intending on keeping it light-just in case-but Mavis grabbed on hard.

"This is the best thing that's ever happened to me, in my whole life. I had to tell Leonardo first, then you. Because you're my best friend. We can tell everybody else now. I want to tell
everybody.
But I had to tell you first"

"Okay, so you're crying because you're happy."

"Yeah. It's so iced. I can have mood swings whenever I want and without chemical assistance. No drinking, which sort of blows, but it's not good for little Eve or Roarke."

Eve pulled back so abruptly, Mavis almost doubled over with laughter. "We're not really going to call the baby that. We're just borrowing them for fun until they can tell us what equipment it's got. You get to call those names for when you and Roarke-"

"Shut up. Don't start down that road. I don't want to hurt a pregnant woman."

She only grinned. "We made a baby. Me and Leonardo made a baby. I'm going to be the best mommy, Dallas. I'm going to totally rock."

"Yeah." Eve ran her hand over the thick, colorful braids. "You will."

Chapter 12

Eve was a lot steadier walking into a bar that smelled of cop than she was hugging a pregnant woman.

You knew what to expect at a cop bar-good, greasy food, alcohol without the frills, and people who made you for what you were the minute you walked in the door.

The lights were low. Conversations didn't pause when she stepped inside, but she felt the subtle shifting of bodies. Then the flip back to business as usual when they recognized her as one of their own.

She spotted Dwier at the end of the bar, already half-done with his first glass of beer and the shallow black bowl of pretzels in front of him.

She walked down, slid onto a stool beside him. It was apparent he'd staked a claim on it as every other seat in the joint was occupied.

"Detective Sergeant Dwier." She held out a hand. "Lieutenant Dallas."

"Metcha," he said over his pretzels, then washed them down with a deep sip of beer.

"They spring you early from court?"

"Yeah. Supposed to get to me today. Didn't. Now I gotta give them more time tomorrow. Pricking lawyers."

"What's the case?"

"Assault with deadly and theft."

"Mugging?"

"Yeah. Guy mugs this suit coming out of a late meeting over on Lex. Gets his wrist piece, his wallet, wedding ring, and what all, then bashes him upside the head anyhow 'cause the guy asks him not to take the wedding ring. Got him cold hocking the wrist piece. Mope says, Oh hey, this? I found this on the street. Vic picks his face outta lineup, mope says, Mistaken identity. Got some bleeding heart PD who's trying to push that. Claiming the vic, seeing as he got his brains rattled, can't properly ID. Saying the wrist piece can't be directly tied to the crime as it's a common brand and style."

"How's it shaping up?"

"Shit." He popped more pretzels, chomped down. "Waste of my time and the tax dollar. Mope's got three priors. Figure they'd plead down if the PD wasn't so green and stupid. You drinking?"

"Yeah, I'll have a beer." She signaled the bartender by holding up two fingers. "I appreciate you taking the time here, Dwier."

"Don't mind wasting it over a beer. You read the files. Data's there."

"Sometimes the files miss impressions."

"You want my impression of Fitzhugh and George? They'd have to crawl up to reach scum level. Fitzhugh . . ." Dwier polished off the first beer. "Arrogant bastard. Never even broke a sweat when we hauled him in. Just sat there, smirking, hiding behind his high-dollar lawyers. Smart enough to keep his mouth shut, but you could see it in his eyes. He sat there thinking, You cops can't touch me. Turned out he was right."

"You talked to the vics, to their parents?"

"Yeah." He blew out a breath. "It was tough. Sex crimes are always dicey, but when it's minors . . . You know how it is?"

"Yeah." She'd been a minor. And when she'd been in that hospital bed, broken, she'd read in the eyes of the cop who'd tried to talk to her what she was reading in Dwier's now. A weary pity.

"Any of the family members strike you as the type to go after Fitzhugh? Anyone talk about seeking revenge outside the law?"

"You blame them?"

"This isn't about my personal feelings or yours, it's about an investigation. Fitzhugh was executed, so was George, so were the others. It's my job to find out who's pulling the switch."

"I wouldn't want your job." He snagged the second beer. "Nobody who worked the Fitzhugh case, or the George, is going to cry any tears over this."

"I'm not asking for tears, I'm asking for information. I'm asking a fellow officer to reach out."

He brooded into the beer, then took the first foamy sip. "I can't say as any of the vics or family members acted in any way you wouldn't expect. Most of these people were shattered. Kids he raped ran the gamut from embarrassed, scared, and guilty. Family that came in, filed the complaint, was torn to pieces. Kid was shaking in his socks. But they wanted to do the right thing. They wanted him put away so he couldn't get his hands on the next kid."

"Can you give me a name?"

His gaze shifted to hers. There was no pity in it now. "Names are sealed. You know that."

"Child Services put a TRO on my warrant to open the sealeds. I've got a terrorist organization with technology superior to anything my experts have seen executing at will. There are connections between the victims, and I think one of those connections is their victims."

"I'm not giving you names. And I'll tell you straight, I hope they squash your warrant. I don't want to see those people pulled through this crap again. You've got a job to do, and word is you're good at it. I can't give you more help than I have. I appreciate the beer."

"Okay." She stood up, pulled out credits. "Do you know Clarissa Price at Children's Services?"

"Sure." Dwier reached for more pretzels. "She repped some of the vics from these cases. If you're thinking of finessing names from her, you're wasting your time. She won't shake."

"Dedicated type?"

"You bet."

"Dedicated enough to go outside the system if she doesn't like how it's working?"

His eyes stayed flat. "If I had to say, I'd say she's by-the-book. Not everybody always likes the way it reads, but it's the book. Until a better one gets written anyway. Let me ask you something."

"Sure."

"Murder cops are different. Anybody on the job knows that. But doesn't it stick in your craw to be working for scum like this?"

"I don't pick the dead I stand for, Dwier. They pick me. Good luck in court tomorrow."

She walked out, then simply sat in her vehicle. There was quite a bit sticking in her craw, she thought. The latest was her instincts telling her that a man who'd been a pretty good cop had crossed a line along the way.

If Dwier wasn't already a member of Purity, he was a prime candidate for application.

***

When Eve walked back into the house, Mira was coming down the stairs.

"Eve. I thought I'd miss you."

"Did we have a consult scheduled?"

"No, though I did drop off the profile you'd wanted." Mira stopped at the base of the steps, one pretty hand on the gleaming wood of the banister. Her warm brown hair was a soft wave around a soft, feminine face. Her mouth was a pale creamy rose, her eyes a clear summer blue.

Her suit had a fluid drape and was the color of sunflowers. It was, Eve supposed, stylish in some classic sense, and was matched with Mira's favored pearls.

She looked perfect, essentially female, utterly comforting. And was one of the top criminal profilers in the country as well as the psychiatric specialist attached to the NYPSD.

"Thanks, but you didn't have to go out of your way."

"I was coming by anyway. I wanted to see McNab."

"Oh." Instantly Eve's hands sought her pockets. "Well."

"I wonder if I might speak with you for a few minutes. There's that lovely garden terrace off the parlor. I'd love to sit outside."

"Ah." Eve's mind strained toward her office, toward her work. "Sure. Fine."

"Would you care for some refreshment, Doctor?" Summerset lurked at the edge of the foyer. "Some tea? Perhaps some wine."

"Thank you. I'd love a glass of wine."

Before she could comment, Mira slid an arm through Eve's and walked toward the parlor. "I know you have work. I promise not to keep you long. You've had a difficult day. The media conference couldn't have been pleasant for you."

"That's a master understatement." Eve opened the terrace doors, stepped out.

Like everything of Roarke's, the spot was beautifully planned and executed.

The terrace itself was constructed of stones, various shapes, sizes, tones all smoothed into a fluid curve that blended into garden paths. There were two glass and iron tables set among pots where flowers flooded or dwarf trees speared. Beyond the curve, gardens exploded with summer.

The evening sun spilled pale gold onto the stones and through a trellis wild with vines and vivid blue blossoms.

"Such a charming spot." Mira took a seat at one of the tables. Sighed. "I'm afraid I'd find myself sitting out here every chance I got, daydreaming." She smiled. "Do you ever daydream, Eve?"

"I guess." She sat, wondered if she should read Dwier's file again. "Not so much, really."

"You should. It's good for you. When I was a girl, I used to curl up on the window seat in my father's library. I could dream away an afternoon if left to myself. He's a teacher. Did I ever tell you that? He met my mother when he sliced his hand cutting tomatoes for a sandwich. He's always been a bit clumsy. She was a young resident, doing her ER rotation. And he hit on her."

She laughed a little, lifted her face to the sun. The heat baked through her skin, into her bones. "So odd to think of that. And sweet. They're both semiretired now. They live in Connecticut with their ancient dog Spike and have a little vegetable garden so they can raise tomatoes."

"That's nice." And it was. It was also baffling.

"You're wondering why I'm telling you all this. Thank you, Summerset," she said when he set two glasses of wine and a small tray of canapes on the table. "How lovely."

"Enjoy. Just let me know if I can bring you anything else."

"No particular reason," she said to Eve when Summerset went back in the house. "I suppose the tranquility of this spot made me think of them, appreciate them. Not everyone has such a steady, undemanding childhood."

"I don't have time for a session," Eve began, but Mira covered her hand.

"I wasn't speaking only of you. The children who were damaged by these people will have a great deal to overcome. You understand that."

"And I'd understand killing what hurts you?"

"This is a different matter, and I wondered if you'd been able to separate it. What you did was done in pain and fear and immediacy. To protect yourself, to save yourself. What's being done here is cold, calculating, thorough. It's organized and it's pompous, for lack of a better word. This isn't self-defense. It's arrogance."

The tension in Eve's shoulders eased. "I was beginning to wonder if anyone else saw it. Starting to wonder if I was drawing a hard line on this because if I didn't, it made what happened with me the same."

"You killed to live. This group is living to kill."

"I'd like to see that on a goddamn media release." Eve lifted her glass, drank.

"Whoever formed the group, whoever holds the top position of authority, is intelligent, organized, and persuasive. Others would have to be brought in, recruited for the highly specialized technical positions. They understand the power of the media. They need public support."

"They're beating that drum pretty good."

"Yes, so far. I don't think this infection used to terminate is a coincidence. It's another symbol. Our children have been infected by these monsters. Now we infect them because the law could not, would not. The use of the word
guardian,
another symbol. We'll protect you. You're safe now that we're here."

"How long before they expand their horizons?"

"Unchecked?" Mira picked up a small disc of bread and creamy cheese. "Groups tend to evolve. Successful groups tend to seek out other ways to use their skills and their influence. The child predator today, the acquitted killer tomorrow. The street thief, the chemi-head. If New York is to be pure, these infections must be eliminated."

"I think at least one cop's involved. A social worker. Some of the families the victim's messed with."

Mira nodded as if she'd expected nothing else. "Look for people with connections to your victims who hold high-level skills. Neurology, computer science, physics, sociology, psychiatry. And look for wealth. The research and equipment needed here would require heavy funding. You can expect another death and another statement very soon. They need to keep this story in the forefront. Purity is on a mission, Eve, and it's using our children to drive it."

"They'll have to put a spin on what happened with Halloway-with Feeney and McNab."

"Yes." Mira watched a hummingbird, iridescent as a jewel, dart in for a blossom with a blur of wings. "I'm sure it will be very well-written."

Eve ran her glass in small circles on the tabletop. "Roarke and I have gone around on this some. We're close to the same line, I guess, but not quite on the same side of it."

"I'd say that was a good thing."

Surprised, Eve looked up. "How?"

"You're not the same person, Eve, nor would either of you want to be. Seeing this from two sides would, I'd think, help keep you both honest. And interested."

"Maybe. We pissed each other off."

"Another part of marriage."

"It's a damn big slice of ours." But her shoulders relaxed a little. "Keep each other honest," she murmured. "Maybe. So . . . Did you talk to Feeney?"

"He isn't ready. He's handling himself well. The work heals him, as it does you."

"What about McNab?"

"I can't tell you specifics about what we discussed. It's confidential."

"Okay." Eve stared at the tangled vines and bold blue flowers. "Can you tell me . . . do you think I should cut him loose from duty on this? Roarke can get him into this Swiss clinic, one that specializes in this sort of injury, next week, but in the meantime, maybe he shouldn't be on the job. Maybe he should be with his family or something."

"He is with his family. By keeping him on the team, by continuing to value his input, his resources, you're helping him to cope. What you're doing for him right now is helping a great deal more than anything I can do. Roarke's made arrangements with the Jonas-Ludworg Clinic? How typical of him."

"It's a good place, right?"

"There is none better."

"Okay." She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. "That's good."

"You've had a lousy day, haven't you?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I hope some better news comes along."

"I got some news anyway." She dropped her hands. "Mavis is knocked up."

"Oh my God. Mavis was attacked?"

"No, it was Leonardo."

Mira clutched a hand to her breast. Shock radiated onto her face. "Leonardo? Leonardo
beat
Mavis?"