Authors: J. D. Robb
“Carmichael. She and Santiago can get started.”
“Eve, it’s still shy of five in the morning there.”
“Why?”
“Well, the magic elephant who carries the wide dish of the planet on its massive back moves ponderously on its daily trek around the sun.”
“Oh, bite me.” But the image he’d painted made as much sense to her as the scientific one. She decided to give her detectives another thirty minutes in the rack.
“No plan. Just like the other two in New York. There couldn’t have been a plan, couldn’t have been a specific target. So what prompted them to go hunting last night? One, they’ve already killed Campbell. Ahead of schedule, or she just gave out on them unexpectedly. And they didn’t get enough of a rush from it.”
“They’d dump her body quickly, wouldn’t they, in that eventuality. You’ll likely find her soon after the sun’s up.”
“No point keeping her. Might be they went to dump her, and here comes a new one, right into their lap. But why not wait to do the dump until later? Barely midnight – it’s early for a dump, less risk in another hour or two.”
“Part of the rush? That risk?”
“Yeah, maybe. Let’s raise the bar a little. So maybe. Second scenario, they decided to grab the next before they finish her. They’ve got a place, they’re where they want to be. Room for another? Got room, so why not have the next in the batter’s box?”
“Or…”
“A duet.” She nodded. “Two at once. We can’t know for sure, not for sure, they haven’t done that before along the way. We’ve profiled it one at a time, and it’s most likely, but we can’t be sure they haven’t pulled a twofer.”
“With two, you could use one to terrify the other. Or you could each have your own, work in tandem.”
“A lot of ugly possibilities. Until we find Jayla Campbell’s body, we’re going with the scenario they took a second, purposefully. Maybe impulsively. The loading zone wasn’t smart. But, if they haven’t lived in an urban area, they might not be aware of the cams on those.”
“It’s likely many who do and don’t own a vehicle or drive aren’t aware. And even many who own and do may not think of it. You have to drive onto the grid to activate the cam, and they’re notorious crap.”
He gave her a half smile. “I’ve lived in urban areas, and often needed a handy spot to… park. I should add, Lieutenant, that jamming one of those grid cams? Child’s play.”
“Let’s hope neither of them played the same games you did as a kid.”
Traffic thickened as they made their way uptown, with maxibuses blatting and farting along with their load of late shifts coming off, early shift going on. And the sky trams hauled more.
A few cabs zipped – most who worked the early and late shifts couldn’t afford cabs. But there would be those heading out to catch a shuttle, or a high-level LC on the way home after a profitable night.
“They’d come up here sometimes,” Eve muttered. “If you made a trip to New York, you’d do the tourist thing, wouldn’t you? You want the Midtown shops, the skating at Rockefeller, the park. You’d want to see the Empire State, you’d want to join the party at Times Square.”
She shifted to him. “You don’t come all this way without the party, do you? You don’t hole up inside the whole time, no matter how much fun you’re having. You can do that anywhere.”
“You’ve a point. What does it tell you?”
“Just more. They’re a couple. Lovers. Mira profiles them as in love – in their sick, fucked-up way. A romantic dinner somewhere, maybe? One of the hot spots. That means the right clothes, and that means shopping. That takes money, unless they use a vic’s card, and we’d be on them like rats on cheese. Souvenirs. You gotta have souvenirs.”
She rolled it over, turned it side-to-side as Roarke drove them home again.
Inside, they headed straight to her office. She smelled bacon before they made the last turn.
She might have snarled at that, but she also smelled coffee.
She walked in as Peabody handed a plate from the buffet table – already set up and loaded – to Banner.
“Hey, there you are. We figured we’d do the spread before you – you’ve been out already?”
Eve shrugged out of her coat, tossed it aside. “We’ve got another.”
“Another? Campbell —”
“Undetermined. Mulligan, Reed Aaron, age twenty-one, snatched at midnight and change last night, heading south on Seventh between Waverly and Charles.”
“You’ve got a wit?” McNab asked.
“We’ve got a ’link trans, and potentially a cam feed. Roarke, put this on screen while I see if Traffic’s come through.”
“Mulligan,” Roarke repeated, using the auxiliary to put the data on screen, “Reed Aaron, reported missing by his mother.”
While Roarke briefed them, Eve finally connected with someone from Traffic who knew an ass from an elbow – at least in her opinion.
“Feed’s coming through. I’m throwing it up. Crap,” she said seconds later when the flickering, muddy image came on. “Can you clean this up?” she demanded of McNab.
“Some, sure. Can I?”
She frowned, realized he wanted her desk, pushed up and away.
“Bad angle, too,” she muttered. “That’s just stupid. We’re not going to get a tag, angle’s too high. But that’s going to be enough for somebody to nail down make and model. Where are they? Where – there – somebody’s getting out on the curbside. Is that somebody getting out? McNab!”
“Working on it. I can take it into the lab here or at Central, clean it up better and faster.”
“Just give me something here.”
Roarke strolled over, leaned over McNab’s shoulder. The two of them began muttering in geek.
“Can’t see the street-side door. Cam’s just shit, but that’s the woman. That’s the female. Short skirt, short jacket.”
“Can’t get a good read on her.” Banner strained as Eve did. “Height, maybe. Figuring the height of the van – that’s a van… maybe five-six? Hair’s covered, face turned away, gloves. Can’t see enough of her.”
“Is that a corner of the license plate? I think it is,” Peabody gestured. “And that’s some sort of sticker in the back window. That triangle.”
“That’s better, a little better,” Eve said as the image cleared a bit more. “Yeah, that’s the woman. You can tell by the way she moves she’s hunting, and she’s wearing the slut stockings.”
“Fishnets,” Peabody supplied.
“Looking around, opening the back. Can you zoom in on the back, on the interior while she’s got the back open?”
The image jerked, flickered again, madly for a moment, then steadied.
The woman hauled a chair halfway out the back. A big armchair, but she didn’t seem to have much trouble with it. Some muscle there, Eve gauged, and a routine.
An open bag – small duffel? – on the floor. She saw a shadow move farther up.
“Pull it back! There, that’s the male – getting out street side. He’s in the shadows, but… shit. Used something to break out the streetlight.”
“Slingshot maybe.”
Eve frowned at Banner. “A slingshot?”
“That’d be my guess. We’ve got kids do that back home when they’re bored enough. You can’t see him anymore.”
“He’s got to get out of sight. Slide around in front of the van, maybe slip into one of the doorways on the other side of the sidewalk. Vics are hit from behind. Peabody, I want all the security cam feed from the buildings on that side of the street.”
“On it.”
“She’s looking back – a little bit of profile. Sees somebody? Yeah, yeah, see how she glances back – signaling her partner. Here it comes. Oh yeah, she pulls the hat off, shakes her hair back, so he can see her – so Mulligan can see her. Long blond hair. Probably Caucasian.”
“Jesus, Dallas, can we make her from this?”
She kept her eyes on screen as she answered Banner. “We will make her. There’s Mulligan – hunter green coat, hood up, he’s blocking her from the camera, but we’ll make her. Give me a hand, could you?” Eve whispered. “I’m just not strong enough to get it inside. Aren’t you sweet to stop and help? And he bends his knees, like you do, gets a grip on the chair, starts to lift it.”
It was fast, shadows and jerks, flickering and blurs, but she caught enough. The sap – some sort of sap – coming down fast and hard, and the man, the woman, shoving Mulligan inside, the woman scrambling in behind him. The door slammed shut, and in seconds, the van pulled out and away.
“They weren’t there ten fucking minutes. Their luck’s not going to hold, that kind of luck doesn’t hold. Get that in the lab, use this one,” she ordered McNab. “Get it as clean as you can, and send me every piece of the unsubs, every piece. I want an ID on the sticker on the back window, make and model of the vehicle.”
“Corner of the plate,” Peabody added.
“If you can do anything with it, do it.”
“I’ll give you a hand with it,” Roarke told him. “Load up a plate first. A man’s got to eat,” he said to Eve.
“Fine. Would Feeney make a difference?”
“Considerable.” Roarke got a plate for himself. “We could split up the identification and cleaning and enhancing.”
“I’m tagging him. Peabody, wake up Carmichael. I want her and Santiago working their angle now. Bring them up to speed.”
“Where do you want me? I feel like deadweight,” Banner admitted.
Eve brought up the map. “Those are the snatch points, and the dump site. My guess is Mulligan was impulse, so their hole’s close to that. I want a list of souvenir shops in that area.”
“Souvenirs?”
“Do you plan to go home without one?”
He smiled, sheepish. “Peabody said how she could score me an NYPSD sweatshirt, and maybe a hoodie. And my mama collects snowglobes. Don’t ask me why, she just likes them. I figured I’d find one before I left.”
He nodded. “We don’t see them as from here, so they’d want souvenirs.”
“And when we make them, we start showing their pictures around to the places you list. Takeout places, too, Banner, while you’re at it. Deliveries would be chancy, but you can get food, any kind of food, and cart it home with you. I’m betting neither of them is much of the domestic type. And like Roarke said, a man’s got to eat. Women, too.”
“I’ll get started.”
“Want one more?”
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
“Pawnshops, secondhand shops. They need money for food and souvenirs, right? Electronics would be the first and easiest. But we’ve got a file of what Kuper and Campbell were wearing when they were taken. And I’ve got one now on Mulligan. If they liked the clothes and they fit, they’d keep them. But if they didn’t, they’ll sell them.
“Get a plate,” she suggested. “Work and eat.”
She went to her desk, contacted Feeney.
His hangdog face seemed a little baggier, his explosion of silver-threaded ginger hair a bit more electrified. But since he hadn’t blocked video, she assumed he wasn’t still in bed.
“Wait,” he said, and glugged what she knew was coffee from a bright red mug. “What?”
“We’ve caught a break on the spree killers. I’ve got some security feed from a loading dock cam.”
“Those cams are crap.”
“Yeah, which is why I’m asking if you can give me some time on it. Roarke and McNab are already on it, at the home lab. We’ve got a decent image of the vehicle, some partials on the unsubs. Maybe part of a plate, and some sort of rear window sticker. We’ve got them taking out the latest vic.”
“The girl?”
“She’s not the latest. They got one last night. Male, just turned twenty-one. No word if they dumped Campbell’s body, but it’s early.”
“Tell me.” He rubbed one of his baggy eyes. “I can be there inside thirty. Put the coffee on.”
“You got it. Thanks. Peabody,” she said the minute she clicked off. “Status.”
“Carmichael and Santiago have a couple of lines to tug. One they’ve got a buzz over, but they crapped out on it last night. Hitting it again this morning.”
Peabody shoveled in some eggs. “Bubba’s Body Shop, Towing and Pies.”
Eve started to speak, thought again, then shook her head. “You’re making that up.”
“Hand to God.” Peabody took a moment to lay one hand over her heart, raise the other. “Carmichael says Bubba’s wife makes the pies, and Bubba and their son run the rest. She and Santiago got a guilt vibe off the son, but they aren’t giving it up.”
“They need to get the son on his own.”
“That’s the plan.”
With a grunt, Eve turned back to her comp to write the report on Mulligan, and update all salient parties. She’d run a probability on Campbell’s chances. Dead or alive. But she wanted to run it by Mira.
Something was going to break, and soon. She could feel it, almost hear those first cracks in the wall.
But would it be soon enough?
He’d wept while he raped her.
No, no, that wasn’t right, Jayla thought. She couldn’t and wouldn’t call it rape. Not when they’d beaten him first, and cut him.
And her.
Not when they’d forced the sex drug into him, and held a knife to his throat unless he’d crawled on top of her. She’d tried to talk to him with her eyes. Tried to tell him to just do it, it didn’t matter, she didn’t blame him.
His tears had fallen on her. She wondered she didn’t drown in them.
They’d put a knife to her throat, too, when forcing him to push into her wasn’t enough. And Ella-Loo had pulled the gag off, told her to scream, to beg.
Beg him, beg him to stop. Scream!
So she had, though her screams were hoarse and weak, she’d screamed and begged. And all the while her eyes told the weeping boy it didn’t matter. It wasn’t his fault.
Once she’d believed, absolutely, rape was the worst that could happen to a woman. The ultimate violation. She knew better now. This – what they made him (Reed, she remembered. She would think of him as Reed) do to her was nothing compared to what they’d already done.
What she feared they could do. What they would do.
Everybody said rape was about power, control, and not about sex. Maybe that was true, but for Darryl and Ella-Loo, sex was part of it, too.
They pawed each other with their free hands while the boy did what they made him do. And they told each other what they’d do to each other.
And they were in such a hurry to fuck, they dragged the boy off, trussed him up again right on the floor where he fell, left him there. They raced away because Ella-Loo said she wanted the bed.