Visions in Death (4 page)

"Don't trouble yourself." Peabody spoke gently, a tone Eve never quite managed with the same ease. "If you'd like something, I'd be happy to get it for you."

"No. Thank you, no. Vonnie —she's sleeping again. She and Zanna. I don't know if she understands, really understands, her mother's not coming back. She cried. Cried and cried. We all did. She fell asleep, worn-out from it, and I put her back to bed. Zanna, too. I put them together, so neither of them would wake alone."

"She'll need counseling, Mrs. Vanderlea."

"Yes." Deann nodded at Peabody. "I've already made calls. I'm making arrangements. I want, I need... God. Luther and I, we want to make arrangements for Elisa. For her memorial. I'm not sure who I need to speak with about it, or how soon, or... I need to keep doing." A shudder ran through her. "I'm all right as long as I keep doing something."

"We'll put someone in touch with you," Eve told her.

"Good. I've called our lawyers as well, to arrange for emergency custody of Vonnie. To start proceedings to make it permanent as soon as we can. She's not going to be ripped away from the only home she's ever known. I've spoken with Elisa's parents—well, her mother and stepfather. Her mother—"

Her voice broke again, and she shook her head fiercely as if to deny herself the luxury. "They're coming here later today, so we can sit down and talk about what's best. Somehow."

"Elisa would be grateful that you're taking care of her daughter. She'd be grateful you're helping us do our job."

"Yes." Deann squared her shoulders at Eve's words. "I hope so."

"What do you know about Abel Maplewood? Elisa's father."

"A difficult man, in my opinion. But he and Elisa managed to maintain a good relationship. I haven't been able to reach him to tell him. He's out West somewhere. Omaha, Idaho, Utah... I'm so scattered." She dragged both hands through her hair. "He's been out there a week or so, visiting his brother, I think. Probably sponging off him, to be frank. Elisa was always slipping him money. Her mother's going to try to reach him today."

"It would help if we had his whereabouts. Just routine."

"I'll see you get the information. And I know you need to look in her rooms. I put the girls in Zanna's room, so they won't be disturbed." She started to rise, but Peabody put a hand to her shoulder.

"Why don't you stay here, try to rest. We know where her rooms are."

They left her there. "Record on, Peabody."

They stepped into a small, cheerful sitting room done in bold colors. There were a few toys scattered around, and a little basket with a red cushion Eve assumed was a kind of bed for the dog.

She moved through it, and into Elisa's bedroom. "Make a note to have EDD check out her 'links, her data units." She went to the dresser first, began to go through drawers.

She already had a sense of a settled, content, hardworking woman. The search of her quarters did nothing to change that. There were a number of framed photographs, most of the child. There were flowers and the little trinkets women enjoyed having around.

Her wardrobe was casual, with two good suits, two pair of good shoes. There was nothing in it that spoke of a man.

She checked the bedside 'link herself, pulled up the last incoming. It was from her mother, a chatty, affectionate conversation that included the child toward the end when the little girl ran into the room and babbled away at her
gamma
.

"Dallas, I think I found something." Peabody held up another basket. This was in the cupboard under the sitting-room entertainment screen.

"What is it?"

"A craft basket. Handwork stuff. She did crafts." Peabody held up a skein of ribbon. It wasn't red, but it was the same basic type as what had killed her.

Eve stepped forward to take it just as a little girl came into the sitting room. She was tiny, with curly hair so blonde it was nearly white spilling around a pretty, chubby-cheeked face. She was knuckling her eyes.

"That's my mommy's. You're not supposed to touch Mommy's sewing basket, 'less she says."

"Ah..."

"I'll take her," Peabody murmured, and handing off the basket to Eve, crouched down to child level. "Hi, are you Vonnie?"

The child hunched her shoulders. "Not supposed to speak to strangers."

"That's right, but it's okay to talk to the police, isn't it?" Peabody took out her badge, gave it to the little girl. "Did your mommy tell you about the police?"

"They help people and catch bad guys."

"That's right. I'm Detective Peabody, and this is Lieutenant Dallas."

" Whatsa Loonat?"

"It's a job," Peabody said without missing a beat. "It means she's a policeman who catches lots of bad guys."

"Okay. I can't find my mommy. Aunt Deann's sleeping. Can you find my mommy?"

Peabody's eyes met Eve's over the little girl's head. "Why don't we go find your aunt Deann?" Peabody suggested.

"She's sleeping." Her voice spiked, her lips began to tremble. "She said a bad man hurt my mommy and she can't come home. I want my mommy to come home
now
."

" Vonnie—"

But she shook Peabody off, planted herself in front of Eve. "Did a bad man hurt my mommy?"

"You should come with me now, Vonnie."

"I want her to say." She pointed her little finger at Eve, poked out her bottom lip. "She's the Loonat."

Jesus, Eve thought.
Oh, Jesus.
She jerked her head, signaling Peabody to get Deann, then she sucked it in, crouched as Peabody had. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Tears were gathering in big eyes the color of bluebells. "Did she go to the doctor?"

Eve thought of Morris, the steel table, the cold, clear lights of the morgue. "Not exactly."

"Doctors make you better. She should go to the doctor. If she can't come home, can you take me to her?"

"I can't. She's... she's in a place we can't go. All I can do is find the person who hurt her, so he can be punished."

"He'll have to stay in his room?"

"Yeah, so he can't ever hurt anyone else."

"Then she can come home?"

Eve looked over, helpless and weak with relief when Deann rushed in. " Vonnie. Come with me, baby."

"I want Mommy."

"I know, baby. I know." Deann gathered her up, snuggled her in as the child began to weep on her shoulder. "I fell asleep. I'm sorry."

"I know it's hard. I know it's bad timing all around. I need to ask you where she got the supplies in this basket."

"Her sewing basket? Here and there. She loved to make things. I went with her a few times. She tried to teach me, but I was hopeless. There was a place on Third—ah, God—um, Sew What. And a big supply house downtown, near Union Square. Total Crafts, I think. And the one at the Sky Mall. I'm sorry."

She rocked back and forth on her heels, stroking Vonnie's hair. "She'd go in to a shop if she was passing, rarely came out empty-handed."

"Would you know where she bought this, specifically?" Eve held up the ribbon.

"No, I don't."

"I'm going to arrange for her data and communication equipment to be taken in. Would all her transactions and transmissions have been made and received by the ones in these rooms?"

"She might have called her mother, say, from one of the other 'links. But she did all her personal work on her own unit. I need to settle Vonnie down."

"Go ahead."

Eve studied the ribbon. "It's a good lead," Peabody said.

"It's a lead." She put the ribbon in her evidence bag. "Let's run it down."

The main door of the penthouse opened as Eve walked back into the living area. The man who entered had a shock of gold hair, a pale, tired face. She saw Deann spring up from the couch where she was holding Vonnie, and with the child still in her arms, leap toward him.

"Luther. Oh, God, Luther."

" Deann." He enfolded both of them, dropped his head to his wife's shoulder. "It's not a mistake?"

She shook her head, and let go with the weeping Eve imagined she'd been holding in for hours.

"I'm sorry to intrude. I'm Lieutenant Dallas."

He lifted his head. "Yes. Yes, I recognize you. Deann? Sweetheart, take Vonnie in the bedroom." He kissed them both, and let them go.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Vanderlea."

"Luther. Please. What can I do? Is there something I should do?"

"It would help if you answered a few questions."

"Yes. All right." He looked in the direction his wife had gone. "I couldn't get here sooner. It seemed to take forever to get home. Deann told me... I'm still not clear. Elisa—she went out to walk the dog, and she was... Deann said she was raped and murdered. Raped and murdered right over in the park."

"Would she have told you if she was being bothered by anyone, if she was concerned about anything?"

"Yes." He said it without hesitation. "If not me, certainly she would have told Deann. They were very close. We... We're family." He sat, let his head fall back.

"Were you and Ms. Maplewood close?"

"You're asking me if Elisa and I had a sexual relationship. I wondered if you would, and told myself not to be insulted. I'm trying not to be. I don't cheat on my wife, Lieutenant. I certainly wouldn't take advantage of a very vulnerable woman in my employ, a woman I liked very much, a woman who worked very hard to give her child a good life."

"I don't ask to offend you. Why do you characterize Ms. Maplewood as vulnerable?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, dropped his hand. "She was a single parent who had been misused by her husband, who was dependent on me for her salary, for the roof over her head, come to that. Not that she couldn't have found other employment. She knew how to work. But she might not have found a situation that allowed her child to grow up in a home like this, with a playmate, with people who loved her. Vonnie's welfare was first for Elisa."

"Was she threatened by her ex-husband?"

He smiled, humorlessly. "Not anymore. She was a strong woman, who'd put him where he belonged. In the past."

"Do you know of anyone who'd want to hurt her?"

"Absolutely no one. That's the God's truth. I can't resign myself, not fully, to the fact that anyone did. I know you have a job to do, but so do I. My wife needs me, the children need me. Can we do whatever else needs to be done later?"

"Yes. I want to take this." She pulled out the roll of ribbon. "I can give you a receipt."

"Not necessary." He pushed to his feet, rubbed his hands over his face. "I've heard you're good at your job."

"I am good at it."

"I'm depending on you." He offered his hand. "We all are."

———«»——————«»——————«»———

They hit crafts stores, crisscrossing Manhattan on the way downtown. Eve had no idea there was so much involved in the making of so many things easily available ready-made. When she expressed the opinion, Peabody smiled and fingered some brightly-colored thread sold in hanks.

"There's a lot of satisfaction in making something yourself. Picking the colors, the materials, the pattern. Individualizing it, and seeing it come to life."

"You say so."

"A lot of craftsmen and artisans in my family. Goes with the whole Free- Agerphilosophy. I'm pretty handy myself, but I don't have a lot of time for it. I still have the tea cozy my grandmother helped me crochet when I was ten."

"I don't even know what that is."

"What, the tea cozy or crocheting?"

"Either, and I find I have no interest in finding out." She studied the shelves and displays, full of supplies and finished products. "A lot of the clerks we've talked to remember Maplewood. Don't see a lot of men in these joints."

"Needlework remains primarily the work and/or hobby of the female. Too bad. It can be very relaxing. My uncle Jonas knits up a storm and claims it's one of the reasons he's a healthy, vital one hundred and six. Or seven. Maybe it's eight."

Eve didn't bother to respond but headed out of the shop. "Nobody, thus far, remembers any man bothering Elisa or any other customer for that matter. Nobody asking questions about her, loitering around. Same kind of ribbon. There has to be a connection."

"He could've bought it anywhere, any time. He might've seen her in one of the stores, then gone back later to buy his own. You know, they have these craft fairs, too. He could've bumped into her at one of those. I bet she'd go to the fairs, maybe take the kids."

"That's a good line. Check it out with the Vanderleas." She stood on the sidewalk, thumbs in front pockets, fingers tapping idly on her hips as people streamed or trudged around her. "Do that later. They need some space. We're only a few blocks from the shelter. We'll ask Louise about the witch."

" Sensitivesaren't necessarily witches, just as witches aren't necessarily sensitives. Hey, a glide-cart!"

"Wait, wait!" Eve pressed a hand to her temple, stared at the sky. "I'm getting a vision. It's you stuffing a soy dog in your mouth."

"I was going to go for the fruit kabob and perhaps a small, walkaway salad. But now you've put the damn dog in my head and I have to have it."

"I knew that. Get me some fries, tube of Pepsi."

"I knew
that
," Peabody replied. But she was too happy with the idea she'd actually get lunch to complain about paying for it.

Chapter Four

It didn't look like a refuge, Eve thought.

It looked, from the outside at least, like a well-maintained, modest, multiresident building. Middle-income apartments, sans doorman. The casual observer wouldn't note anything special about it, even if he bothered to look.

And that, Eve reminded herself, was precisely the point. The women and children who fled here didn't want anyone to notice.

But if you were a cop, you'd probably note and approve of the first-rate security. Full-scan cams, cleverly disguised in the simple trims and moldings. Privacy screens activated at all windows.

If you were a cop and knew Roarke, you could be certain there were motion pads at every access, with top-of-the-line alarms. Entree would require palm-plate identification, keypad code, and/or clearance from inside. There would be twenty-four-hour security—probably human and droid—and you could bet your ass the entire place would lock down like a vault at any attempt to break in.

Not just a refuge, but a fortress.

Dochas, Gaelic for "hope," was as safe—probably safer due to its anonymity—as the White House.

If she'd known such places existed, would she have fled to one instead of wandering the streets of Dallas, a child broken, traumatized, and lost?

No. Fear would have sent her running away from hope.

Even now, knowing better, she felt uneasy stepping up to the door. Alleys were easier, she thought, because you knew there were rats in the dark. You expected them.

But she reached up to ring the bell.

Before she could signal, the door opened.

Dr. Louise Dimatto, that blond bundle of energy, greeted them.

She wore a pale blue lab coat over a simple black shirt and trousers. Two tiny gold hoops glinted in her left ear, with a third in the right. There were no rings on her competent fingers, and a plain, serviceable wrist unit sat on her left hand.

Nothing about her screamed money, though she came from big green seas of it.

She was pretty as a strawberry parfait, classy as a crystal flute of champagne, and a born reformer who lived to fight in the trenches.

"About damn time." She grabbed Eve's hand and pulled her inside. "I was beginning to think I'd have to call nine-one-one to get you down here. Hi, Peabody. Boy, don't you look great."

Peabody beamed. "Thanks." After considerable experimentation, she'd found what she liked to think of as her detective look with simple lines, interesting colors, and matching airsneaks or skids.

"We appreciate you making time," Eve began.

"Time's constantly being made. My goal is to make enough so there's twenty-six hours per day. That should be just about right. How about a tour?"

"We need—"

"Come
on
." She kept Eve's hand trapped in hers. "Let me show off a little. Remodeling and rehab are finally complete, though Roarke's given me carte blanche for additional decorating or equipment. The man is now my god."

"Yeah, he likes that part."

Louise laughed, and hooked her arms through Eve's on one side and Peabody's on the other. "I don't have to tell you the security is flawless."

"No security is flawless."

"Don't be a cop," she complained and gave Eve a little hip check. "We have common rooms down here. Kitchen—and the food's great—dining area, library, a playroom, and what we call the family room."

Eve could already hear the chatter as Louise took them down a hallway, gesturing to rooms. Women and children chatter, Eve thought. The sort that always made her feel awkward and edgy.

It smelled like girls, too—mostly—though she caught sight of what she thought were a couple of young boys loping off toward what was likely the kitchen area.

There were scents of polish and flowers and what she thought might be hair products. Tones of lemon and vanilla and the hard candy smell she always associated with groups of females.

There was a lot of color in the place as well as a lot of room. Cheerful color, comfortable furniture, spots for sitting alone, spots for conversation.

She saw immediately that the family room was the popular spot.

There were about a dozen women of various ages and races gathered there. Sitting on sofas, on the floor with the kids, who were also of various ages and races. They were talking, or sitting in silence, watching the entertainment screen or juggling babies on their laps.

She wondered why people were forever bouncing babies when it seemed—from her wary observation—that the perpetual motion only caused whatever was in their digestive systems to come spewing out. Of either end.

Not all the babies appeared to appreciate it, either. One of them was burbling in what might have been contentment, but two others were making sounds very reminiscent of emergency vehicles on the run.

It didn't seem to bother anyone, particularly. Certainly not the field of kids on the floor, playing or bickering over their chosen activities.

"Ladies."

Conversation died off as the women looked toward the doorway. Children shut up like clams. Babies continued to wail or burble.

"I'd like to introduce you to Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody."

In the moment's pause, Eve saw the reaction to the thought of
cops
. The drawing into self, the nervous flicker of eyes, the gathering closer of children.

The abuser might be the enemy and Louise the ally, but cops, Eve thought, were the unknown and could fall into either camp.

"Lieutenant Dallas is Roarke's wife, and this is her first visit."

There was relief for some—the easing of tension in faces and bodies, even tentative smiles. And for others, the suspicion remained.

It wasn't just a mix of ages and races. There was also a mix of injuries. Fresh bruises, fading ones. Mending bones. Mending lives.

She knew their apprehension; felt it herself. And hated that while Louise looked at her expectantly, her skin was going cold, and her throat shutting down.

"It's a nice place you've got here," she managed.

"It's a miracle." The woman who spoke stood up. She limped slightly as she crossed the room. Eve pegged her at around forty, and from the looks of her face, she'd taken a nasty and recent beating. She held out a hand to Eve. "Thank you."

She didn't want to take the hand offered. Didn't want the connection, but there was no choice as the woman looked at her with expectation, and horribly, with gratitude. "I didn't do anything."

"You're Roarke's wife. If I'd had the courage to come to a place like this, to go to the police, to look for help before now, my daughter wouldn't be hurt."

She turned slightly, gestured toward a girl with dark curly hair, and a skincast on her right arm. "Come say hello to Lieutenant Dallas, Abra."

The girl obeyed, and though she pressed her body against her mother's legs, she stared curiously up at Eve. "The police stop people from hurting you. Maybe."

"Yeah. They try to."

"My daddy hurt me, so we had to go away."

There would be a horrible snapping sound when the bone broke. A terrible and bright pain. A flood of greasy nausea. A red haze of shock over the eyes.

Eve felt it all again as she stood there, staring down at the girl. She wanted to step back, far, far back. Away from it.

"You're okay now." Her voice sounded thin and distant under the roaring in her ears.

"He hurts my mama. He gets mad and he hurts her. But this time I didn't hide in my room like she said, and he hurt me, too."

"He broke her arm." Tears flooded the woman's bruised eyes. "It took that to wake me up."

"You don't blame yourself, Marly," Louise said gently.

"We can stay here with Dr. Louise, and nobody hurts you, and nobody yells or throws things."

"It's a good place." Peabody hunkered down as much to take the focus off Eve as to speak to the child. Her lieutenant looked ill. "I bet there's lots to do."

"We have chores, and teachers. You have to do your chores and go to school. Then you can play. There's a lady upstairs, and she's having a baby."

"Is that so?" Peabody glanced back at Louise. "Now?"

"First-stage labor. We have full obstetric and natal facilities, and a midwife on staff full-time. Try to keep off that leg as much as possible for another twenty-four, Marly."

"I will. It's better. A lot better. Everything is."

"We really need to speak with you, Louise."

"All right, we'll just..." Louise trailed off as she got a look at Eve's face. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine. A little pressed for that time, that's all."

"We'll head up to my office." Deliberately, she laid her fingers on Eve's wrist as they walked back toward the stairs. "Your skin's clammy," she murmured. "Pulse is rapid and thready, and you've gone pale. Let me take you into Exam."

"I'm just tired." She eased away. "We're running on two hours' sleep. I don't need a doctor, I need an interview."

"Okay, all right, but you don't get the interview unless you down a protein booster."

There was activity on the second floor as well. Voices behind closed doors. And weeping.

"Therapy sessions," Louise explained. "Sometimes they can get intense. Moira, a moment?"

Two women were standing outside of what Eve assumed was another therapy room or office. One turned, and her gaze skipped over Louise and fastened on Eve. She murmured something to her companion, gave her a long hug, then started down the hall.

Eve knew who she was. Moira O'Bannion, formerly of Dublin. The woman who'd known Roarke's mother, and after more than thirty years had told him that what he'd known of his beginnings was a lie based on murder.

Sickness curdled in Eve's belly.

"Moira O'Bannion, Eve Dallas, Delia Peabody."

"I'm so glad to meet you. I hope Roarke is well."

"He's good. He's fine." Sweat began to slide like cold grease down her spine.

"Moira's one of our treasures. I stole her."

Moira laughed. "Recruited, we'll say. Though dragooned wouldn't be far off. Louise is fierce. You're having the tour."

"Not exactly. It's not a social call."

"Ah. I should let you get to business then. How's Jana doing?"

"Four centimeters dilated, thirty percent effaced last check. She's got a ways to go."

"Let me know when she's ready, will you? We're all excited about the new baby." Moira smiled at Peabody. "It's good to meet you both, and I hope you won't be strangers. My very best to Roarke," she said to Eve and stepped out of their way.

"Moira's brilliant," Louise said as she led the way to the next level. "She's making a big difference here. I've been able to—ha—dragoon some of the best therapists, doctors, psychiatrists, and counselors in the city. I bless the day you stomped into my clinic downtown, Dallas. It was the start of the twisty path that led me here."

She opened a door, gestured them inside. "Not to mention leading me to Charles." Briskly, she walked to a cabinet, and opened it to reveal a minifridgie. "Which reminds me, we're setting up that dinner party I keep trying to pull off. Night after tomorrow, Charles's place—it's cozier than mine—eight o'clock. Suit you and McNab, Peabody?"

"Sure. Sounds like fun."

"I've cleared it with Roarke." She handed both Eve and Peabody a bottled protein booster.

She'd have preferred ice-cold water and an open window so she could lean out, just breathe. "We're in the middle of an investigation."

"Understood. Doctors and cops learn to be flexible and live with canceled social engagements. Barring emergencies, we'll expect you. Now sit, drink your protein. Lemon-flavored."

Because it was quicker than arguing and she could use a boost, Eve opened the bottle and chugged.

The office was a big step up from the one Louise kept at her clinic. Roomier, more fancily furnished. Efficient, as you'd expect, but with style.

"Swankier digs here," Eve commented.

" Roarkeinsisted, and I confess, he didn't have to twist my arm. One of the elements we're aiming for here is comfort. Hominess. We want these women, these kids, to feel at ease."

"You've done a good job." Peabody sat and savored her drink. "It feels like a home."

"Thanks." Cocking her head, Louise studied Eve. "Well, you look better. Color's back."

"Thanks, Doc." Eve dumped the empty container in the recycler slot. "So. Celina Sanchez."

"Ah, Celina. Fascinating woman. I've known her for years. We went to school together for a couple of years. Her family's loaded, like mine. Very, very conservative, like mine. She's the black sheep. Like me. So, naturally enough, we're friends. Why are you looking into her?"

"She paid me a visit this morning. Claims she's a psychic."

"She is." Louise frowned, and got herself a bottle of Fizzy water. "A very gifted sensitive, who practices professionally. Which is why she's the black sheep. Her family disapproves of and is embarrassed by her work. As I said, very conservative. Why did she come to see you? Celina specializes in private consult, and party work."

"She claims she witnessed a murder."

"My God. Is she all right?"

"She wasn't there. She had a vision."

"Oh. That must've been horrible for her."

"So you buy it. Just like..." Eve snapped her fingers.

"If Celina came to see you, told you she'd seen a murder, she saw one." Thoughtfully, Louise sipped at her water. "She doesn't hide her gift, but she keeps it all very professional, and well, you could say surface."

"Define surface," Eve prompted.

"She enjoys what she does—what she has, and she's geared it toward entertaining more than counseling, let's say. She keeps it light. I've never known her to get involved with anything like this. Who was killed?"

"A woman was raped, strangled, and mutilated in Central Park last night."

"I heard about that." Louise sat behind a glossy and feminine desk. "There weren't a lot of details. Your case?"

"Yeah. Celina had a lot of the details that weren't released. You're vouching for her?"

"I am. Yes, I'd believe her, no question. Can she help?"

"Yet to be determined. What do you know about her, on a personal front?"