Imitation in Death (30 page)

"Practiced or not, the speed is going to make him sloppy, Roarke stated. "He may be meticulous, he may have honed his talents, but he's moving too fast for caution."

"I think you're right about that. And when he messes up, we'll -get him. When we get him, when I get him in the box and break him down, we're going to find out there were more. Other bodies, hidden or destroyed, until he got better. Until he could leave them to be found, with some pride. But his early mistakes, he doesn't want to be embarrassed by them. That's the emotional reason. The other's more practical. He didn't want to leave too many like crimes on the books, draw attention until he was ready to make his splash."

"I've done some research of my own." Roarke swiveled the workstation aside. "For fifteen months between March of 2012 and May of 2013,. a man named Peter Brent murdered seven police officers in the city of Chicago. Brent, unable to pass the psych screen to become a member of the CPSD, joined a fringe paramilitary group where he learned how to handle what would be his weapon of choice, a long-range blaster, already banned for civilians at that time."

"I know about Beast. He liked rooftops. He'd hunker down on a roof, wait for a cop to come into range, and take him out with a head shot. It took a fifty-man task force more than a year to bring him down."

Understanding, she leaned forward, laid her hands on Roarke's. "Brent didn't kill women, he killed cops. Didn't matter to him as long as they had the uniform he couldn't wear. He doesn't fit the profile for the prototype."

"Five of the seven dead cops were female officers. As was the chief of police who he tried, and failed, to assassinate. Don't hose me, Lieutenant," he said calmly enough. "You've thought of Brent, and you've run a probability just as I have. You know there's an eighty-eight point six probability factor that he will emulate Brent, and target you."

"He's not going to go for me," she insisted. Not yet, she thought. Not quite yet. "He needs me to pursue, so he feels more important, more successful, more satisfied. Taking me out wouldn't give him the same rush."

"So he's saving you for his final act."

There was no point in dissembling, not with Roarke. "I figure he may have that for a long-range goal. But I can promise you, he won't get there."

He took her hand, linked fingers. "I'm holding you to that promise."

Chapter 16

She'd decided to hang on to Roarke for her interview with Roberta Gable. He would, she considered, provide another set of impressions. The former child-care professional had agreed to speak with Eve as long as the interview lasted no longer than twenty minutes.

"She wasn't particularly gracious about it," Eve told him as they approached the small" apartment complex where Gable made her home. "Especially when I said we'd be here around six-thirty. She eats promptly at seven, and I was told I'd have to respect that.

"People of a certain age tend to develop routines?"

"And she called me Miss Dallas. Repeatedly."

Companionably, Roarke swung an arm around her shoulders. "You already hate her."

"I do. I really do. But the job's the job. No snuggling on the job," she added.

"I keep forgetting that." Still he gave her a friendly squeeze before removing his arm.

Eve stepped up to the security grid, gave her name, displayed her badge, stated her business. She was cleared so quickly she assumed Gable had been waiting for her..

"I'm going to intro you as my associate," she said as they walked into the tiny foyer. One look at his gorgeous face, the elegant suit, and the shoes that probably cost more than Gable's monthly rent had Eve sighing. "And unless she's blind and senile, she won't buy it, but we'll try to brush by that."

"It shows a definite bias to assume that cops can't be well dressed."

"Your shirt lists for more than my weapon," she chided. "So once in, you keep it buttoned, the lip as well as the shirt, and look firm and stern."

"And I was counting on shooting you quiet, adoring looks."

"Burst that bubble. Second floor." They took the steps, turned into a short hall- with two doors on either side.

The absolute silence told her the building had excellent soundproofing, or everyone in the place was dead. Eve pressed the buzzer beside 2B.

"Miss Dallas?"

At the- sound of the voice through the speaker, Roarke firmed his lips against a grin and stared dutifully at the door. "Lieutenant Dallas, Ms. Gable."

"I want to see your identification. Hold it up to the peep." After Eve complied there was a long silence. "It appears to be in order. There's a man with you. You didn't indicate there would be a man with you."

"My associate, Ms.. Gable. May we come in, please? I don't want to take up any more of your time than necessary." "Very well."

There was another stretch during which Eve assumed various locks were being turned. Roberta Gable opened the door, and scowled.

Her identification photo was, if anything, flattering. Her thin face had the sort of hard edges Eve judged came from not only avoiding any of the softer areas of life but disparaging them. The grooves around her mouth indicated that the scowl was a' regular feature. Her hair was pulled back so tightly it gave Eve a headache just to look at it.

She was dressed in gray, like her hair -a crisp shirt and skirt that hung on her bony body. Her shoes were black and thick soled, with laces tied in very precise knots.

"I know you," she said to Roarke, and sucked in so much air her nostrils flared visibly.: "You are not a police officer."

"No, ma'am."

"Civilian consultants are often utilized by the police department," Eve put in. "If you have any questions about this procedure, you can call my commanding officer in New York. We can wait outside until you verify."

"That won't be necessary." She stepped back until they entered the living area. It was ruthlessly clean, and spartan. None of the frilly business Eve generally expected from older women living alone was in evidence.

No pillows or dust-catchers, no framed photos or flowers. There was a single sofa, a single chair, two tables, two lamps. It was as soulless, and just as welcoming, as a cage in a high-security prison.

One would not, she was sure, hear the dulcet sounds of a Carmichael Smith CD within these walls. That, at least, was one small mercy.

"You may sit, on the sofa. I will not offer refreshments this close to mealtime."

She took the chair, sat with her back straight as, a poker, her feet flat on the floor with her knees pressed so tightly together they might have been glued. She folded her hands in her lap.

"You indicated you wished to speak to me regarding one of my former charges, but refused to give me a name. I find that quite rude, Miss Dallas."

"I find murder quite rude, and that's what I'm investigating."

"There is no need for sass. If you can't conduct yourself with respect, this interview is over."

"Respect's a two-way street. My name is Lieutenant Dallas."

Gable's mouth folded in; but she inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Very well. Lieutenant Dallas. I assume since you've attained that rank you have some aptitude for your profession, and some sense. If you'll explain, succinctly, why you've -come to speak to me, we can conclude this matter and get back to our business."

"My questions will be of a highly confidential nature. I'm asking for your discretion."

"I lived- and worked in private homes, among important families, most. of my life. I am nothing if not discreet." "One of those families included a son. Niles Renquist." Gable's eyebrows shot up, the first genuine animation she'd shown. "If you've come all the way from New York to ask me about the Renquists, you're wasting my time and your own. Mine is valuable to me."

"Valuable enough, I'd imagine, to want to avoid being transported to New York and brought into formal interview."

The threat was hot air. No judge would give her the power to drag a civilian across state lines on what little she'd gathered.'But the idea of the inconvenience was often enough to elicit cooperation.

"I don't believe you can have me taken to New York like a comment criminal." There was more animation now as temper put an almost rosy flush in Gable's cheeks. "I have no doubt my attorney could prevent such a high-handed tactic."

"Maybe. Go-ahead and contact him, if you want to go to the trouble, the time, and the expense. We'll see who wins in the end"

"I don't care for your attitude, or your demeanor."

Gable's fingers had curled on her thighs, with the knuckles going white. A pincher. Eve was sure of it.

"I get that a lot. Something about murder just gets me all irritable. You can talk to. me here and now, Ms. Gable, in the comfort of your own home. Or we can start the bureaucratic ball rolling. Up to you."

Gable had a good stare, icy and unblinking. But it was no match for a cop with eleven years under her belt.

"Very well. You can ask your questions. I'll answer what I deem

"Did Niles Renquist ever demonstrate violent or disturbing behavior under your watch?"

"Certainly not." She sniffed even the thought of it away. "He was a well-bred young man from good family. I believe his current position and circumstance bears that out."

"Does he keep in touch with you?"

"I receive flowers on my birthday and a card at Christmas, as is proper."

"So, the two of you maintain an affectionate relationship."

"Affectionate?" Gable's face drew together as if she'd scented something vaguely unpleasant. "I neither want nor expect affection from any of my charges, Lieutenant Dallas, as I doubt you expect any from your subordinates."

"What do-or did-you expect?"

"Obedience, respect, and organized, well-disciplined behavior."

Sounded more like the army than the nursery to Eve, but she nodded. "And you received, same from Renquist."

"Of course."

"Did you employ corporal punishment?"

"When appropriate. My methods,. which served me and my charges well, were to suit the disciplinary action to the child and the offense."

"To your memory, what disciplinary actions most usually suited Niles Renquist?"

"He responded best to denial. Denial of recreation, society, entertainment, etcetera. He could and would become argumentative or sullen during the deprivation, but would, eventually, submit. He learned, as did all my charges, that there are consequences for unacceptable behavior."

"Did he have friends?"

"He had a suitably selected number of playmates and acquaintances."

"Selected by?"

"Myself, or his parents."

"And his relationship with his parents?"

"Was all that it should be. I fail to see the pertinence of these questions."

"Nearly done. Did he have any pets?"

"There was, I recall, a family dog. A miniature terrier of some sort. Sarah, the young girl, was particularly fond of it, and nearly inconsolable when it ran away."

"How old was Renquist when it ran away?"

"Ten or twelve, I believe."

"How about the young girl, Renquist's sister? What can you tell me about her?"

"She was a model charge. Amenable, quiet, and well mannered. A bit clumsy and prone to nightmares, but otherwise biddable and good-natured."

"Clumsy how?"

"She went through a stage where she tripped over her own feet quite often, or bumped into objects and had more than her share of bumps and scrapes. At my recommendation the Renquists had her vision checked, but her sight was quite perfect. It was simply a matter of a lack of coordination, and a slightly skittish nature. She grew out of it."

"When would you say she grew out of it?".

"At about twelve, I suppose. She developed grace at a stage when many young girls lose theirs. Puberty is a difficult period, but Sarah bloomed during hers."

"And about this time, when she developed grace and stopped turning up with cuts and bruises, her brother was sent to Eton. Would that be about right?"

"I suppose it would. Doubtless having my undivided time and attention helped her gain more poise and confidence. Now, if that's all-"

"Just one more thing. Do you recall if there were any other family pets that. went missing during your time with the Renquists? Other animals in the neighborhood that ran away?"

"Other people's pets weren't my concern. I have no recollection."

"Were you following me in there?" Eve asked Roarke when they stood on the sidewalk.

" Clear, enough. You're. looking to establish whether or not this Renquist had an abusive female authority figure in his childhood. Whether or not he, in turn, abused his younger, female, sibling. Whether or not he-may, as is often the case with serial or torture killers, killed or tortured pets."

"Textbook stuff," Eve agreed.. "And what's funny is she didn't follow the dots. That tells me she's either oblivious or stupid, hiding something, or the possibility she might have helped raise a psychopath doesn't enter her tidy little world."

"What's your money on?"

"The last one. She's a pincher, all right, and worse. You get a lot of her type in the foster system. Somebody like her wouldn't consider she had a mentally or emotionally twisted charge as long as the kid presented the illusion of submission."

"Did you?"

"Not so much, but I could when it was worth my while.' And I know a lot of kids, most kids, come through something like that and -lead normal lives. Renquist. could be one of them. His sister might very well have been clumsy. But I don't like coincidence. I've got to mull this over and I've got to go meet the Boston cop."

"I'll drop you."

"No, better I catch a cab or take the underground. -This guy sees me show up in a hot car with a fancy piece behind - the wheel, he's not going to like me."

"You know how I love being referred. to as your fancy piece."

"Sometimes you're my love muffin."

He managed a strangled laugh. She could, at the oddest times, surprise him. "And I try my very best to earn the name. In any case, I've got some business I can take care of. "Why don't you contact me when you've finished, and let me know what comes next?"