Time of Death (9 page)

Her blood spread out in a pool from the puncture wounds in her throat. Her eyes hadn’t lost their horror with death, but stared at the ceiling in a fixed expression of abject terror.

“Didn’t take her blood with him this time,” Eve said quietly. “Didn’t come prepared for that. But he made sure to hurt her plenty before he bled her out. Got off on her pain, got off on the power. See how he spread her out? Motherfucker.”

Roarke touched a hand to Eve’s shoulder. “I’ll get your field kit.”

She worked the scene; it’s what she did. What she had to do. She could follow the trail of blood, of smeared footprints, and see Allesseria being dragged inside.

Kicking, Eve thought, her work shoes thudding hard against the broken concrete steps. Hard enough to cut through the cheap canvas before he’d hauled her inside.

He’d punctured her throat immediately, only steps inside the door. There was spatter against the dirty wall where she’d gushed. Where she’d collapsed. Dragged her unconscious from there, she noted. Gave himself a little more room to work. To beat her with his fists, to rape her. All while the blood ran out of her.

But he’d taken some, too. Ingested it, bottled it. She’d find out.

“Time of death oh-three-thirty,” she said for the record. “Took her about an hour to die.” She sat back on her haunches. “A block and a half from home.”

She looked over at Roarke. He stood, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The morning air fluttered in the broken windows, stirred his dark hair. And lifted the smell of ugly death all around them.

“He could’ve taken her in the club, anywhere in the underground. She might never have been found, and we’d never prove a thing if she’d been murdered down there.”

“He wanted you to find her,” Roarke agreed. “He’s making a statement.”

“Yeah, oh, yeah, because he didn’t have to do this. Even if she recants, he’d find ten others to back his alibi. Ten others he’d bribe or intimidate. He didn’t have to kill her, and certainly not like this.”

“He enjoyed it.” Roarke shifted his gaze, met Eve’s eyes. “Just as you said. Payback was secondary to the killing.”

“And he wanted it to be me who found her,” Eve added. “Because of that click last night, that mutual recognition. But he’s too cocky for his own good. There’ll be DNA again, and he’ll have picked up some of this dirt. Shoes, clothes. He’ll have transferred some of this dirt, this blood, and the sweepers will find it.”

“He attacked her while she was on the ’link—to you, Eve.” Reaching out, Roarke took her hand, lifted her to her feet. “That’s another statement.”

“Yeah, and I’m hearing him. Just like he’s going to hear me, really soon.” She looked over as Peabody came in.

“Nothing on the canvass so far,” Peabody reported. “I got in touch with the ex-husband. He lives a few blocks from here. He’s on his way.”

“We’ll take him outside. He doesn’t need to see this.” Nobody needed to see what cops had to see. “Body can be bagged and tagged. There’s nothing else she can tell us here. Let’s see what she says to Morris.”

She went out, grateful for the sunlight, and for the smell that was New York rather than death. She started to reach for her ’link to nag the lab yet again, when she spotted a six-and-a-half-foot black man with a body like a linebacker sprinting across the street against the light.

He wore short dreads, sweatpants, and a T-shirt, and an expression of fear in his topaz eyes. When he tried—and was well on his way to succeeding—shoving past the uniforms at the crime-scene barricade, she called out, went over.

“Rick Sabo?”

“Yes. Yes. My wife—my ex-wife. A detective called and said . . .”

“Let him through. I’m Lieutenant Dallas, Mr. Sabo. I’m sorry about your ex-wife.”

“But are you absolutely sure it’s her? She had a panic button, a ministunner. She knew how to handle herself. Maybe—”

“She’s been identified, I’m sorry. When did you—”

She broke off when he just crouched down, dropped his head in his hands as a man would if pierced by a sudden and unspeakable pain. “Oh, God, oh, God.
Alless
. I can’t . . . I told her to quit that goddamn job. I told her.”

“Why did you tell her to quit her job?”

He looked up, but since he didn’t straighten, Eve hunkered down with him. “She worked in this cult club—vampire shit—which is bad enough. But it was underground, off Times Square. It wasn’t safe, it’s not safe down there, and she
knew
it.”

“Then why’d she work there?”

“Made three times what she made on street level. Sometimes four with tips. No doubles. She wanted to buy a house, a little house, maybe in Queens. We’ve got a boy.” His eyes watered up. “We got Sam, and she wanted a place out of the city. We share custody of Sam. But, Jesus, I told her it wasn’t worth it. I went down to check it out right after she took the job. Goddamn pit in a goddamn sewer. Alless.”

There was love here, Eve thought. Maybe not enough to make a marriage work, but there was love. “Did she talk about her work, the people she worked with? For?”

“No, not to me. Not after we went a round about it. Haven’t fought like that since we split. Don’t know that we fought like that before we split. I was scared, if you want to know the truth. Scared for her, and I handled it wrong.”

His hands dangled between his knees now, and he stared at them as if they were foreign objects. “Flat out told her she was
going
to quit, and I know that’s just the way to make her dig into something. If I’d handled it better, she might’ve . . .”

He looked up, looked past Eve. There were people gathered on the other side of the barricades, as people always did.

What happened?
they’d ask, and as word trickled down, they’d think how awful, how terrible, even as they continued to gawk, to linger, to hope to catch a glimpse of the dead body before they had to head off to work.

Because it wasn’t them, it wasn’t theirs the city had swallowed up. So they could gawk and linger and congratulate themselves that it wasn’t them or theirs—and the next time it might be.

Sabo didn’t see them, Eve knew that, too. Because for him, it was the next time.

“Mr. Sabo, did you meet any of her coworkers or her employer while you were in the club, or after?”

“What? No. No.” He scrubbed his hands hard over his face. “Didn’t want to. I only stayed about twenty minutes. Illegals passing around like party favors. People coming out of the private rooms licking blood off their lips, or it looked like it. She wanted a damn house in Queens.”

“Mr. Sabo, I have to ask. It’s routine. Can you verify your whereabouts between two and four a.m. this morning?”

“In bed, at home. I got Sam. I can’t leave Sam alone at night.” He rubbed at his eyes now before his hands dangled uselessly again. “I have building security. In and out. You can check. Whatever you have to do so you don’t waste time, so you find who hurt Alless. Was she raped?”

Before Eve could respond, he shook his head. “No. No. Don’t tell me. I don’t think I want to know either way. Walk from the subway, after two in the morning, alone. Because of that damn job. Now what am I going to tell our boy? How am I going to tell our Sam his mama’s gone?”

“I can have a grief counselor contact you, one who works with children.”

“Yes. Please. Yes.” His throat worked on a swallow. “I’ll need help. Alless and I, well, we couldn’t stay married, but we were a team when it came to Sam. I’ll need help. I have to get back to my kid. I left him with the neighbor. I have to get back to Sam. Can you let me know when . . . when I need to do whatever I need to do?”

“We’ll contact you, Mr. Sabo.” Eve watched him walk away. “Peabody?”

“I’ll take care of the grief counselor. Poor guy.”

“Murder kills more than the victim,” Eve said quietly. “We need to wrap up here, get into Central. Feeney may be able to clean up some of her last transmission from my unit. We get even a glimmer of this bastard . . .”

“I could help with that.” Roarke stepped up beside her.

“You’ve got your own work.”

“I do, but I’d be interested in, let’s say, hammering one of those nails.”

“If Feeney—” She broke off as her ’link signaled. “Hold on a minute.” She moved aside, answered.

Roarke noted the instant change in her body language—the stiffening, the aggressive stance. When she turned back, he saw it mirrored in the temper that heated her eyes.

“DNA doesn’t match Vadim’s.”

“But—”

“No but about it,” Eve cut Peabody off. “There’s a fucking screwup somewhere. You want in,” she said to Roarke, “you’re in. You can round up Feeney at Central, do whatever the two of you can do with the transmission. Peabody, with me. We’re going to the lab. Contact Morris.” She moved quickly as she snapped out the order. “I want him to personally take the DNA samples from this vic, have them hand-delivered to the lab. That’s red-flagged.”

“Got it.”

Eve glanced back at the building one last time. “No way, no goddamn way he slithers out of this.”

Peabody had to all but leap into the car to keep up. “Maybe he didn’t kill her.”

“Screw that.”

“What I mean is, maybe he had her killed. Set it up.” Peabody jerked her safety harness tight as it looked like they were in for a hell of a ride.

“No. He wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of the kill.” Monsters didn’t want to watch, to be
told
. They wanted to do. They wanted the smell of the blood. “He did them both. Kent because it’s what he set out to do, Carter because he was smart enough to know she wasn’t going to hold up his alibi, and it slaps at me. He picked her, put her on the spot, then he took her out. The lab screwed up, or I did. I did if he switched the vials.”

“We were right there. He drew his own blood right in front of us.”

“Hand’s quicker than the eye,” Eve muttered. “He worked as a magician, he’s worked the grift all of his life. He offered the blood sample without a blink because he knew he could swing it so it wouldn’t match.”

And she’d been distracted, she couldn’t deny it. Tight chest, dry throat, pumping heart. Her own fears had dulled her senses.

“Either way,” Peabody commented, “without the match, with Allesseria vouching for him and being unable to recant, we’ve got nothing on him.”

“That’s what he’s counting on. I played into it, and that pisses me off. Dark club, all that movement and noise. Guy draws his own blood at a bar. Not something you see every day.” Looking into his eyes, she remembered. Caught in them for a few seconds too long, shuddering inside at what she’d seen there, and she’s conned. “Son of a bitch.”

She strode into the lab, only to be cut off by the chief, Dick Berenski.

His egg-shaped head was cocked aggressively as he jabbed one of his long, thin fingers at her. “Don’t think about coming into my shop and saying we fucked up. I ran those samples twice myself. Personal. You want to argue with science, you go somewhere else. I can’t make a match when there’s no match.”

He was called Dickhead for a reason, and it had everything to do with his personality. Eve throttled back. “I think he switched them on me. It’s his DNA on the vic, but it’s not his in the vial you have. I’ve got an idea how he pulled it off, but the question right now is: If it’s not his blood in the vial, whose is it?”

It was obvious Berenski had been expecting a battle. Now, caught off guard, he was more accommodating than he normally would be without a substantial bribe. “Well, if we got the DNA in the system, I can find it for you.”

“I did a standard search, crapped out.”

“Global?”

“Yeah, do I look like this is my first day on the job? But I didn’t run deceased.”

“Blood from a corpse? How’s that going to end up in some mope’s veins?”

“Not in his veins, in a damn vial he palmed off on me. Can you do a global search, deceased donor?”

“Sure.”

“How fast?”

He wiggled his spidery fingers. “Watch and learn.”

He went back to his station, the long white counter with comps and screens and command centers. Sliding back and forth on his stool, he began to work—verbal orders, manual keys.

While he ran the searches, Eve drew out her ’link and tried Feeney.

Her old partner and the captain of EDD popped on her screen. He had a Danish in one hand, and a mouth full of the hefty bite missing from it. “Yo.”

“Roarke’s on his way in. Put him to work. I’ve got a ’link trans, voice mail, from a vic while she was being attacked. Lost the trans almost as soon. It’s dark, it’s jumpy, but if you can clean it up, I might burn this bastard quick.”

“Take a look.” He swallowed. “This your vampire?”

“Come on.”

“Hey, before your time I took down this asshole who was grave robbing, then sewing body parts together. Thought he could make himself a Frankenstein. Weird shit happens. He take another one?”

“Yeah, early this morning.”

Contemplatively, Feeney took another bite of Danish. “McNab said he pulled out a syringe and gave you blood right on the spot.”

“Yeah. There was a screwup there. Looks like mine. I’ll fill you in later. Anything you can do on the trans, Feeney, I’d appreciate.”

“Your man gets here, we’ll do some magic. Meanwhile, you go up against this guy, wouldn’t hurt to take a cross along.” He lifted his eyebrows when she just stared at him. “Kid, weird shit happens because people are fucking crazy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She clicked off just as Berenski made a sound of victory. “Got your blood. And I’m forced to say, ‘Damn good call, Dallas.’”

“I’m forced to say, ‘Damn fast work.’”

“I’m the best. Pensky, Gregor.” He tapped the ID picture on his screen.

Square face, Eve noted. Small eyes, pinched mouth. The data put him at two-ten and six-one, with a long sheet of violent crimes.