Salvation in Death (34 page)

“Then we’d best get started.” He took her hand, pulled her to her feet.

“Thanks.”

“Well, I owe you one for the call from Sinead.”

“Huh?”

“What do you take me for?” he asked, looping his arm around her waist. “My aunt just happens to get in touch the same morning I’m a bit off thinking about my connections in Ireland, and what—who—I’ve lost there? It’s nice to be looked after.”

“So that would be looking after as opposed to poking in and interfering? It’s hard to tell the difference.”

“It is, isn’t it? But we’ll muddle through it.”

As they passed, one of the house screens came on. “Your guests are coming through the gate,” Summerset announced.

“What guests?” Eve demanded

“Ah . . .” Roarke raked his fingers through his hair. “Yes. A moment.” He dismissed Summerset. “I’m sorry, it slipped my mind. I can go down, take care of it. I’ll simply tell them you’re still at work, which you will be.”

“Who? Damn it, why can’t people stay home? Why do they always want to be in somebody else’s?”

“It’s Ariel Greenfeld, Eve, and Erik Pastor.”

“Ariel.” She had a flash of the pretty brunette who’d been held and tortured by a madman for days. And stayed sane, strong and smart.

“She got in touch today, and asked if they could come by this evening. I can take it, move them along.”

“No.” Reaching down, she took Roarke’s hand. “It’s like the call from your aunt. It’s good to remember what matters. Ariel matters. So,” she continued as they moved toward the steps, “she and Erik the neighbor are making it work.”

“Engaged, getting married in the fall.”

“Jesus, it’s like a virus, this marriage thing. I could’ve met her at Central—or elsewhere,” she added. “Probably should have. You can’t have victims and wits and all manner of God knows dropping in here.”

“I think this would be a clear exception. She did work for me, after all.”

“Yeah, but . . . did? She quit? Goddamn that sick-ass Lowell. Did he take that away from her? She loved to bake, and your place downtown had to be a great gig.”

“She’s baking. And you’ll see for yourself she’s in a good place. She’s happy and doing very well.”

Eve’s eyebrows drew together. “You seem to know a lot about it.”

“I know a lot about so many things.” He gave her hand a squeeze. As they started down the steps, Eve heard the voices from the parlor. She heard Ariel laugh.

She’d cut her hair. It was the first thing Eve noticed. Robert Lowell had liked his victims with long hair, long brown hair. So Ariel had cut hers into a short, sleek cap and punched red into it. It looked good on her, Eve thought—though it probably helped that the woman wasn’t pale, bleeding, and battling pain.

Her eyes were bright as they met Eve’s, and the smile exploded onto her face.

“Hi!” Then tears popped out as she rushed across the room and clamped her arms around Eve. “Not crying, not really crying. And I’ll stop in a minute.”

“Okay.”

“I kept wanting to come see you. I just wanted to get myself together before I did.”

“That’s okay, too.”

“Well.” Ariel stepped back, grinned. “So how’ve you been?”

“Not bad. How about you?”

“Pretty damn terrific, considering.” She held out a hand for Erik’s. “We’re getting married.”

“So I hear. Hey, Erik.”

“It’s really good to see you. Nice to see you again, too,” he said to Roarke, and had Eve sliding Roarke a look.

“Again?”

“I’ve been giving Ari a hand setting up the new shop.” He grinned at Roarke, all spiky black-and-bronze hair and happiness. “It rocks.”

“My own little bakery boutique. I’m going to make you a lot of money. I wasn’t sure I could do it, or much of anything when I first got out of the hospital. But you were so sure I could,” she said to Roarke.

“You and Erik. Now I am.”

“I had it on good authority that you could handle anything that came at you. We should have a drink to celebrate.”

“Your . . . I don’t know exactly what he is,” Ariel admitted. “The tall, skinny guy?”

“No one knows exactly what he is,” Eve put in, and made Ariel laugh.

“He said he’d bring in something that would suit. I hope that’s okay. Um, I don’t know if you remember, but when you saved my life and all that, I promised I’d bake you a cake. So . . .”

She stepped to the side and gestured. Following the direction, Eve walked forward.

One of the tables had been cleared off, probably by Summerset. There, on its glossy, pampered surface stood an enormous cake.

More like art, Eve thought.

An edible
New York
spread out, with its streets, its buildings, its rivers and parks, the tunnels, the bridges. Rapid cabs, maxibuses, jet-bikes, scooters, delivery vans, and other vehicles crammed those streets. People jammed sidewalks and glides. Shop windows held tiny, glittery displays, and glide-cart vendors served soy dogs and veggie hash.

She actually expected, for just a moment, to see it move, to
hear
it. “Holy shit.”

“That’s a good holy shit, right?” Ariel asked.

“That’s a kick-my-ass-and-call-me-Sally holy shit. There’s an illegals deal going down off

“Well, it happens.”

Stunned, Eve crouched down to stare at the image of herself Ariel had created. She stood on a slim tower, over the city. She wore her long, black coat, caught in mid-billow and boots even she could see were scuffed at the toe. In one hand she held her badge—right down to her rank and badge number, and in the other her weapon.

“Wow. Just . . . wow. It’s insanely iced. Do you see this?” she said to Roarke.

“I do. And I believe I’ve made an excellent investment. It’s spectacular, Ariel.”

“She spent weeks on the design,” Erik told them, pride riding in every word. “Kept changing it. The good part is I got to sample the rejects.”

“It’s by far the frostiest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m going to be the cop who ate Manhattan.” Laughing, Eve straightened. “Listen, I’ve got these friends getting married pretty soon. She’s really going to want to talk to you.”

“Louise and Charles? We’re going over the final cake design tomorrow.”

Eve nodded to Roarke. “Always one step ahead, aren’t you, ace?”

“I hate to lag behind. Ah, champagne,” he said as Summerset came in with a tray. “I’d say that’s very suitable.”

“I can get with that. I think I’m going to have a slice of the Upper East Side since . . .” Eve trailed off, narrowed her eyes. And crouched again.

“Is something wrong?” Ariel began and gnawed her lip as she leaned over.

“No. This sector here? Are the streets, the buildings to scale—or close? Or did you just make what worked best?”

“Are you kidding?” Erik interrupted. “She used maps and holos, did freaking math. Ari was obsessed.”

“It’s different from a map. Different even from being there, being in it. This . . . it’s kind of like a God’s-eye view.”

She rose, circled, squatted down. “Boundaries change, depending on the people. Who comes in, who goes out. Back fifteen, twenty years ago, the Soldado turf ran from East 96th up to 120th. Solid fourteen blocks from the East River over to Fifth. And the Skulls held 122nd up to 128th, with some territory west of Fifth where they disputed borders with the Bloods. But this area right here, this eastern slice between 118th and 124th, that was the hot zone of the battleground, that was where each wanted more territory. That was where the bombings took place.”

“Bombings?” Ariel’s eyes widened as she edged closer to the cake to study it. “I didn’t hear about any bombings.”

“They happened seventeen years ago,” Roarke told her.

“Oh.”

“Here’s the church, and the rectory behind it,” Eve continued. “Deep in Soldado territory. The youth center—northwest of the church, but still in boundaries. Now, up here . . . What’s happened here, just a few blocks north of where the youth center was built? In that one-time hot zone.”

“What?” Ariel bent closer.

“Gentrification. Homes and properties, just hitting the edge of St. Cristóbal’s parish. A few were there before, the ones that held on during and after the Urbans. And in the last ten, twelve years, there’s more. Successful business owners and so on, settling here, cleaning it up, increasing its value. He’d see this every day. Somebody who lived here, crossed up and over to the center, visited parishioners—and bonded with the Ortiz family—would see this neighborhood, the houses, town homes, condos every day. He’d have seen them twenty years ago. He’d have seen that section every day. He wanted to keep it. He wanted more.”

“Seven Deadly Sins again,” Roarke commented.

“Huh?”

“Envy. In your face, day after day? You covet.”

“Yeah. Yeah. We’re hitting a lot of them. Got your lust, greed, pride, and now envy. Interesting.”

“I’m completely lost,” Ariel said, and brought Eve back to the moment.

“Sorry. Something just hit me, made me think about a case.” She straightened, but kept her gaze on the Upper East Side. “I think maybe we’ll take that slice out of the Lower West. SoHo looks good enough to eat.”

She ate cake, she drank champagne, and spent the better part of an hour doing her duty—and trying to keep at least part of her mind on the conversation. The minute their guests were out the door, Eve went back to the cake.

“Okay, so I need to hack this sector off and take it up to the office. It’s a good visual for—”

“Eve, for God’s sake, it’s cake. I can program you a holo-model of that sector in about twenty minutes. Probably less.”

Her brow furrowed. “You can? Oh. That would probably be better.”

“And involve less calories. But before I do . . .” He crooked his finger, then started toward the steps. “What’s the point?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. It was just looking down at it that way, different perspective. You can see, clearly, how the borders between gang turf ran, how they blended, putting certain areas in contention. And how the neighborhood’s changed. Where everything is. Church, rectory, youth center, the Ortiz home, the restaurant. Then there’s Lino’s former apartment building. And I’m thinking about what Lino said to his mother, to Penny. He’d come back with a big car, have a big house. You can get a car anywhere, but the house—”

“Would have to be in the neighborhood. He can’t show it off unless it’s in the neighborhood. But, if he had a big house in the neighborhood, why was he living in the rectory?”

“I don’t know if he actually had it, or if he was just coveting it. But he was waiting for something. Years of waiting, deliberately on his home turf. If he sticks that long, and under those circumstances, doesn’t it follow he may have planned to stick for good?”

“The big house, the wealth, the importance, and the girl.” With a nod, Roarke strode down the hall with her. “And the ground you’ve always considered yours.”

“When he got what he was waiting for—and it has to be money, or something that leads to money—why leave again? He wasn’t here for shits and smiles. He had a purpose. I haven’t looked for it here, because I was going on the assumption he came here to hide. Maybe so, probably so.”

She pushed at her hair as they turned into her office. “Maybe so. But there could have been something here he was waiting for. Something he got to see every day, and feel smug about. That kept him going, kept him playing the part that had to squeeze at him.”

She paced around the murder board, thinking it through, working it out. “How much do you own on

She threw him for a moment, then he nodded slowly. “A bit of this, a bit of that. Yes, I wanted to have what I could only envy as a boy.”

“Rosa knew him, but made it clear he left them be—mostly. He liked old Mr. Ortiz, respected him. Envied, maybe, if we go back to the Deadlies, maybe.” She hooked her thumbs in her pockets, circling it in her mind as she’d circled the board.

“The Ortiz group is a big, tight family. Like a gang? They look out for each other, hold their territory. He gets close to them as Flores, marries them, buries them, visits them in their nice homes. The big house. He wants what they have. How does he get it?”