In Death 07.5 - Midnight in Death (6 page)

Peter Nolan didn’t live at the Sixty-eighth Street address. The Kowaskis, an elderly couple, and their creaky schnauzer had lived there for fifteen years.

A check of the bank showed that the Nolan account had been opened, in person, on December 20 of that year and closed on December 22.

Just long enough to do the deal, Eve thought. But where had he gotten the money?

Taking Roarke’s advice, she rounded out a very long day by starting searches on accounts under the name of Palmer. It would, she thought, rubbing her eyes, take a big slice of time.

How much time did Carl have? she wondered. Another day, by her guess. If Palmer was running true to form, he would begin to enjoy his work too much to rush through it. But sometime within the next twenty-four hours, she believed he’d try for Justine Polinsky.

While her machine worked, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Nearly midnight, she thought. Another day. Feeney was working his end. She was confident they’d have a line on the equipment soon, then there were the houses to check. They had the make, model, and license of his vehicle.

He’d left a trail, she thought. He wanted her to follow it, wanted her close. The son of a bitch.

It’s you and me, isn’t it, Dave? she thought as her mind started to drift. How fast can I be, and how clever? You figure it’ll make it all the sweeter when you’ve got me in that cage. It’s because you want that so bad that you’re making mistakes. Little mistakes.

I’m going to hang you with them.

She slid into sleep while her computer hummed and woke only when she felt herself being lifted.

“What?” Reflexively she reached for the weapon she’d already unharnessed.

“You need to be in bed.” Roarke held her close as he left the office.

“I was just resting my eyes. I’ve got data coming in. Don’t carry me.”

“You were dead out, the data will be there in the morning, and I’m already carrying you.”

“I’m getting closer, but not close enough.”

He’d seen the financial data on her screen. “I’ll take a look through the accounts in the morning,” he told her as he laid her on the bed.

“I’ve got it covered.”

He unpinned her badge, set it aside. “Yes, Sheriff, but money is my business. Close it down a while.”

“He’ll be sleeping now.” She let Roarke undress her. “In a big, soft bed with clean sheets. Dave likes to be clean and comfortable. He’ll have a monitor in the bedroom so he can watch Neissan. He likes to watch before he goes to sleep. He told me.”

“Don’t think.” Roarke slipped into bed beside her, gathered her close.

“He wants me.”

“Yes, I know.” Roarke pressed his lips to her hair as much to comfort himself as her. “But he can’t have you.”

Sleep helped. She’d dropped into it like a stone and had lain on the bottom of the dreaming pool for six hours. There’d been no call in the middle of the night to tell her Carl Neissan’s body had been found.

Another day, she thought again and strode into her office. Roarke was at her desk, busily screening data.

“What are you doing?” She all but leapt to him. “That’s classified.”

“Don’t pick nits, darling. You were going too broad last night. You’ll be days compiling and rejecting all accounts under the name Palmer. You want one that shows considerable activity, large transfers, and connections to other accounts—which is, of course, the trickier part if you’re dealing with someone who understands how to hide the coin.”

“You can’t just sit down and start going through data accumulated in an investigation.”

“Of course I can. You need coffee.” He looked up briefly. “Then you’ll feel more yourself and I’ll show you what I have.”

“I feel exactly like myself.” Which, she admitted, at the moment was annoyed and edgy. She stalked to the AutoChef in the kitchen, went for an oversized mug of hot and black. The rich and real caffeine Roarke could command zipped straight through her system.

“What have you got?” she demanded when she walked back in.

“Palmer was too simple, too obvious,” Roarke began, and she narrowed her eyes.

“You didn’t think so yesterday.”

“I said check for relatives, same names. I should have suggested you try his mother’s maiden name. Riley. And here we have the account of one Palmer Riley. It was opened six years ago, standard brokerage account, managed. Since there’s been some activity over the last six months, I would assume your man found a way to access a ’link or computer from prison.”

“He shouldn’t have been near one. How can you be sure?”

“He understands how money works, and just how fluid it can be. You see here that six months ago he had a balance of just over $1.3 million. For the past three years previous, all action was automatic, straight managed with no input from the account holder. But here he begins to make transfers. Here’s one to an account under Peter Nolan, which, by the way, is his aunt’s husband’s name on his father’s side. Overseas accounts, off-planet accounts, local New York accounts—different names, different IDs. He’s had this money for some time and he waited, sat on it until he found the way to use it.”

“When I took him down before, we froze his accounts, accounts under David Palmer. We didn’t look deeper. I didn’t think of it.”

“Why should you have? You stopped him, you put him away. He was meant to stay away.”

“If I’d cleared it all, he wouldn’t have had the backing to come back here.”

“Eve, he’d have found a way.” He waited until she looked at him. “You know that.”

“Yeah.” She let out a long breath. “Yeah, I know that. This tells me he’s been planning, he’s been shopping, he’s been juggling funds, funneling into cover accounts. I need to freeze them. I don’t think a judge is going to argue with me, not after what happened to one of their own.”

“You’ll piss him off.”

“That’s the plan. I need the names, numbers, locations of all the accounts you can connect to him.” She blew out a breath. “Then I guess I owe you.”

“Use your present, and we’ll call it even.”

“My present? Oh, yeah. Where and/or when do I want to go for a day. Let me mull that over a little bit. We get this wrapped, I’ll use it for New Year’s Eve.”

“There’s a deal.”

A horrible thought snuck into her busy mind. “We don’t have like a thing for New Year’s, do we? No party or anything.”

“No. I didn’t want anything but you.”

She looked back at him, narrowing her eyes even as the smile spread. “Do you practice saying stuff like that?”

“No.” He rose, framed her face and kissed her, hard and deep. “I have all that stuff on disc.”

“You’re a slick guy, Roarke.” She skimmed her fingers through her hair and simply lost herself for a moment in the look of him. Then, giving herself a shake, she stepped back. “I have to work.”

“Wait.” He grabbed her hand before she could turn away. “What was that?”

“I don’t know. It just comes over me sometimes. You, I guess, come over me sometimes. I don’t have time for it now.”

“Darling Eve.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “Be sure to make time later.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

They worked together for an hour before Peabody arrived. She switched gears, leaving Roarke to do what he did best—manipulate data—while she focused on private residences purchased in the New York area, widening the timing to the six months since Palmer had activated his account.

Feeney called in to let her know he’d identified some of the equipment from the recording and was following up.

Eve gathered her printouts and rose. “We’ve got more than thirty houses to check. Have to do it door-to-door since I don’t trust the names and data. He could have used anything. Peabody—”

“I’m with you, sir.”

“Right. Roarke, I’ll be in the field.”

“I’ll let you know when I have this wrapped.”

She looked at him, working smoothly, thoroughly, methodically. And wondered who the hell was dealing with what she often thought of as his empire. “Look, I can call a man in for this. McNab—”

“McNab.” Peabody winced at the name before she could stop herself. She had a temporary truce going with the EDD detective, but that didn’t mean she wanted to share her case with him. Again. “Dallas, come on. It’s been so nice and quiet around here.”

“I’ve got this.” Roarke shot her a glance, winked at Peabody. “I have an investment in it now.”

“Whatever. Shoot me, and Feeney, the data when you have it all. I’m going to check out the rope, too. He likely picked up everything himself, but it would only take one delivery to pin down his hole.”

After three hours of knocking on doors, questioning professional parents, housekeepers, or others who chose the work-at-home route, Eve took pity on Peabody and swung by a glide cart.

In this neighborhood the carts were clean, the awnings or umbrellas bright, the operators polite. And the prices obscene.

Peabody winced as she was forced to use a credit card for nothing but coffee, a kabob, and a small scoop of paper-thin oil chips.

“It’s my metabolism,” she muttered as she climbed back into the car. “I have one that requires fuel at regular intervals.”

“Then pump up,” Eve advised. “It’s going to be a long day. At least half these people aren’t going to be home until after the five o’clock shift ends.”

She snagged the ’link when it beeped. “Dallas.”

“Hello, Lieutenant.” Roarke eyed her soberly. “Your data’s coming through.”

“Thanks. I’ll start on the warrant.”

“One thing—I didn’t find any account with a withdrawal or transfer that seemed large enough for a purchase or down payment on a house. A couple are possible, but if, as you told me, he didn’t finance a car, it’s likely he didn’t want to deal with the credit and Compuguard checks on his rating and background.”

“He’s got a damn house, Roarke. I know it.”

“I’m sure you’re right. I’m not convinced he acquired it recently.”

“I’ve still got twenty-couple to check,” she replied. “I have to follow through on that. Maybe he’s just renting. He likes to own, but maybe this time he’s renting. I’ll run it through that way, too.”

“There weren’t any standard transfers or withdrawals that would indicate rent or mortgage payments.”

She hissed out a breath. “It’s ridiculous.”

“What?”

“How good a cop you’d make.”

“I don’t think insulting me is appropriate under the circumstances. I have some business of my own to tend to,” he said when she grinned at him. “I’ll get back to yours shortly.”

Palmer had purchased, and personally picked up, a hundred twenty yards of nylon rope from a supply warehouse store off Canal. The clerk who had handled the sale ID’d the photo and mentioned what a nice young man Mr. Dickson had been. As Dickson, Palmer had also purchased a dozen heavy-load pulleys, a supply of steel
O
rings, cable, and the complete Handy Homemaker set of Steelguard tools, including the accessory laser package.

The entire business had been loaded into the cargo area of his shiny new Booster-6Z—which the clerk had admired—on the morning of December 22.

Eve imagined Palmer had been a busy little bee that day and throughout the next, setting up his private chamber of horrors.

By eight they’d eliminated all the houses on Eve’s initial list.

“That’s it.” Eve climbed back in her vehicle and pressed her fingers to her eyes. “They all check out. I’ll drop you at a transpo stop, Peabody.”

“Are you going home?”

Eve lowered her hands. “Why?”

“Because I’m not going off duty if you’re starting on the list of rentals I ran.”

“Excuse me?”

Peabody firmed her chin. Eve could arrow a cold chill up your spine when she took on that superior-officer tone. “I’m not going off duty, sir, to leave you solo in the field with Palmer on the loose and you as a target. With respect, Lieutenant.”

“You don’t think I can handle some little pissant, mentally defective?”

“I think you want to handle him too much.” Peabody sucked in a breath. “I’m sticking, Dallas.”

Eve narrowed her eyes. “Have you been talking to Roarke?” At the quick flicker in Peabody’s eyes Eve swore. “Goddamn it.”

“He’s right and you’re wrong. Sir.” Peabody braced for the explosion, was determined to weather it, then all but goggled with shock.

“Maybe,” was all Eve said as she pulled away from the curb.

Since she was on a roll, Peabody slanted Eve a look. “You haven’t eaten all day. You didn’t even steal any of my oil chips. You could use a meal.”

“Okay, okay. Christ, Roarke’s got your number, doesn’t he?”

“I wish.”

“Zip it, Peabody. We’ll fuel the metabolism, then start on the rental units.”

“Zipping with pleasure, sir.”

It began to snow near midnight, fat, cold flakes with icy edges. Eve watched it through the windshield and told herself it was time to stop. The night was over. Nothing more could be done.

“He’s got all the cards,” she murmured.

“You’ve got a pretty good hand, Dallas.” Peabody shifted in her seat, grateful for the heat of the car. Even her bones were chilled.

“Doesn’t matter what I’ve got.” Eve drove away from the last rental unit they’d checked. “Not tonight. I know who he is, who he’s going to kill. I know how he does it and I know why. And tonight it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Odds are, he’s done with Carl now.”

It was rare to see Eve discouraged. Angry, yes, Peabody thought with some concern. And driven. But she couldn’t recall ever hearing that quiet resignation in her lieutenant’s voice before. “You covered all the angles. You took all the steps.”

“That’s not going to mean much to Carl. And if I’d covered all the angles, I’d have the son of a bitch. So I’m missing one. He’s slipping through because I can’t pin it.”

“You’ve only had the case for three days.”

“No. I’ve had it for three years.” As she pulled up at a light, her ’link beeped. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant, this is Detective Dalrymple, assigned to observation on the Polinsky residence. We’ve got a mixed-race male, mid-twenties, average height and build. Subject is on foot and carrying a small sack. He used what appeared to be a key code to gain access to premises. He’s inside now.”

“I’m three blocks east of your location and on my way.” She’d already whipped around the corner. “Secure all exists, call for backup. Doesn’t make sense,” she muttered to Peabody as they barreled across Madison. “Right out in the open? Falls right into our laps? Doesn’t fucking make sense.”

She squealed to a stop a half a block from the address. Her weapon was in her hand before she hit the sidewalk. “Peabody, the Polinsky unit is on four, south side. Go around, take the fire escape. He comes out that way, take him down quick.”

Eve charged in at the front of the building and, too impatient for the elevator, raced up the stairs. She found Dalrymple on four, weapon drawn as he waited beside the door.

“Lieutenant.” He gave her a brief nod. “My partner’s around the back. Subject’s been inside less than five minutes. Backup’s on the way.”

“Good.” She studied Dalrymple’s face, found his eyes steady. “We won’t wait for them. I go in low,” she added, taking out her master and bypassing the locks.

“Fine with me.” He was ready beside her.

“On three. One, two.” They hit the door, went through high and low, back to back, sweeping with their weapons. Music was playing, a primitive backbeat of drums behind screaming guitars. In the tidy living area, the mood screen had been set on deep reds and swimming blues melting into each other.

She signaled Dalrymple to the left, had taken two steps to the right herself when a naked man came out of the kitchen area carrying a bottle of wine and a single red rose.

He screamed and dropped the bottle. Wine glugged out onto the rug. Holding the rose to his balls, he crouched. “Don’t shoot! Jesus, don’t shoot. Take anything you want. Anything. It’s not even mine.”

“NYPSD,” Eve snapped at him. “On the floor, face-down, hands behind your head. Now!”

“Yes, ma’am, yes, ma’am.” He all but dove to the rug. “I didn’t do anything.” He flinched when Eve dragged his hands down and cuffed them. “I was just going to meet Sunny. She said it would be okay.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jimmy. Jimmy Ripsky. I go to college with Sunny. We’re on winter break. She said her parents were out of town for a few days and we could use the place.”

Eve holstered her weapon in disgust. The boy was shaking like a leaf. “Get him a blanket or something, Dalrymple. This isn’t our man.” She dragged him to his feet and had enough pity in her to uncuff him before gesturing to a chair. “Let’s here the whole story, Jimmy.”

“That’s it. Um”—cringing with embarrassment, he folded his arms over his crotch—“Sunny and I are, like, an item.”

“And who’s Sunny?”

“Sunny Polinsky. Sheila, I guess. Everybody calls her Sunny. This is her parents’ place. Man, her father’s going to kill me if he finds out.”

“She called you?”

“Yeah. Well, no.” He looked up with desperate gratitude when Dalrymple came in with a chenille throw. “I got an E-mail from her this morning and a package. She said her parents were going south for the week and how I should come over tonight. About midnight, let myself in with the key she’d sent me. And I should, um, you know, get comfortable.” He tucked the throw more securely around his legs. “She said she’d be here by twelve-thirty and I should, well, ah, be waiting in bed.” He moistened his lips. “It was pretty, sort of, explicit for Sunny.”

“Do you still have the E-mail? The package the key came in?”

“I dumped the package in the recycler, but I’ve got the E-mail. I printed it out. It’s…it’s a keeper, you know?”

“Right. Detective, call in your partner and my aide.”

“Um, ma’am?” Jimmy began when Dalrymple turned away with his communicator.

“Dallas. Lieutenant.”

“Yes, ma’am, Lieutenant. What’s going on? Is Sunny okay?”

“She’s fine. She’s with her parents.”

“But—she said she’d be here.”

“I think someone else sent you that keeper E-mail. Somebody who wanted me to have a little something extra to do tonight.” But she sat, pulled out her palm-link. “I’m going to check out your story, Jimmy. If it all fits, Detective Dalrymple’s going to arrange for a uniform to take you home. You can give him the printout of the E-mail—and your computer.”

“My computer? But—”

“It’s police business,” she said shortly. “You’ll get it back.”

“Well, that was fun,” Peabody said when Eve resecured the door.

“A barrel of laughs.”

“Poor kid. He was mortified. Here he was thinking he was going to have the sex of his dreams with his girl, and he gets busted.”

“The fact that a rosebud managed to preserve most of his modesty tells me that the sex of his dreams outruns the reality.” At Peabody’s snort, Eve turned to the elevator. “Sunny backed up his story about them being an item. Not that I doubted it. The kid was too scared to lie. So…Dave’s been keeping up with the social activities of his marks. He knows the family, the friends, and he knows how to use them.”

She stepped out of the elevator, crossed the lobby. “For an MD in a maximum lockup, he managed to get his hands on plenty of data.”

She paused at the door and simply stood for a moment looking out at the thin, steady snow. “You got off-planet clearance, Peabody?”

“Sure. It’s a job requirement.”

“Right. Well, go home and pack a bag. I want you on your way to Rexal on the first transport we can arrange. You and McNab can check out the facilities, find the unit Palmer had access to.”

The initial rush from the idea of an off-planet assignment turned to ashes in her mouth. “McNab? I don’t need McNab.”

“When you find the unit, you’ll need a good electronics man.” Eve opened the door, and the blast of cold cooled the annoyed flush on Peabody’s cheeks.

“He’s a pain in the ass.”

“Sure he is, but he knows his job. If Feeney can spare him, you’re the off-planet team.” She reached for her communicator, intending to interrupt Feeney’s sleep and get the ball rolling. A scream from the end of the block had her drawing her weapon instead.

She pounded west, boots digging into the slick sidewalk. With one quick gesture, she signaled Dalrymple to stay at his post in the surveillance van.

She saw the woman first, wrapped in sleek black fur, clinging to a man with an overcoat over a tux. He was trying to shield her face and muffle her mouth against his shoulder. The pitch and volume of her screams indicated he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“Police!” He shouted it as he saw Peabody and Eve running toward them. “Here’s the police, honey. My God, my God, what’s this city coming to? He threw it out, threw it out right at our feet.”

It, Eve saw, was Carl Neissan. His naked and broken body lay face up against the curb. His head had been shaved, she noted, and the tender skin abraded and burned. His knees were shattered, his protruding tongue blackened. Around his neck, digging deep, was the signature noose. And the message carved into his chest was still red and raw.

WOE UNTO YOU ALSO, YE LAWYERS
!

The woman’s screaming had turned to wailing now. Eve tuned it out. With her eyes on the body, she pulled out her communicator. “This is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. I have a homicide.”

She gave Dispatch the necessary information, then turned to the male witness. “You live around here?”

“Yes, yes, this building on the corner. We were just coming home from a party when—”

“My aide is going to take your companion inside, away from this. Out of the cold. We’ll need her statement. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out here with me for a few minutes.”

“Yes, of course. Yes. Honey.” He tried to pry his wife’s hands from around his neck. “Honey, you go with the policewoman. Go inside now.”

“Peabody,” Eve said under her breath, “take honey out of here, get what you can out of her.”

“Yes, sir. Ma’am, come with me.” With a couple of firm tugs Peabody had the woman.

“It was such a shock,” he continued. “She’s very delicate, my wife. It’s such a shock.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure it is. Can I have your names, please?”

“What? Oh. Fitzgerald. George and Maria.”

Eve got the names and the address on record. In a few minutes she would have a crowd to deal with, she knew. Even jaded New Yorkers would gather around a dead, naked body on Madison Avenue.

“Can you—sir, look at me,” she added when he continued to stare at the body. He was going faintly green. “Look at me,” she repeated, “and try to tell me exactly what happened.”

“It was all so fast, so shocking.” Reaction began to set in, showing in the way his hand trembled as he pressed it to his face. “We’d just come from the Andersons’. They had a holiday party tonight. It’s only a block over, so we walked. We’d just crossed the street when there was a squeal of brakes. I barely paid attention to it—you know how it is.”

“Yes, sir. What did you see?”

“I glanced back, just out of reflex, I suppose. I saw a dark car—black, I think. No, no, not a car—one of those utility vehicles. The sporty ones. It stopped right here. Right here. You can still see the skid marks in the snow. And then the door opened. He pushed—he all but flung this poor man out, right at our feet.”

“You saw the driver?”

“Yes, yes, quite clearly. This corner is very well lit. He was a young man, handsome. Light hair. He smiled…he smiled at me just as the door opened. Why, I think I smiled back. He had the kind of face that makes you smile. I’m sure I could identify him. I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah.” Eve let out a breath, watched the wind snatch it away as the first black-and-whites arrived on the scene. You wanted to be seen, didn’t you, Dave? she thought. And you wanted me to be close, very close, when you gave me Carl.

“You can go inside with your wife, Mr. Fitzgerald. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you. I—it’s Christmas week,” he said with honest puzzlement in his eyes. “You live in the city, you know terrible things can and do happen. But it’s Christmas week.”

“Joy to the world,” Eve murmured as he walked away. She turned around and ordered the uniforms to secure the scene and prepare for the crime-scene team. Then she crouched beside Carl and got to work.