Authors: J. D. Robb
Then her head spun, and her vision went gray. She felt, as if in a dream, the sensation of being lifted off her feet and thrown. Even when she landed in the back of the van, with the tape slapped over her face and her eyes, it didn't seem real. Her body had barely registered the need to scream when the faint nudge of a pressure syringe had her going under.
By mid afternoon, Eve and Peabody had spoken with three of Keelie Swisher's clients and two of her husband's. They were working geographically and took another of Keelie's next.
Jan Uger was a hefty woman who smoked three herbals during their twenty-minute interview. When she wasn't puffing, she was sucking on one of the brightly colored candy drops in a dish beside her chair.
Her hair was done up in a huge glossy ball, as if someone had slicked it up, around, then sprayed it with silicone. She had long jowls, a trio of chins, sallow skin. And a pisser of an attitude.
“A quack.” She puffed, jabbed with her smoking herbal. “That's what she was. Said she couldn't help me if I didn't keep up the regimen. What am I, in Christing boot camp?”
“You were, at one time,” Eve prompted.
“Did three years, regular Army. Where I met my Stu. He put in fifteen, serving our country. I spent those years being a good Army wife and raising two kids. Was the kids put the weight on me,” she claimed and chose another candy. “I tried diets, but I've got a condition.”
Which was, Eve decided, the inability to stop putting things in her mouth.
“Our insurance doesn't cover body sculpting.” She worked the candy around in her mouth, gave it a couple of good crunches. “Cheapskates. Except on the provision you see a licensed nutritionist for six months, and they sign off for you. So, that's what I did, went to that quack, listened to her bullshit. And what happened?”
She sucked so hard on the candy in her fury, Eve wondered it didn't lodge in her throat and choke her to death.
“I'll tell you what happened. I gained four pounds in two months. Not that Stu minds. More to love, is what he says. But I did the drill, and would she sign off? No, she would not!”
“You had a problem with that.”
“Damn right. She said I didn't qualify. Who was she to say? What skin off her nose is it to sign the damn paper so my insurance will foot the bill? People like that make me sick.”
She lit another cigarette, scowled through smoke that smelled like burning mint.
“You argued with Mrs. Swisher?”
“Told her just what I thought of her and her Christing regimen, and said I was going to sue. Would have, but her husband's a damn lawyer, so what's the point? Everybody knows they stick together like a pile of shit. Sorry they're dead, though,” she added as an afterthought.
“Your husband's retired military now, and employed with . . .” Eve pretended to check her notes.
“He's security at the Sky Mall. Hard to live on retirement, plus my Stu, he likes to get out and do a job. Better insurance there, too. He works there another eighteen months, and I can get the sculpting, on them.”
Keep eating, sister, and it's going to take more than sculpting. It's going to take an airjack to whittle you down. “Meanwhile, you were both very dissatisfied with Mrs. Swisher.”
“Of course we were. She took our hard-earned money and did nothing for it.”
“That's upsetting, and feeling unable to sue successfully, you must have wanted to be recompensed in some other way.”
“Told everybody I knew she was a Christing quack.” Her triple chins wagged with satisfaction. “I got plenty of friends, and so does Stu.”
“If it'd been me, I'd have wanted something more personal, more tangible. Maybe you and your husband went to Mr. or Mrs. Swisher to complain, to demand your money back.”
“No point.”
“Was your husband home last night? Between one and three a.m.?”
“Where else would he be at one o'clock in the morning?” she asked hotly. “What is this?”
“A homicide investigation. Your husband's military records indicate he was an MR”
“Eight years. So what?”
“I wonder, when he complained to his buddies about Mrs. Swisher's treatment of you, they must have gotten heated up--on your account.”
“You'd think, wouldn't you? You'd think. But people don't have much sympathy for a woman with my condition.”
“That's a shame. You don't have any friends, or relatives, who could front you the money for the body work?”
“Shit.” She blew out smoke, reached for another candy. “Who are we going to know with that kind of money? I was an Army brat, and my father died serving his country when I was sixteen. Stu's family's mostly factory workers out in
Eve paused outside the building. “Do you think I should've been insulted?” she wondered. “The 'how much did it cost you' crack?”
“She probably meant it as a kind of compliment. But still, I've got a great-aunt who's half French and I was sort of insulted with Mrs. Grentz's French cracks.” She slid into the vehicle. “This one gets checked off.”
“Yeah. No way she's smart enough, no way they have the resources. Husband's military record's clean, and even the MP stint wouldn't give him the kind of training we're after. And he's too old, too weighty himself according to his ID data.”
“Could just be pulling the strings, but--”
“Right. Hard to believe anyone married to her, living in a place full of smoke and candy, is disciplined and clever enough to outline an operation like this one.”
“Or working as a security drone at the mall, chasing off kids, mostly. Bad-mouthing and complaining, that's what these people do.”
“And they don't kill off an entire family because they're pissed off at somebody. No,” Eve agreed. “She was irritating, and he's likely the same, but they're not masterminds or cold-blooded kid killers.”
“You know what else? I don't think whoever did this, or is behind it, made any noise. I mean, none of this, I'll-sue-your-quack-ass business. I know we have to check those out, but that's not going to be the hit.” Eve kept her attention on the road as she drove. “Why?” “Because he has to think ahead, right? Has to be controlled and organized. Whenever this happened--I mean whatever it was that made him target these people--he had to pull it out. Because he'd have been thinking payback. Someday, somehow. But you don't leave a trail.” Now Eve turned her head. “My pride in you bubbles in my heart. Unless it's that soy dog you talked me into earlier.”
“Gosh, Dallas, a blush rises to my cheeks. Unless that, too, is the soy dog.” She thumped a fist on her chest, gave a small, somehow ladylike belch. “Guess it was the dog.”
“Now that we've established that, let's have the next on the list.” Peabody called up the list, the next name, the location, and the directions from the dash menu. Then leaned forward, stroking the dash and crooning. “Nice vehicle, pretty vehicle. Smart vehicle.” She slid her gaze toward Eve. “And who got the nice, pretty, smart vehicle for us?” “You've already milked that one, Peabody.” “Yeah but-- Aww, and see, look at its little 'link beeping.” Shaking her head, Eve answered the beep. “Dallas.” “A little tit for tat coming your way,” Nadine said, “so don't forget it. Scanner picked up a snatch-and-grab report. Female on Avenue B, tossed in the back of a van quick as a wink.” “Unless she's dead, she's not my table. Sorry.” “Cold, cruel, true. Thing is, one of the witnesses recognized her, and actually bothered to say so to the uniforms responding. Said she was a social worker named Meredith Newman. I get wind of that and I think, hey, isn't that the name of--”
“The GPS drone on the Swisher case.”
“I'm heading down there, to do some interviews. Thought you'd want to know.”
“We're on our way. Don't talk to anybody on scene, Nadine. I need a shot first. You're going to give me tit,” she added when Nadine's mouth opened. “Don't be stingy with it.”
She broke off, whipped around a corner, and headed south.
EVE SPOTTED THE CHANNEL 75 VAN PARKED IN a loading zone on Avenue B. She whipped by it, then double-parked beside the black-and-white already at the curb.
She spotted Nadine as well--it was hard not to when the perfectly streaked hair and the vivid royal blue of the reporter's on-air suit sprang out like an exotic bloom against the faded forest of dingy shirts and smudgy concrete.
She was cozied up with a trio of the daily doorway lurkers but peeled off toward Eve.
“I never said I wouldn't ask questions,” Nadine said immediately. “But I've kept it off record. For now. Your uniform's inside with the woman who claims to have seen the grab and recognized the grabee. Hi, Peabody. How are you feeling?”
“Better and better, thanks.”
Eve sent a hard stare at the van. “Keep the cameras off.”
“
“Nadine, do you know why I often give you an inside track? Because it's not just the story with you. You actually give more than a passing thought to the people in the story. And you wouldn't, not even for ratings, sacrifice those people to get your pretty face on air.”
Nadine blew out a long breath. “Shit.”
“Keep the cameras off,” Eve repeated and strode toward the lingering lurkers. “What did you see?” she began. “What do you know?”
The skinniest of the lot, a mixed-race stick with a pitted complexion, grinned--illustrating that his dental care was slightly below the standard of his skin care--and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
“Detective Peabody.” Eve spoke in mild tones, her eyes cold as a shark's. “In your professional opinion, did this individual, who has possibly witnessed a crime, just solicit a member of the NYPSD for a bribe in exchange for information regarding that crime?”
“That does appear to be the case, Lieutenant.”
“Me and my 'sociates need some jack. You give, you gets.”
“And, Detective, what would be my most usual response to such a solicitation?”
“Your response, Lieutenant, would be to haul said individual, and possibly his associates, into Central, possibly charged with obstruction of justice and impeding a police investigation. You would also determine if subject and/or his associates had sheets. If so, you would then spend considerable time ruining their day and potentially making their lives, for the short-term at least, a stinking hell.”
“That's exactly correct, Detective. Thank you. You catch any of that, asshole?”
He actually looked hurt. “No jack?”
“That is also exactly correct. Now I'll repeat: What did you see, what do you know?”
“You gonna take me in I don't say?”
“Two correct answers in a row. Want to try for three?”
“Well, shit. I seen the big nose shuffling along, coming along looking like she smell something she don't like. Ain't worth two looks, but we just hanging, so I start to give her a blow. Then the van thing, it flies up. Fast! And the two dudes, they pop out the back. Got one on each sida her. Lifts her up, toss her in, slam, bam, gone. We and my 'sociates, we'da taken them on but they was rat fast, man. You gets?”
“Yeah, I get. What did they look like? The men who popped out the back?”
“Like ninjas, man.” He looked at each of his pals for nods of agreement. “Like a coupla kick-face ninja dudes in black threads with the mask thing.”
“How about the van?”
“Black, too.”
“Make, model, plate?”
“Hell, what I know? I don't drive no van. Big and black, and moved slick as goose shit. Musta been a dude in the front, but I didn't see nothing. Wasn't lookin'. And the big nose? She don't even squeak. Got her grabbed and stashed so fast, she don't even squeak. We chill now?”
“Yeah, we're chill now. Name?”
“Man.” He shuffled his feet. “Ramon. Ramon Pasquell. I got legitimate parole, man. I be looking for a job now, but I'm standing here jawing you.”
“Right. Ramon, if you or your associates remember anything else, you can contact me at Central.” She handed him a card and a twenty.
“Hey!” No amount of joy lighting his face could make it any less ugly. “You fridge for a big nose.”
“Sweet talker,” she said and walked into the building.
“You don't have a big nose,” Peabody pointed out. “In fact, it could be called narrow and elegant.”
“Big nose--nosey--cops, GPS, probation officers, and so on. We're all big noses to mopes like Ramon.”
“Ah, I gets. Report has the witness on the third floor. Cable, Minnie.”
It only took one glance at the grimy, dented door of the single skinny elevator to have Eve taking the grimy stairs instead. She had a moment to wonder why the stench of urine and puke always seemed to permeate the walls in such places when a uniform stepped out of a door on the third floor.
She noted he made them as cops even before he eyed the badge she'd hooked in her belt. “Lieutenant, you're quick. I just called for detectives.”
“Belay that, Officer. This incident may be related to one of our cases. She going to give me anything worthwhile?”
“Saw the whole thing. She's excitable, but she saw the grab, recognized the victim. Meredith Newman. Child Protection. I contacted GPS, and it checks. Newman was due here for a home check.”
“Okay. Rescind the request for a detective. I'll contact Central after I've talked to the wit. I'd like you to wait downstairs. I've got your unit boxed in anyway. I'll want your report when I'm done up here.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he went down, Eve glanced at Peabody, noted the beads of sweat on her partner's face. Should've risked the elevator, she thought. “You holding, Peabody?”
“Yeah, I'm fine.” She dug out a tissue, wiped her face. “Still get a little winded, but the exercise is good for me. I'm good.”
“You're otherwise, I want to know. Don't pussy around.” Eve stepped up to the door, knocked. She could already hear the shouts, the crying, the voices. A trio of voices, if she wasn't mistaken. And two of them kids.
It seemed to be her week for kids.
“Police, Ms. Cable.”
“I just talked to the police.” A woman, looking harassed--and who wouldn't with one kid on the hip and the other pulling at your leg?-- opened the door. Her hair was a short, spiky blonde, her build going toward bottom heavy. And her eyes had the rabbit pink hue of a funky junkie.