Promises in Death (36 page)

“Sandy.” Peabody set her plate aside and rose to go to the board. “It would be easier for a woman to get close to him. Play on his ego, and he’d have less cause—in his mind—to worry about her, physically.”

“Physically’s a factor though, isn’t it?” Nadine pointed toward Grady’s photo. “Didn’t the killer carry Coltraine to the basement? Or do you think Sandy was there and did the heavy work?”

“Maybe. But she could’ve done it.”

“I carried Dallas down.” Peabody smiled. “We reenacted.”

“Going on the assumption this is your killer, she wouldn’t have wanted him there. Or anyone else there.” Mira gestured with her coffee cup. “Factoring in the theories, this would have been a one-on-one, woman-to-woman. On orders perhaps, but personal.”

“You need more than theories. Sorry.” Reo spread her hands. “You’ve got no probable cause, no witness, nothing putting your suspect at either scene. Unless Rouche worked with her directly, and can give us some chapter and verse—or Ricker gets a wild hair and decides to flip on her for the fun of it—there’s no physical evidence, and no real circumstantial.”

“Crap City.” Mavis plopped her butt on Eve’s desk. “Because all my tinglies are saying the bitch is guilty.”

“Usually it takes more than the tinglies to convict,” Reo pointed out. “First Callendar’s got to come through. Then, given that, Rouche has to spill. I might like the theory, in principle, but from where I’m sitting, you don’t have any more on her than you have on any of them. Which is not anything.”

“Tinglies should count,” Mavis protested. “Besides. Oops!” She slid off the desk. “Bellamina’s awake,” she said tapping the big pink butterfly pinned over her ear. “Cha!”

“Mavis,” Eve called out as Mavis dashed for the door. “Thanks for the input.”

“Hey, us double-X chromos have to stick together.”

“Some of the others are probably stirring by now.” Louise got to her feet. “I’ll gather them up and steer them into the dining room and keep them out of your way.”

“I guess the party’s about over.” Nadine stretched out her legs. “I can do some research, see if I can find anywhere Ricker’s path might’ve crossed with this Cleo Grady’s. They had to connect somewhere. I take it you’ve checked her pockets. It’s unlikely she killed two people for love or the fun factor.”

“I’ve looked at her financials as far as I can without the probable cause to dig deeper. I figure she’s been paid, but I don’t discount the fun factor—or what people like her consider love. Ricker liked younger women.

“It’ll go back, though,” Eve mused. “It won’t be recent, that connection. She didn’t turn up in the sweep after we busted him, but she’s no new recruit. That means she’s got some layers over her, and some time in.”

“If you find me a connection between her and Ricker—something solid—I can use that and her connection to Coltraine. I may be able to finesse a search warrant, and authorization for that deeper dip into financials.” Reo considered it. “If you can get Rouche to say Ricker has someone in Coltraine’s squad. I don’t need a name, just the verification that Ricker has someone inside that unit, I can get the warrants. Maybe IAB—”

“They don’t have anything on her,” Eve told Reo. “I checked.”

“Well, maybe they should look again.”

“I’ll take another look at her file,” Mira said. “And her background data. I’ll work up a more comprehensive profile.”

“I’ll write it up, run probabilities.” Peabody got up to gather empty plates. “While Nadine’s looking for that crossed path with Max Ricker, I can look for one between Grady and Sandy. Maybe he recruited her.”

“Or she recruited him.” Eve ordered more data on-screen—split screen. “Sandy, Grady, Alex Ricker. They’re all about the same age. Yeah, that might be something. Go back ten years, fifteen. College pals. If she was Ricker’s that far back, he might’ve used her to get to Sandy. Let’s—hold it.”

She swiveled back to her ’link. “Dallas.”

“What do you want first, Dallas?” Callendar asked. “ ’Cause I got a shitload for you.”

“Did you break the encryption?”

“Damn fucking-A tooting. Gee, I’m really tired now. Booster’s wearing down. Text, Omega to New York.” She yawned, blinked. “Sorry. Text: ‘Hit target within forty-eight. Complete disposal. Complete arrangements with hunter. Usual fees cleared when disposal verified.’

“Second text, Omega to New York,” Callendar continued. “Oh, this is the one we matched with a toss-away down there. Text: ‘Go. Coordinate with mole. Don’t disappoint me, dear.’ ”

“Are there any more?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Nothing within the last twenty-four from Omega?”

“Not on this. But to jump ahead, there’s one from New York to Omega, same ’links as the second trans. Text: ‘Disposal complete. I never disappoint.’ That was sent an hour after Coltraine’s TOD, to the unregistered ’link we dug up in Rouche’s quarters. We also dug up a nice bit of accounting. He kept records, Dallas, of income. Payments listed by date—going back for ten months—and the accounts, by number, where he stashed the funds. It was a romp through the daisies. Then there’s the e-mail. We pulled them off his in-room comp. All e’s are required to go through security, but it looks like he got his buddy Art to bypass. The receiver’s account is under Luanne DeBois.”

“Yeah, I bet it is.”

“Lots of lovey-dovey. And lots of instructions and communication about where and how to access funds, what to do with them. He is so screwed.”

“Wrap him up and bring him in. But keep it under the radar. I don’t want Ricker knowing his boy’s pinned. Security breaches, fraternizing with prisoners, suspicion of collusion. That’s enough to get them down here. Keep them separated on the trip back. Full security from here to there. If you need it, have the warden send a couple of people he can trust with you. I’ll contact him directly, clear it. Get it going, Callendar.”

“Sisto, we’re getting the hell off this rock!”

“Good work,” Eve added and signed off.

“That gives us goods on Rouche, but unless we can put that ’link into Ricker’s hand—”

“Don’t screw with my mood, Reo. I’ve got work, and I’m really happy.”

She contacted the warden, then Whitney. Then, because under the circumstances being an informant for IAB didn’t make her sick, she contacted Webster.

She stared at the blue screen of blocked video.

“Jesus, Dallas, it’s Sunday morning. I’m off.”

“I have information for IAB, but if you’re too busy to—”

“What, what, what?”

“Are you alone?”

“What’s it to you?” He cursed into the silence. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alone. I’m also in bed, mostly naked. I can unblock the video to confirm, if you want to dream about me.”

“I’ve already seen you mostly naked, and it never caused me to dream.”

“Cold.”

“Listen up. I’m informing IAB that I strongly suspect Detective Cleo Grady of colluding with Max Ricker, of being on his payroll, and of the murders of Detective Amaryllis Coltraine and Rod Sandy.”

“Hold it. Hold it. You’re making an arrest?”

“Did I say I was making an arrest? I’m informing you, as a member of IAB, that I suspect a fellow officer is involved in illegal activities, for gain, with a known and incarcerated criminal. I suspect that fellow officer killed Detective Coltraine on the orders of Max Ricker, and that she killed Rod Sandy.”

“Who the hell is Rod Sandy?”

“Alex Ricker’s personal assistant. He’s in the morgue. I suspect, again on Max Ricker’s orders, that Grady and Sandy worked together to murder Coltraine, and to splash some suspicion on Alex Ricker.”

“What’s your evidence?”

“I don’t have to give you evidence,” Eve said as Webster, dragging on a T-shirt, came on-screen. “I’m relaying my suspicions, and that’s enough for IAB to start the ball rolling. If you consider that mostly naked, Webster, it’s no wonder you’re in bed alone on Sunday morning.”

“I put clothes on. Stop yanking my chain. We don’t release the hounds on a cop just on another cop’s say-so.”

“You know that’s not what this is. Take a good look at her, Webster, and for Christ’s sake, don’t tip her off. I’m building a case, and it’s taking shape. If I’m off, I’m off, and no harm done. But I’m not. I’ve got some expert corroboration on that.”

“What corroboration?”

“The tinglies,” she said and cut him off.

Ball’s rolling, ball’s in the air, she thought. Nothing more to do just then but wait. She started to go out, remembered all the women who were probably swarming around the house. She detoured to the elevator. When it opened in her bedroom, she snuck over and closed the door. Then she walked to the bed, let out one sigh, and dropped face-down onto it.

 

 

 

C
oltraine sat at her desk in the squad room while Eve stood by Grady’s.

“She was never a friend, never a partner.” Sorrow weighed down Coltraine’s voice. “Not to me, not to any of us. She’d have killed any one of us if Ricker ordered it.”

“I doubt you were her first. It usually takes more than one to do it that cold. She doesn’t have any kills on the job. Probably too bad as Testing after a termination’s pretty intense. More intense than the screening, the evals, to get a badge.”

“You seem so sure it was her.”

“You looked in her face when she killed you.”

Coltraine swiveled her chair from side to side. “Your dream, Dallas, your perspective. I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”

“Fine, we’ll play it that way. Yeah, it’s her. That’s my perspective.”

“Because we’re women.”

“Plays into it, yeah. I think Mavis had some good points. But she was in my top two right along. Newman was up there with her because he keeps his head down, stays off the grid. Does the job, pleasant guy, doesn’t make waves. A man who can do that makes a good tool. Which is why Clifton just didn’t fit. Too volatile. The LT? Too much of a by-the-book guy, and O’Brian . . . He just plays straight for me. A good cop who takes pride in the job. You can’t take pride in what you abuse, in what you betray. Plus the wife, the family. Why struggle to pay the bills, give the kids the education if you’ve got this well to dip in?”

“You like him.”

“I guess. Delong needs the squad—they’re family, and he needs that dynamic. Clifton’s posturing, hanging out with the guys so he can brag whose chops he busted that day, and use that to get under a skirt when he can. Newman, he plods his way through, maybe has a drink after a long shift with his partner of the day, then goes home to his wife and dog.

“Grady, she’s a loner. Nobody’s there when she comes home. I know how that is. But she doesn’t live the job, that’s not it. If she did, she’s smart enough, savvy enough to be second grade by now—closer to making first—to work out of a more powerful unit, a sexier squad.” Eve tapped her fingers on Grady’s desk. “But she’s not and she doesn’t. Because too much attention makes it so some people look too close. She’s got something to hide.”

“So did you. Hacking your father to death when you were eight’s a big secret for a cop.”

“I didn’t remember it, not clearly. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had. I did live the job. I needed it like I needed to breathe. And Feeney wanted me—” She broke off, angled her head. “Someone wanted me. That was a first. Someone saw me, wanted me, was willing to
invest
in me. That was a rush. Maybe Ricker saw her. What if—” She broke off again, cursed.

“Cat’s on your ass,” Coltraine said.

Eve woke feeling Galahad’s paws kneading her ass. Then the considerable weight of him was gone. She rolled over and saw Roarke with his arms full of sulky cat.

“Sorry,” he told her. “He’s fat, but sneaky. He beat me to you.”

“Were you going to knead my ass?”

“I think of little else, night and day.” He sat beside her, stroking the cat. “I’m told you were called away from the party last night. Rod Sandy.”

“Yeah.” She sat up. “I don’t think anyone missed me especially, so—”

“I did.”

Now she smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leaned forward to kiss her.

“I guess I should ask if you had fun.”

“I was with a group of men, friends, in casinos, in strip joints of the highest, and the lowest, class.”

“You took Trueheart to a strip dive?”

“He almost glows in the dark when he blushes. It’s charming, actually. The boy also hit for over five grand on some ridiculous slot called Pirate Quest.”

“Five? Yo-ho, Trueheart.”

Roarke laughed. “And I’ve heard every variation of that ever since.”

“Oh my God. My sweet blushing Jesus, wait. Rewind. You took Mr. Mira to strip joints.”

“He’s a big boy, and enjoyed himself. He has a pair of pasties to prove it.”

“No, no, no.” She clamped her hands over her ears in defense. “I don’t want to hear Mr. Mira in the same sentence as pasties.”

“And he won about twelve hundred at craps. McNab came out two thousand, three hundred dollars, and eighty-five cents ahead. Precisely—which he informed us of often. Charles ended up down just over that. Feeney won about twenty-five dollars, keeping the reputation of his lucky shirt intact. Baxter broke even.”

“How about you, hot shot?”

“As it was my casino, if I win, I lose—in a matter of speaking. What about you? Did you have fun?” When she sat there, frowning, he flipped a finger down the dent in her chin. “That wasn’t a trick question.”

“I had to think about it. I have to say I did, in a weird way. I’m surprised. Then this morning, I end up running a breakfast meeting with the core group. Through no plan of mine. And Mavis puts her finger on the killer.”

“Mavis?”

“Yeah. I’ve got all these brains—I don’t mean Mavis is stupid, but I’ve got the police detective, the profiler, the ace reporter, and the doctor. And it’s the former grifter turned music disc star and mother who nails it. I’ll fill you in later if you want, but I guess I’ve got to go down and do whatever I’m supposed to do with everybody until they go the hell home.”