Promises in Death (34 page)

“Prints verify. Rod Sandy,” Peabody said. “TOD one-fifteen this morning.”

“Smart. Smart. Give him time to panic, to sweat, run him around some. Then lure him here when he’s so knotted up he’s not thinking straight. You need to take him somewhere inside, covered, off the track. You’d get here first, lure him up. He’s got to be sweating. He doesn’t want to stay in a place like this. He needs to get out, you have to help me get out. I can’t stay in this rathole. And it’s like, take it easy, it’s all worked out. You might even put your hand on his shoulder. Holds him steady, gives you a target while you look in his eyes and stick him.”

She pulled off the goggles. “Strip him down so it looks like he was killed for his clothes, what’s in his pockets. But it’s not so smart to cover him up. That’s too much. Just like the single heart shot’s too much. That’s not mugging MO. Overthought it, that’s what you did. Some showing off here, too.”

“The killer should’ve messed him up some,” Peabody put in. “Then left him on top of the rags instead of under them.”

“That’s right. The kill shot indicates skill. There’s pride there. No postmortem wounds, like you’d see if he’d been flopped around while someone was yanking his clothes off. But he had to be careful, avoid leaving trace. All a waste of time anyway, because we’re not idiots.”

She straightened. “Let’s get the sweepers in, and the morgue. I’ll take the scavengers.”

They looked typical, Eve mused. Two humanlike lumps so layered in clothing and grime it was next to impossible to judge gender or age. They sat on the floor, a wheeled basket between them. It held more clothes, shoes, what might have been broken toys and any number of damaged electronics.

They identified themselves as Kip and Bop.

“Legal names would be appreciated.”

“We didn’t keep them,” Kip said. “We only keep what we want.”

Bop clutched an enormous bag. “We keep it and we use it and we sell it. It doesn’t hurt anybody.”

“Okay. You came in here to look for things you could keep or use or sell?”

“Nobody else wants them.” Kip shrugged. “Nobody lives here. Nobody cares.”

“Did you see anyone else in here?”

“The man who’s dead.”

“Maybe you came in here last night, too.”

“No. Last night we were on Bleecker. Lady there leaves stuff out every Friday night, and it’s good pickings if you get there quick.”

“Okay. What time did you get in here tonight?”

Kip lifted his arm, tapped the broken face of his wrist unit. “It’s always the same time. Here’s what. We come in, go up to the top floor so’s we can work it down. Not much up there, so we come on down, and work it. Maybe we’ll find a good blanket or some socks in the pile. But we found the man who’s dead.”

“Did you take anything from him, or from the pile?”

“We found him pretty quick. Don’t take from the dead.”

“You go to hell other,” Bop said with a wise nod.

“What did you do then?”

“We call the nine the one and the one. It’s the right.”

“Yeah, it’s the right. You’ve got a ’link?” At Eve’s question Bop clutched the bag tighter.

“It’s mine!”

“That’s right. It’s yours. Thanks for using it. We can get you to a shelter if you want.”

“Don’t like shelters. Somebody’ll take your stuff for sure.”

Eve scratched her ear. “Okay. How about a flop for a couple of nights. A room, a bed. No shelter.”

Kip and Bob exchanged looks. “Where at?” Kip demanded.

“Officer Guilder, is there a hotel nearby that will take them for a couple of nights? On the city.”

“Sure. I know a place on Broad. The Metro Arms.”

Another look passed between the scavengers. “We don’t pay?”

“No, the city pays to show appreciation for your help.” Though hers were still sealed, Eve stopped short of shaking hands.

“Don’t need to kill for stuff,” Kip said.

“People leave it all over anyway,” Bop added.

 

 

 

O
ut on the street, Eve studied the building and those surrounding it while sweepers moved in and out. “If you live or work around here, you know buildings like this. Killer’s turf, with the advantage of being way, way off the vic’s.”

“And without Kip and Bop, we’re chasing our tails for Sandy for days, maybe more. All the arrows point to him for Coltraine. When we find him, it looks like he’d gone to ground, got rolled, got killed. You could construe he took off to avoid arrest—and that being tight with Alex, Alex remains a suspect on Coltraine.”

“You could construe.”

“Except for our motto.” Peabody put on a serious look. “We’re not idiots.”

“Too bad for Sandy, he was. Let’s go write it up.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

There was plenty of action in Central in the dark hours. The whines of street LCs, the moans or giggles of junkies, the weeping of victims. Eve closed herself into her office to translate her record into a report.

When her ’link signaled, she pounced on it. “Callendar. Gimme.”

Callendar grinned. “I got gimmes. Let me start with a big, juicy belch. Two, in fact. Transmissions from Omega to New York, confirmed. Both sending and receiving on unregistered ’links. And yeah, baby, that would be the same ’link used on the home planet. They match.”

“Oh yeah, baby,” Eve echoed.

“Encrypted transmissions from here to there were not logged. Big no-nos on the party palace of Omega.”

“Can you break them?”

“No encryption defeats me. But it’s going to take a little time, and a couple hours’ sleep. Meanwhile, Sisto had a little chat with our old friend Cecil Rouche’s drinking buddy, who also just happened to be on communications at the time in question. Guy named Art Zeban. Zeban played it dumb at the jump, but smartened up when Sisto leaned on him. Which Sisto reports he enjoyed bunches. Zeban claims Rouche gave him a thousand a pop to keep the transes off log. Just a favor for a pal, with compensation.”

“This is good.”

“Better is that the Gs included wiping the record of Ricker’s hygiene break.”

“It’s gone.”

“Please.” Callendar waved a hand in the air as if flicking off a gnat. “Nothing’s ever gone when I’m around. I’ll dig it out. Meanwhile in the meanwhile, I got authorization to search Rouche’s quarters.”

“Does he know?”

“Not yet. We’re—”

“Keep him in the dark. Make sure he’s unable to make any contact on planet—or off. No communications. Wrap him up, Callendar, and wrap him tight. Bring him and his drinking buddy home.”

“All over that. This shit is fun!”

“While you’re having fun, make goddamn sure none of it—not an inkling of it—leaks to Ricker. I want him closed down. If the warden has a problem, he can contact me. But Ricker is shut down tight until further notice.”

“Total,” Callendar said and signed off.

Eve added the new data, then rose to expand her murder board.

“I’m clear,” Peabody said as she came in. “Unless you want to notify next of kin tonight, we . . .” She trailed off when she noticed the additions to the board. “You got something again.”

“Callendar confirms Omega transmissions. They’re encrypted, but she says she can break that. And she matched the on-planet send-and-receive to the ’link Feeney found. She’s got the tech—” Eve tapped Zeban’s photo. “The guard Ricker’s bribing bribed him to keep them off the log, and to wipe the recording of Ricker’s shower. But she says she can reconstruct.”

“She’s good. McNab says straight up. That’s a lot of bribing.”

“Yes, bribing on a penal colony. I was shocked. It’s a food chain,” Eve muttered. “Ricker at the top. You’ve got Sandy, and Rouche, Zeban, and probably more under that. But there’s the link between Ricker and Sandy. That level. We need to fill that one in to make it all hold.”

She turned around, frowned. “What time is it in France?”

“Um.”

“I don’t know either. I shouldn’t have to know. Roarke would know, but he’s in Vegas. I don’t know what time it is there, either.” She waved her hand before Peabody could inform her. “Find me the head French cop, the one who handles the area where Rouche’s ex lives. I want her watched. I need her communications monitored.”

“You might have better luck with Global.”

“They’re greedy. They’ll want her for their own. Let’s try the locals first.”

 

 

 

I
t took persuasion, cajolery, and in the end the mention of illegal funds and considerable merchandise purchased with those illegal funds—all housed in France—to ensure cooperation.

The possibility of confiscating a few million was worth the time and effort to sit on one Luanne Debois, and to monitor her communications.

“It’ll take time,” Eve complained as they rode down to the garage. “Proper authorization—meaning bureaucratic crapola—before they can implement the watch. But he got a sparkle in his eyes when I outlined the money laundering, seeing as the result of it’s sitting, primarily, on his turf.”

“You get that, and Callendar comes through, we’ll pin Ricker. Doesn’t pin or even identify his next in command here.”

“Working on it.”

Peabody stopped and narrowed her eyes when Eve stepped up to her vehicle.

“I don’t get it. I just don’t get how come you have to pick something so ugly when you could have anything. Like the 2X-5000, or the big, burly all-terrain, or—”

“I didn’t pick it; Roarke did.”

“You’re shattering all my hopes and dreams.”

“Because he’s smart enough to know it blends. Nobody’ll look twice at it. Do you want a ride home or not?”

“I’m not going home.” Peabody jumped in before Eve. “I’m going back to your place. All my stuff’s there, and that’s where McNab’s coming when he gets back. Plus, brunch.”

Eve felt the warning throb behind her eyes. “They’re not still there. Are they? Why?”

“Because that was the plan, and yes, they are. I checked in.”

“I was going to go by the morgue.”

“Why?”

“Because. We could’ve missed something.”

“I’ll tag the morgue from here while you drive us to a magolishous breakfast buffet.”

Life had to be, Morris had said, or what was the point? At the moment she might wish it would be elsewhere, but she accepted defeat. She could work from home, she told herself. Hide out in her office until the houseload of women finally went away. She could work on pinning down that last link while she waited for Callendar to come through.

She’d need to deal with Rouche, and needed to discuss that deal with the DA’s office. Well, ADA Cher Reo was sleeping off a night of drunken revelry like the rest of them, so that would be handy.

Plus, she had Mira right on-site, too. Mira would be good with additional profiling.

They wanted brunch? she thought. Fine. But they were going to work for it.

She slid her gaze right and noted that Peabody was slumped against the door and out like a light.

Okay, they’d work for it as soon as they woke up.

Dawn pearled the air as she approached the house. Probably just as well they were sleeping, Eve decided. It would give her time to recharge, think, pace, work on some angles without a bunch of distractions.

Quiet, she thought. She could definitely use the quiet.

She shoved Peabody’s shoulder and got a shocked snort out of her partner. “Wake up, go in, go up, go to bed.”

“I’m awake. I’m good. Where . . . oh. Home again.”

“Don’t get used to it. Take a couple hours down. You can eat when you get up, then you’re on the roll until I say otherwise.”

“Okay. All right.” She rubbed her eyes as she followed Eve to the door. “Are you going down?”

“I want to take advantage of the quiet until—”

She opened the door, and the high-pitched scream had her reaching for her weapon. Peabody grabbed Eve’s arm. “Don’t draw down. It’s the baby.”

Eve kept her hand on her weapon while her ears rang with wails and screams. “That’s not possible. Nothing that small can make those sounds.”

But she followed the sounds to the parlor, where a pajama-clad Mavis walked a shrieking, red-faced Bella.

“Hey!” Mavis walked, patted, swayed. “You’re back. Sorry, she’s a little fussy.”

“It sounds like she’s being hacked up with an axe.” More, Eve thought, like she wanted to hack somebody else up with an axe.

“She’s got good lungs.”

Eve jolted as Mira—a Mira in a peacock blue robe—rose from the sofa. “Here, sweetie, let me take her awhile. Come to Aunt Charley, baby girl. Yes, there we are.”

“Whew.” Mavis grabbed a mug off the table, glugged. “I brought her down here to keep from breaking eardrums upstairs. She sure is pissed.”

“Why? What did you do? That can’t be normal. You’re a doctor,” Eve added, pointing at Mira. “You should do something.”

“I am.” Mira walked, stroked, crooned. “She’s just teething and feeling mad, aren’t you, poor thing? Poor Belle. I bet you could use some coffee.”

“I bet she could,” Eve muttered.

Mavis rose, handing Mira some pink-and-blue device that Mira plugged in Belle’s mouth, then Mavis poured another mug of coffee. “Here you go. Peabody?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Since whatever Belle gnawed on took the shrieks down to sucking sounds and whimpers, Eve drank. “So . . . everybody else is asleep.”

“As far as I know,” Mavis told her. “Some conked downstairs watching vids. Others crawled off to their assigned rooms. Everyone had a mega-blast. Sorry you got called away.”

Eve kept a wary eye on Belle, whose eyes were going glassy as she sucked. “Is that thing tranq’d? Is it legal?”

“No, it’s not tranq’d; yes, it’s legal. It’s cold. The cold makes her inflamed gums feel better.” Mira stroked Belle’s cheek with her own. “She’s worn herself out. Haven’t you, sweetheart, just worn yourself out. The call was connected to the Coltraine case?”