Thankless in Death (9 page)

“Always.”

She could hear the throbs from entertainment screens, and someone’s bright laughter before a door cut it to a muffle.

She nodded at Nuccio’s door, stepped to it, pressed the buzzer.

The locks remained engaged; the peep remained shielded.

She buzzed twice more, then banged on the door with the side of her fist. “Lori Nuccio, this is the NYPSD. We need to speak to you.”

The door stayed shut; the one across the hall opened. “You’re back.”

“Yeah. Ms. Crabtree, do you know if Ms. Nuccio’s in?”

“Yeah, she got home about quarter to seven. Thereabouts anyway. I gave her your card.”

Her gaze shifted over to Roarke as she spoke, and Eve saw the look in Crabtree’s eyes she’d seen in a variety of women’s eyes when they got an up-close load of him. She thought of it as a kind of ocular sigh.

“Anyway. I figured you’d come by before this or wait until tomorrow.”

“She didn’t contact me.”

“Damn it.” Crabtree’s gaze zipped back to Eve. “She said she would. She was pretty upset, wouldn’t let me fix her tea or anything. Just wanted to be alone and quiet, she said. I guess she needs to brood some.”

“She’s not answering.”

“I didn’t hear her go out. The elevator makes a racket, but she could’ve taken the stairs. She didn’t look like she wanted to do anything but hunker down. Maybe she took a sleeping pill.”

“I’m going to access this apartment. I don’t have a warrant, but—”

“Wait, wait. I don’t think that’s right. She wouldn’t like that.”

Then she should’ve contacted me, Eve thought.

“I’m concerned for her welfare. I’m accessing it.” Eve nodded at Roarke, then shifted to block Crabtree’s objections—and view—while he picked the locks.

“She’s just hunkered down,” Crabtree insisted. “You can’t just walk into her place like this. It’s not right.”

“Then you can file a complaint.”

“Done,” Roarke murmured.

Eve turned. “Record on.” Though her fingers itched for her weapon, she simply opened the door, called out.

“Lori Nuccio, this is the NYPSD. We’re entering this apartment.”

She barely crossed the threshold when she smelled it—blood and death.

Even as she cleared her weapon, Roarke did the same with his own. “Lights, on full!” she ordered. “You, stay back,” she snapped at Crabtree. “Stay back.”

She swung left first, then straight ahead. And she could see the death on the bed behind the colorful beaded curtain. “Clear it,” she
ordered, moving fast through a space small enough to see almost every corner.

And behind her Crabtree let out a choked scream.

“I need you to stay back. I need you to go inside your apartment.”

“But—but—”

“Roarke.”

“Ms. Crabtree, you need to come with me now.”

She was weeping as he drew her out, and leaning against him when he closed the door behind them.

Eve holstered her weapon, moved to the curtain.

More than rage here. This was payback, too, and he had taken some time with it. Rage, revenge, a need to humiliate, to engender fear.

No, not in a vacuum, she thought. Not an LC or a pickup at a bar. He’d found just who he’d wanted to brag to, show off to.

“Victim is Caucasian female, early twenties, reddish hair, blue eyes. She’s been bound, ankles and wrists with cord, more cord wound around her torso. She’s gagged with tape. Her clothes have been removed except for shoes. They’re new—soles are unscuffed. Facial bruises, cuts indicate blows, more bruising on the abdomen, along ribs most likely from more blows. Blood around the cord evidence of struggle. Her hair’s been chopped off. A lot of hair scattered on the bed, the floor. Cord around vic’s neck evidence of strangulation. He tied it in a nice fucking bow.”

She recorded the room, the ruined clothes, waiting, knowing Roarke would bring her field kit. And waiting, contacted Peabody.

“He got to her.”

“What? Shit? What?”

“I’m standing in Nuccio’s apartment looking at her body. Get here, and call it in.”

“On my way. Damn it, Dallas.”

“Yeah.”

Clicking off, she stepped back, studied the apartment. She saw the debris of food, containers, bottles on a tiny table, more littering the kitchen counter.

No comp again, she noted. Easiest thing in the world to liquidate.

She walked back to the door, studied the locks. No sign of forced entry, as Roarke never left any. And no sign of any recent lock change she could see. They’d check on that.

Did he give back his keys? What kind of idiot didn’t demand the return of keys at a breakup. But he might’ve copied them. Had she been so trusting or naive she hadn’t considered that?

Maybe. Maybe.

Roarke came back in, handed her the field kit.

“I don’t think she let him in. I don’t see her doing that. And if he came banging on the door, or trying to wheedle his way in, Crabtree would have heard it.”

“I’ll see if the locks have been compromised.”

“Probably not. I don’t think he’s got those skills. But he could’ve had copies of her keys. He copied them when things got iffy between them—just a backup. He came in when she was out, nice and quiet. Maybe even—probably—when the neighbor was out. Maybe watched the building awhile. But he came in, and he waited for her. He had what he wanted to use. The cord, the tape. Not impulse or crazy rage, not on this.”

She opened the kit, took out the Seal-It.

“You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“You can always stop it. Go left instead of right, forward instead of back, move ten minutes sooner or later. I didn’t stop him. And I didn’t see this in him. Not this calculation, not this need. He made her suffer.”

She handed him the Seal-It, and took the kit through the colorful curtains.

She stepped to the bed, took out her Identi-pad first.

“Victim is identified as Lori Nuccio of this address. Age twenty-three. Lists her hair as brown. She must’ve changed it, not corrected the data as yet.” She leaned close. “A little dried blood.” Carefully, she tipped the head to the side. “Back of the head. He was waiting, and he struck her from behind, knocked her down, out. It gave him time to tie her up, gag her. Fucking coward.”

She picked up a broken capsule with tweezers, sniffed.

“To wake her up,” she said, and as Roarke offered an evidence bag, dropped it in. “You could go through her bag there, see if he took her wallet, check for her keys, her ’link.”

Saying nothing, he picked up the handbag on the floor.

“The cord’s tight,” Eve said. “It cut into her. He wanted that, wanted to give her pain as well as fear.”

“No wallet,” he said. “No ’link or notebook, no PPC. Her key’s here.”

“Took whatever money she had in there, electronics. Her ankles are tied together, no visible bruising on her thighs. I don’t think he raped her. He wasn’t interested, or he can’t get it up. No, wasn’t interested,” she decided, trying to see inside him.

“If he’d thought about it, he’d have used something to rape her with. It just didn’t occur to him. He’s not especially sexual or doesn’t see rape or sex as a weapon of power. Not yet.”

“Why remove her clothing?”

“To humiliate, to terrify. She’s completely vulnerable. He whacked her hair for the same reason. It dehumanizes her.”

Make her nothing, Eve thought. She knew the type who wanted to make someone nothing. Her father had been the same.

“He punched her, hard, more than once—in the face, in the stomach. It’s more personal than his parents. Or maybe he just had more time and space. Experimenting?

“She’d been shopping. So he dumped the new stuff, destroyed it.”

With her gauge she measured time of death. “Nineteen-fifty-five. He took just over an hour with her. Risky, but he enjoyed it so much. Little cut here on her throat. Maybe he had a knife. Threatened her, scared her, but he didn’t really cut her. Strangulation’s more personal, and you get to watch them suffer and die, face-to-face.”

“She’s very young,” Roarke said quietly.

“She’s as old as she’ll ever be.”

A cruel statement, Roarke thought, unless you knew his cop and heard the bitter anger under the words.

“No jewelry,” Eve added. “I bet she was wearing some. Out with a girl pal, yeah, she had some on. He took it, whether it’s worth anything or not. She doesn’t get to keep it. Kick me out, bitch? You’re going to pay for that. Tell me to get a job, tell me to get the hell out? Fuck you.”

“Why the shoes?”

“Sexy. It’s a porn thing, right? Naked woman in high, sexy heels. Kind of slutty?”

“Hmmm.”

“She bought them today probably. Pissed him off. She’s so goddamn worried about the rent, about money, she whines about him blowing off some steam with his friends in Vegas. But she goes out, spends Christ knows on all this crap. Selfish bitch.”

She paused, just for a moment, just one brief moment as that bitter anger Roarke heard wanted to spew. And it couldn’t be allowed.

“The shoes make her look cheap, like she’s asking for it. He’s not going to give it to her. But when we find her, she’s going to look cheap
and used, and her hair—she had that done today, I think—new color and style from her ID shot. Now it’s ruined and hacked. Bruised right nipple. Pinched it probably. Humiliate, humiliate. You humiliated me, now it’s your turn.”

She examined the hands as she spoke, moved down the body checking for more wounds, anything left behind.

“He tells her what he did to his parents. She’s the first one he’s been able to talk to about it, brag to. She’s safe because he’s going to kill her, but he gets to crow about what he’s done, how he’s got a big pile of money, and she’s got nothing. She is nothing.”

Eve stepped out to examine the rest of the crime scene.

Roarke stayed where he was a moment longer. You’re not nothing, he thought. She’s standing for you now, and she won’t stop. You’re hers now, so you matter.

He wished he could cover her, but knew better.

Instead, he went on to do what he could to help until Peabody arrived.

EVE STUDIED THE SKINNY BATHROOM, THE
still-damp towels on the floor, the pair of black boxers tossed in the corner.

“He got off on it. Probably while he strangled her. Didn’t rape her, but killing her, watching her die,
feeling
all that, popped his fucking cork. Surprised him, I bet. Wasn’t expecting the sexual side benefit, so he came in his pants. Doesn’t give enough of a shit to take them, just leaves them, leaves the towels after he cleans himself up.”

She met Roarke’s eyes in the mirror over the sink. “He’s a child—throwing stuff on the floor, and I’m betting those boxers are new, something he just bought, but he discards them. More, he doesn’t care about the DNA. It’s fine that we know he killed her. He wants credit for what he managed to do.”

She started to mark the towels and boxers for the sweepers.

“I’ll do that,” Roarke told her.

“I misjudged him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I thought he had what he wanted. But killing his parents, taking everything he could from them, it showed him what he could do, what he could have. Now he wants more.”

She stepped out, turned when Peabody came in, McNab right behind her.

“Uniforms on the way to secure,” Peabody began. She paused, looked through the opening where Roarke had tied the beads up and back. “Jesus, he messed her up.”

“I’ve got this. We need to alert everyone he might have a grudge against. His friends, former employers, coworkers, his grandparents.”

“Do you think he’ll try for one of them?”

“I didn’t think he’d try for the ex-girlfriend,” Eve said flatly. “I was wrong; she’s dead. Impress he’s killed again, but don’t ID the vic. I want all of them secured.”

“I’m all over it.”

“I can check her electronics,” McNab offered.

“He took her comp and ’link. No door security or cams, no house ’link, so she must’ve only used a pocket. I haven’t looked for any other electronics yet. I find any, I’ll pass them to you.”

“I can knock on doors for now.”

He wore a long, and she bet billowy, orange coat over cherry red pants and a many-color striped tee. She saw the cop under it, but most wouldn’t. “That would save time, thanks, but for Christ’s sake show your badge so they don’t take you for an escapee from the circus.”

He grinned at her, then took it out of one of a multitude of pockets, hooked it on the neck of his shirt before he went out.

“No one tampered with the locks before me,” Roarke reminded her.

“So he had keys, or made copies. She kept her tips, saved them. She’s had some time to start stockpiling more since he wiped her out. I didn’t see anything out in plain sight. Maybe she hides them.”

“I’ll have a look.”

“Appreciate it. I need to—”

“Uniforms heading up,” Peabody informed her, sticking her head in the door.

“Have one of them sit on Crabtree, get her statement. I want to know exactly when she left the building, where she went, when she came back. As close as she can nail it.”

“Done.”

“I want to talk to Mira. Now,” Eve said to Roarke. “I need a better handle on this guy, and I need it before he decides to kill anybody else.” She turned to the uniform waiting in the doorway.

“Detective McNab started the knock-on-doors. Coordinate with him. Get the photo of the suspect from Detective Peabody. I want the building covered, then hit the street and cover the block. I want to talk to anybody who saw him.”

She pulled out her ’link, moved off to a corner, and tagged Mira.

“Dr. Mira, I’m sorry to disturb you at home.”

“It’s fine, Eve. Do you need to change our consult time for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I need it now. He got to the ex-girlfriend.”

“I see.”

“Indications are he gained access to her apartment while she was out, lay in wait. He brought tools with him—tape, cord, a knife.” Eve began to run through the basics.

“I’d like to see the body, the scene.”

“I’ve recorded it. I can send it to you now.”

“No, I think it would be better if I came to you.”

Weird, Eve thought, and foolish, this initial knee-jerk reluctance to have Mira see, firsthand, the death, the blood, the ugliness of it. Mira hadn’t reached her level by being squeamish or needing to be shielded.

“It would help, but—”

“I have the address from your report. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Thanks. I’ll have you cleared through.”

She pocketed her ’link as she went to the door and ordered the uniform securing the apartment to clear Dr. Mira. When she turned back, she caught Roarke’s glance.

“I’ll wager she’s seen worse,” he said.

“Yeah. There’s always worse.”

“There’s an empty jar here.” He held up a pale blue jar with some sort of flower embossed on it. “Just tossed among the rubble I imagine was his doing in the kitchen. I’d say he cleaned her out again, and ate and drank his way through her stock.”

She stepped over to the kitchen, programmed the tiny AutoChef for its log. “Yeah. Had some pizza nibs about fifteen minutes after TOD. Swarmed through her cupboards—soy chips, cheesy twists, empty wine bottle, empty Coke tube. Snack food. Got the hungries on after he killed her.”

She went back in her head to the first crime scene. “Same deal at his parents’ apartment. He grazed through the food. Ate his way through The Manor, too, when he stayed there. Killing sharpens his appetite.”

“If he keeps it up, you’ll be rolling him into a cell.”

That made her smile a little. “He emptied out her tips, took her
wallet, her ’link, poked around for whatever else he could find of use, packed up, cleaned himself up, then walked right out with a goddamn spring in his step.”

She held up a hand as the first of the sweepers arrived.

“Stay out of the bedroom and away from the body for now.” Moving over, she gave them more detailed instructions, let them by.

“I contacted everyone.” Peabody edged back in the room. “Golde’s heading over to his parents. He freaked, and now he’s afraid Reinhold might go after them. I caught Asshole Joe at some club. He did seem moderately surprised, but not especially upset or uneasy.”

“He lives up to his name.”

“Oh yeah. I also contacted Dave Hildebran, former employers and supervisors from this past year. I tagged Kasey Rider, too. I thought maybe Reinhold knew her, knew she was tight with the vic, and might want to pay her a visit.”

“That’s good thinking.”

“She’s a wreck, Dallas. I went ahead, called in a grief counselor and a female officer. We’ll probably need to talk to her at some point, but she’ll feel safer in the meantime.”

“Good.”

“She’s been trying the vic on the new ’link since McNab and I tracked her down, and says it just bounced to v-mail.”

“He took it. We haven’t found it on scene, haven’t heard it signal. Brand-new ’link. He figured he’d get a few extra bucks out of it.”

“I’ll add it to the alert. McNab’s got a wit on the ground floor. He saw the suspect come in. He doesn’t know him or the vic, but he’s seen them, given them the nod. Being used to seeing him and not knowing he wasn’t supposed to be here, the wit just gave him the nod, and went on into his own place.”

“Time?”

“He saw Reinhold come in about five, take the stairs. He didn’t see him go out again. Crabtree said she’d gone out to run some errands about that time, and was back here by about quarter after.”

“No coincidence. He’d been watching the building, working out how to get in and up without anyone who knew about the breakup spotting him. Or maybe he was just watching for the vic, then took the opportunity to slither in when Crabtree left.”

“Fifteen-minute window,” Peabody commented. “He hit some luck on that.”

And we didn’t, Eve thought. “I want the uniforms to check out any place across the street or close enough where he could’ve waited it out. Relay that, talk to the wit again. Mira’s coming in, and I need to be here when she gets here.”

“Coming in here?” Peabody glanced toward the body, winced.

For whatever reason it made Eve feel less foolish to know Peabody had the same reaction she’d had herself. “She’s seen DBs before.”

“Yeah. I’ll relay to the uniforms and go talk to the wit.”

“No ’link on the premises, as you thought.” Roarke stepped up beside her. “I ran a quick check on her financials to see where she used her cards today, so you can follow her steps. I sent the list to you.”

“I can use that. Did he try any siphoning that you can see?”

“No, not as yet. But he may as he has her comp. EDD can watch for that easily enough.”

“Maybe we’ll catch a break and he’ll be just that stupid.”

“You don’t think so.”

“No, I don’t. I have to go into Central when I’m done here. You should go home, get some sleep.”

“I’ll see what pieces I can pick at around here, and leave when you
do. I’ve sent for your vehicle so it’ll be here for you when you’re ready.”

“You’re pretty handy.”

“Just consider it all part of our non-date date night.”

She managed a smile that faded when she spotted Mira.

“Thanks for coming down.”

“It wasn’t a problem. Roarke.”

Apparently Mira didn’t consider the cheek kiss she and Roarke exchanged before he helped her off with her coat unprofessional behavior at a crime scene.

Mira wasn’t in one of her pretty, stylish suits and ankle-breakers. Instead she wore slim dark pants with a steel-blue sweater and short gray boots that looked soft as melting butter.

Her mink brown hair fluffed around her attractive face, and her lovely blue eyes stayed cool and assessing as they scanned the scene.

“I saw Peabody downstairs and she helped me seal up. Am I cleared to examine the body?”

“Yeah, you’re clear.”

Eve went with her, rattling off basic information. Age, name, TOD, COD. “I haven’t found whatever he used to knock her out. He may have taken it with him, may have brought it with him. He likes a baseball bat, and the injury may indicate that. Morris will know.”

“Yes, I’m sure. He brought the tape, the cord, you said.”

“Yeah, he prepped for it.”

“Planned rather than impulse. More like his father than his mother. But different than that, too. He didn’t just want to kill her, destroy her. He wanted to hurt her, terrorize her, humiliate her. And I imagine you’ve concluded the same.”

“Yeah, but it’s good to have the opinion. Cutting her hair this way.
There’s a meanness there, a small-minded one, from one who understands what a woman’s hair means to her.”

“Yes. I agree.”

“I’m pretty sure she’d just gotten it done, changed the color and style.”

“Ah, even more so. She isn’t allowed to look attractive. I see no overt signs of sexual abuse—but for this bruise on her right nipple.”

“He came in his pants, left his boxers in the bathroom after he cleaned up.”

Mira nodded. “The killing aroused him, or the torture. Both would have. He left evidence of that, as well as his DNA behind. He wants you to know he’s a man—not gender, but a man. You understand me?”

“Okay, yeah.”

“He struck her, primarily the face. To hurt her, to mark her, to feel the power of it. Shopping bags. She’d been shopping?”

“Yeah. I figure he dumped the stuff out, tore it up.”

“She can’t have anything, and he’d have done that before he killed her. Hurting her again. New shoes … wearing them so she looks pornographic perhaps.”

“That’s my take.

“The strangulation, face-to-face. That’s intimacy. The bow he’s tied there, that’s small-minded again, mean again. Eve, I think he took some of her hair.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t want to touch anything, but you see the length of some of these hanks he cut off? I think there should be more hair. Your sweepers will confirm that if I’m right.”

“So he took something of her, a trophy. I didn’t see anything like that at the first scene. Maybe I missed it.”

“I doubt it. She meant more to him than they did. They were just in the way, an annoyance, and dead a means to an end.”

“That’s how I saw it,” Eve agreed.

“She was more important than that. He slept with her in this bed, had sex with her in this bed. And she denied him, rejected him, sent him, like a little boy, back to his parents. And she shops for new things, gets new hair? No, that would never do.

“So young,” Mira said quietly, and moved back to the living room.

“If you’re done in there, I want to let the sweepers get started, and bring the morgue team in.”

“Yes, I’ve seen enough there. Did he do this?” She gestured to the little kitchen area.

“Yeah, he ate after. At least some of it after. He used the AutoChef after TOD.” Eve signaled the sweepers.

“Junk food. Fun food. Party food. His little celebration, all the more enjoyable as she’s dead so close by. Did he take anything else?”

“Her wallet, her tip money, her comp, her new ’link. That’s all I’m sure of for now. Probably some jewelry. I think, out shopping with a girl pal, getting new hair and stuff, she’d’ve had on some earrings, maybe a couple of other pieces.”

“I agree. She’s a young woman, a waitress, so it’s doubtful unless she had a family piece, she had anything particularly valuable.”

Watching Mira wander, Eve felt it build up. “I screwed up.”

Calm and assessing, Mira looked back. “Why do you think that?”

“I never figured he’d go after anyone else—and not this fast—unless in flight or for survival, or possibly if they refused to help him. But I never saw this.”

“I don’t know how you could have or why you would have. Coming here, doing this? It’s risky and it’s calculated. His other killings
weren’t. They were, first, impulse, then opportunity. Even with that, you tried to reach her, several times. Circumstances prevented it.”

“I had the wrong handle on him. He’d never shown particularly violent behavior before, or ambition or calculation. Killing his mother, that was impulse, then blind rage.”

“Yes.”

“Then his father, hours later. Rage again, but some glee in there, and the cold-blooded ability to stay in that apartment, first waiting for his father, making plans, then with both of them dead by his hand while he completed the plans. He ate, slept, plotted, with their bodies only a few feet away.”