Visions in Death (25 page)

" Mmmm." She patted him on the cheek when he lifted his head. " Better'ndrugs even."

"Remember me?" McNab asked.

"Ah, yeah, skinny guy. Crazy about the skinny guy. He's just so cute. Got the cutest little butt. Oughta see it naked."

"Louise, cut them back. Have mercy," Eve demanded.

"Takes a minute."

"Stayed with me all night. Sweet boy. Love the sweet boy. Heard you talking to me sometimes. You can kiss me, too. Everybody can kiss me because... oh-oh."

"Give me some room," Eve demanded. "Peabody."

"Sir."

"You get a look at him?"

"Yes, sir." She drew a breath, shakily. "Jesus, Dallas, he messed me up. Came at me like a hell-god. I kept feeling stuff breaking and tearing inside me. Hell of a thing."

Her fingers moved restlessly on the sheet, then dug in as she struggled with the pain. Eve covered it with hers, stilled it.

"I got to my weapon, though. I hit him. I know I did. Arm, shoulder maybe, but I nailed one in him."

"You see his vehicle?"

"I didn't. Sorry. I just—"

"Forget it. He say anything to you?"

"Called me a whore. Whore cop."

"You make the voice if you hear it again?"

"Bet your ass. Sir. I think I heard him... It sounds weird, but I think he called for his mother. Or called me Mother. Maybe it was me, calling for mine because, I can tell you, I wanted her."

"Okay."

"I can give you a full description."

"I'm going to show you a picture. Tell me if it's him."

She held it up, adjusting the position so Peabody could study it without moving.

"That's him. He had a lot of sealant on his face, but that's him. You got him?"

"Not yet. We will. Can't take you on the bust because you'll be having your drug party, but we'll take him, and you're part of it."

"Will you tell me when you've got him?"

"You'll be the first."

She stepped back, nodded to Louise. "You want to get sprung from here, you can recoup at our place if you need to."

"Appreciate it. I... whee!" She laughed as the drugs bumped up. "That's more
like
it."

"We'll be back," Eve promised. McNab was on her heels as she went out.

"Dallas? We're crapping out on the Transit discs. Since you got your ID, you won't need me on that anyway. Anything else you need me to do?"

"Get some sleep."

"Not until."

She nodded. "Stick with her. I'll let you know if anything comes up. I'll be back in a minute."

She strode away, headed straight for the women's bathroom. Inside, she just sat on the floor, pressed her hands to her face, and cried.

Her chest hurt with it, heaved with it as the pressure finally broke free. Her throat was raw, her head thumping as the emotions she'd stifled took over, poured out in a hot, violent flood.

And sucked her dry.

She started to spring up when she heard the door open, then stayed where she was when she saw Mavis.

She just lifted her hands, let them fall. "Shit, Mavis."

"I know." Mavis settled down beside her. "Scared everybody. I had my jag already. You can go ahead, finish yours."

"I think I did." But because she could, she let her head lean on Mavis's shoulder a moment. "Maybe after she's better, Trina could give her the full works. Peabody'd like that. She can be a real girl."

"Good thinking. We'll have a complete girl party."

"I didn't mean... sure, whatever. You got any sunshades on you?"

"Do monkeys screw in the jungle?" She reached into the purple fringe worked into her shirt and drew out a pair of purple shades with green lenses.

"What the hell." Deciding they were marginally better than going around with red, swollen eyes, Eve put them on.

"Uptown!"

"No, I'm thinking down." Eve got up, helped Mavis to her feet. "Thanks for the loan. I've gotta go bust this bastard."

Chapter Twenty-One

Roark said nothing until they were back in the car, Eve behind the wheel. "Not your usual fashion accessory."

"Huh?"

He tapped a finger on the frames.

"Oh. Mavis. I, ah, borrowed them because..." She blew out a breath.

"You don't need to hide them from me." He slipped the glasses off, leaning over to lay light kisses on her eyelids.

"Aw," she said with a half smile. "What're ya gonna do?" She threw her arms around him, burrowing in. "I didn't want to break down and start blubbering all over McNab. I got most of it out, so you don't have to worry about me blubbering all over you."

"I never worry. You were due for a breakdown, and you timed it until you were sure our girl was going to be all right."

"Yeah, I guess." It was so good to hold, to be held. "Now we're going to take care of business." She eased back. "Eyes bad?"

"They're beautiful."

She rolled them. "This is not Peabody on drugs."

"By the time you get to Central, good as new."

"Okay." But she stuck the sunshades back on. "Just in case."

They weren't even out of the parking garage when her communicator beeped. "Dallas."

"Got him."

"Oh Jesus, Feeney. Send it through to my vehicle's unit. I want to see him. We're on our way to Central now. Can you meet me in my office?"

"I'll be there. Take a look."

Quickly, she programmed the vehicle for Central's garage and shifted to auto so she could give the image her full attention.

"There you are, you son of a bitch. Blue, John Joseph. Age thirty-one. Damn it."

Since auto didn't allow her to exceed speed limits or outrun reds, she switched back, hit the sirens. "I don't want audio," she said to Roarke. "I don't need to hear it all. Just give me the salient."

"Single, mixed-race male. No spouse, no legal cohabitation partner. No offspring on record. No criminal on record."

"He's got something. Juvenile, I'll bet your ass. And sealed. We'll worry about that later."

"Residence listed as Classon Avenue, Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn?" She shook her head as she screamed through traffic. "No, that's not right. Can't be."

"That's what's here. Resided that address eight years. Owner, operator Comptrain, Inc.—same address. Want the details on that?"

"Yeah." But he didn't live in Brooklyn. Not now.

"Ah, small data analysis company. There's your hacking skills, Lieutenant. He'd do most of the work right out of his home for this. Tech support and the like."

"Cross with the customer and member lists."

"Moment. You've got him as a member, ten years' standing, at Jim's Gym downtown."

"And he didn't pop because of the Brooklyn addy. We'd've gotten to him, but he wasn't in the first layer. He's not coming to the city from Brooklyn to stalk and kill. I don't buy it. And they've got gyms in Brooklyn, for Christ's sake."

She flew into the garage, cut speed seconds before she arrowed into her slot. Roarke, made of sterner stuff than Peabody, never flinched. He was out of the car with her, moving double-time to the elevator.

"A second residence in the city then. One he hasn't listed, or rents, has bought under another name."

She jumped off the elevator on the first floor and dashed to a glide, hot-footing it up, elbowing passengers aside on the way.

Ignoring protests, she hopped off, jumped on another. "I'm going to put this op together, fast. Two tactical teams. One to Brooklyn."

"And the other?"

"I've got an idea on that."

She streamed up the glide at a run, pivoted, and rushed through her bullpen without acknowledging any of the calls or questions.

"Full data up," she snapped at Feeney.

"Up. What's with the shades."

"Hell." She yanked them off, tossed them on the desk. "Mother. Ineza Blue, age fifty-three. Address listed on Fulton. Bingo, you rat bastard."

" InezaBlue," Roarke said, working rapidly on his PPC. "Retired licensed companion. One child, son."

"You get me the mother's image from, say twenty years ago, I bet you get me a white woman with long, light brown hair." She slapped Feeney on the back.

"Lieutenant?" Roarke held out his palm unit. "She's a hit on your customer list for Total Crafts."

"Get me details on her purchases, last six months. Look for the cord."

She snapped back to Feeney. "Let's get started," she said and turned to her 'link to contact the commander.

Fifteen minutes later, she was in a conference room briefing her tactical teams. "Team One takes the target in Brooklyn. Briscoll goes in as delivery to ascertain if the subject is on the premises. Target is to be surrounded at all points. We're also looking for a black van, now identified as registered to subject's mother. Last year's model, Sidewinder. If said van is spotted, lock it down. Baxter, you're heading this team."

"Team Two will deploy to the Fulton Street residence. The same procedure applies, with Ute taking the delivery position. I head this team. In both locations, we go in fast and we go in hard. Warrants are coming through. If the subject isn't located, we wait for him. I don't want this asshole making a cop. He makes any of you, I fry you. We take him down, and we take him today. If there are any screw-ups on this one, any screw-ups in procedure, in chain of evidence, if somebody fucking sneezes at the wrong time, I will personally put their neck in a wringer and hit go. Questions?"

"Just one." This from Baxter. "The subject is a large individual with considerable muscle. It may take some extreme measures to restrain him. Just want to make sure everyone on my team is prepared to take these measures, whatever they may entail."

Eve angled her head. "I want him conscious for Interview. Other than that..." She let it hang. "Don't let those measures get out of hand. Move out. Feeney, round up Team Two."

———«»——————«»——————«»———

She ordered her team to strap on protective gear. Though she didn't see it as an issue, she wasn't taking chances. She didn't want to visit another cop in the hospital.

"You don't figure the mother's in on this," Feeney said as they waited inside the surveillance van.

"No. We got the cord, twenty-yard length of it, delivered to the Fulton Street address five months ago. I'm saying she had some in stock previous to that, and the new supply was ordered by the son. She didn't have any deliveries listed before that, or after. She always picked up her supplies. I figure she's dead or incapacitated."

She shifted to the balls of her feet, back again. Squatted and straightened to be sure the gear didn't hamper movement. "If he offed her, maybe that's what set him off on the rest. Maybe she just kicked, and that set him off, but I'm betting he helped her out."

She looked over at Roarke. "You and I are going in the front, once we've determined he's inside. Feeney and his man in the back. Communications remain open, at all times. I want everyone with a badge, and the civilian consultant, to know where everyone is. Good-sized house," she commented, studying it through the screened window of the van. "One floor down below street level, two above. Two men take the below, and we go in on my signal. I want every door, every window covered. He moves fast, and he's not going to fall down and surrender. He'll run."

"Team's in position," Feeney told her. "Go to Ute?"

"Go."

She watched Ute zip down from the east corner on a compact jet-bike. He secured it at the curb, bounced off, and up to the door with his misdirected package. He rang the bell, bounced his head around as if bopping to the beat of music through headsets.

And she heard, clear as a bell, the answer from the security com. "What?"

"Delivery, man. You wanna sign. Shit. Starting to rain."

The first thin drops splat the streets and sidewalks when the door opened.

"Hold positions."

"You got the wrong place," Blue said. "This is 803, not 808."

"Hell, it looks like a three. Are you—" The door slammed in his face. Ute made a business out of turning his back, pointing at his ass, and making a kissing sound before bouncing back to his bike.

"Subject verified. No visible weapons."

Eve jerked her head, and slipped out the side door of the van with Roarke. He hefted the small battering ram. She crouched behind a parked car as Feeney drove off.

" Gonnaget wet," she murmured. She rolled her shoulders, rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"You know, Lieutenant, I can get through the door nearly as quickly myself as with this ram. And with more finesse, and considerably less noise."

"Not looking for finesse." She nodded when Feeney's voice came through her earpiece. "Move in! Go, go, go!"

Still crouched, she dashed across the street, noting the movements of her team out of the corners of her eyes as she charged up the steps. "Take it down!"

He reared back, slammed it twice, then let it fall as the door crashed open. They were through, weapons drawn.

Every light blared on full, and she could hear the fast and heavy rush of feet. She veered right toward the sound and caught sight of Blue streaking up the stairs.

"Police! Stop where you are." She was already running up behind him. "You're surrounded. You've got nowhere to go. Stop or I will fire."

He swung back, his face red with exertion and what she took as panicked temper. She knew, though she couldn't see his eyes, she knew in that instant from the stiffening of his body, he recognized her.

And he lunged.

She fired a stream mid-body that crossed with the stream Roarke fired. The combination knocked Blue back three staggering steps.

To her amazement, he shook it off like a man hyped on Zeus. Lunged again. "Bitch! You hurt me!"

She didn't question herself, the need, the motive, but rather than firing on him, she got a running start, pumped her legs, and slashed into a flying kick that landed both feet in his face.

Blood erupted from his nose, spilled out of his mouth, but he was still on his feet when she dropped back to hers. "Don't fire," she shouted at Roarke, and whoever was pounding up the steps behind them.

"Screw this," she muttered as he came for her again. "Let's see how
you
like it." And she curled down, locking her hands around her weapon. Brought them up with as much force as she could muster, into his balls.

He screamed, a high-pitched sound that made her heart sing. He dropped to his knees and rolled.

"That seems to have done it. Subject is secured! I need extensions for these restraints," she called out as she pressed her weapon to his cheek. "You're a big boy, Blue, big, strong boy, but if I fire this weapon from here, you're going to lose a chunk of your face. While I might consider that an improvement, you may not."

"See if these work." Feeney stepped over Blue, muscled his arms behind his back, and fought extended restraints into place as the man began to cry like a baby. "Barely. Maybe hurts a little, but gee, what can you do?"

"Get him in the tank, read him his rights."

When she started to get to her feet, she winced, crouched down again.

"Give you a hand, Lieutenant?"

"Thanks." She took the one Roarke offered, and stretched her left leg. "Might've pulled a little something on that kick. It was a little high for me."

"Well placed, though I did enjoy the second maneuver."

"First was for Peabody. Second was..."

"I know. For all of them." He knew it embarrassed her, but he couldn't help himself. He leaned down, kissed her. "You are my hero."

"Get out."

"Lieutenant?" One of the team called out from below. "You're going to need to see this. Basement level."

"On my way."

———«»——————«»——————«»———

It was a horror she'd never forget. No matter how many she'd already witnessed, how many were yet to come. The basement had been converted, some years before from the look of it, into a small warren of rooms. His primary living space, Eve concluded, with some recent adjustments.

His office was tidily and efficiently set up. Three complete d and c units, a wall of discs, minifridgie, mini AutoChef. And lights so bright they almost burned the eyes.

He'd set up a personal fitness center, equipment, mirrors, a sparring droid nearly as big as he was. The lights seared.

In the third room, the walls were also mirrored, and the lights burned bright, bouncing their reflections everywhere. She could see the fitness area from that position.

It was his bedroom—a young boy's room with toys on a shelf, Space Invaders paper on one of the walls. The bed was narrow and neatly made with a cover that boasted interplanetary warriors in full battle.

There was a chair, child-sized, fit with restraints. Wrist and ankle shackles. Tied on one of its arms was a bright red cloth.

She'd cast him into the basement, Eve thought. And despite the toys, the touches of youthful decor, had made it his prison.

He'd kept it as one.

But he'd made an addition.

There was a single long shelf bracketed into the wall. New from the looks of it, and the metal brackets shone clean and silver.

On it were fifteen clear jars filled with a pale blue liquid.

Floating in the pale blue were fifteen pairs of eyes.

"Fifteen," Eve said and forced herself to look. "Fifteen."

———«»——————«»——————«»———

Eve stood with Roarke in Observation. Inside Interview A, Blue was shackled to the table—hand and foot.

He'd screamed like a madman—mad child—when they'd muscled him down, snapped them on. Had only calmed when at his terrified demands, they'd boosted the lights in the room to full.

She imagined, if he got riled enough he could lift the whole shebang and do some damage.

"You're not going in alone." It wasn't a question Roarke asked, it was a statement with the subtle edge of warning.

"I'm not stupid. It's me, Feeney, and two uniforms built like Arena Ball tackles. You sure you want to watch this?"

"I wouldn't miss it for worlds."

"Patching it through to Peabody's hospital room, so she and McNab can watch. They'll put him away in an institution. Mental defectives. It's not the cage I'd choose for him, but it'll have to do."