Authors: J. D. Robb
Eve nodded to Peabody who drew the sketches out of her bag. “Do you recognize these men?”
Sade set the bottle down, took a good long look. “No. And I'd remember if I'd seen them. Scary. Are these the men who--” She broke off. “Kirkendall? You think he had something to do with what happened to Grant and his family? That bastard son of a bitch!”
“We have questions we'd like to ask him.”
“He could have done it,” she said softly. “He's capable. You know how you see someone, or brush up against them on the street, and everything in you freezes? That's the thing with him. Makes your blood run cold. But, Jesus, it was so long ago. It was years ago. I'd just started with the firm, was living in this one-room box up on One Hundred and Seventh.”
“We're checking several leads,” Eve said. “Thanks for the details on this. Oh, just curious. How'd you find this place, the roommate?”
“They found me, basically. I met Jilly at this club I used to hang at. Friend of a friend of a friend sort of thing. We hit it off. Then she told me she had this place, was looking for a roommate since she was away so much. Just wanted somebody there, you know, so it wasn't empty half the time. I snapped it.”
“And this was after the trial?”
“Right after, now that you mention it. Just a couple of weeks.” Sade's hand trembled a little as she reached for her water. “Why?”
“Did you ever talk with Jilly about work? About cases? Details.”
“Nothing confidential, but yeah. Oh shit, yeah. Just the broad strokes of something hot or funny. I talked about the Kirkendall case--no names. Just about how hard Grant worked on it, how much he'd wanted to get what was right for this poor woman and her kids. Oh God, oh God. But we lived here together, for six years. Almost six years.”
“I'd like her full name.”
“Jilly Isenberry,” Sade said dully. “She went with me to Grant's place. I don't know how many times. She went to parties there, to barbecues. She had dinner at their table. I got in touch with her when this happened, and she cried. She cried, but she's not coming back. I took her into their home.”
“You're not responsible. This may be nothing, but if it's not, you're still not responsible. What you've just told us may help us find the people who are.”
Eve stepped back, drew Sade out of the kitchen. “Sit down. Tell us more about her.”
Sharp-looking woman,” Peabody commented. She brought Jilly Isenberry's data and image up on the dash screen so Eve could see. “Thirty-eight, mixed race, single. No marriage or cohab on record. Employed as flight attendant, Orbital Transportation, since 2053. Previous employment listed as--hoohaw--”
Eve, fighting traffic, only furrowed her brow. “Hoohaw?”
“I think it's a military exclamation. Maybe. Which fits, as prior to her employment at Orbital, she was Corporal Isenberry, U.S. Army. Put in twelve years. You'd think she'd make more than corporal in a dozen.”
“And you'd think a dozen years as a soldier would point her toward something other than serving drinks and passing out vids to yeehaws heading to the gambling world.”
“Yeehaws?”
“Another military term. We get the military records, you can bet she served with Kirkendall somewhere, sometime.”
“And that kind of coincidence--”
“Isn't. She didn't change her data, change her name, nothing. They thought they'd be gone by the time we got this far, if we ever got this far. We've got our who, we've got our why. Now we find the son of a bitch. Dallas,” she said into her communicator when it signalled.
“A legal adjutant for military services requests a meeting,” Whitney informed her. “My office. ASAP.”
“Heading toward Central now, sir.”
Eve judged the traffic, the distance, then hit the sirens and went in hot.
Peabody was still catching her breath when they caught the glide to Whitney's floor. “Are my eyes back down where they belong? I don't like to go into a meeting when they're rolled up white. Looks bad.”
For the hell of it, Eve gave her a thump on the back firm enough to have Peabody nearly wheeling off the glide. “There. They're back.”
“I don't think that was funny. I don't think that was funny especially after you nearly killed us three times flying back here.”
“It was twice, and really, it was only maimed. People don't respect sirens in this city, that's the problem. They just keep la, la, la, when an emergency vehicle needs to get the hell where it's going.”
“The Rapid Cab you nearly creamed wasn't going la, la, la. It was more a scream of abject terror.”
“Yeah.” It made Eve smile to remember it. “So he should've gotten the hell out of my way.” She bounced her shoulders a couple of times. “You know, that little ride buzzed me up. Almost as good as coffee.”
They were passed straight into Whitney's office, where her commander and the rest of the team were already in place. Along with a holo-projection of a woman in dress whites.
Spruced up for it, Eve thought, but couldn't bother to be here in person.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, Major Foyer, United States Armed Forces, legal branch. Major Foyer requires further incentive to release the full military records of the individuals we have requested.”
“Those records are the property of the U.S. government,” Foyer said in clipped tones. “We have a duty to protect the men and women who serve.”
“And we have a duty to protect the citizens of this city,” Eve put in. “Information has come into my hands during the course of a multiple homicide investigation that leads me to believe Kirkendall, Roger, former sergeant, U.S. Army, is involved.”
“Disclosure of this nature requires more than the belief of an officer in the civilian sector, Lieutenant. The Revised Patriot Act, section 3 implemented 2040, specifically--”
“Gives the government carte blanche to demand and receive personal data on any citizen, while secreting data on their own. I know how it works. However, when a member of the armed forces is under suspicion for acts against the government or its citizenry, those records can be turned over to both military and civilian authorities.”
“Your suspicions, Lieutenant, are not enough. Evidence--”
“Commander, with your permission?”
He raised his brow when Eve stepped toward his computer, then nodded.
Eve ordered the file on the Swishers. “Images of victims, crime scene, onscreen.”
They flashed on, stark and bloody. “He did that.”
“You believe--”
“I know,” Eve corrected. She ordered the images of Knight and Preston on screen. “He did that. You trained him, but that's not on you. He twisted his training. But it's on you if you don't cooperate, if you don't assist this department, this investigation. If you hamper in any way our pursuit of Roger Kirkendall, then the next one he kills is on you.”
“Your evidence is far from conclusive at this stage of your investigation.”
“Let me give you some more. And since you look like a woman who does her job, not a lot of what I'm going to give you is news. He owns part of a successful business in Queens, but hasn't been seen by his partner in six years. Grant Swisher represented his wife in a custody suit-- and won. Judge Moss, presiding, was assassinated, along with his fourteen-year-old son, in a car bomb two years ago. Karin Duberry, the case worker from Child Protection Services, was strangled in her apartment last year. I believe when I complete the investigation into the stabbing of the medical authority who testified for Mrs. Kirkendall, we will find that Kirkendall was also responsible for this death.”
“Circumstantial.”
“Bullshit, Major. Jilly Isenberry, former corporal in the U.S. Army, was until recently the roommate of Sade Tully, the paralegal in Swisher's office. Isenberry spent time in the Swisher home, was considered a friend. Isenberry arranged to meet Tully shortly after the Kirkendal) trial, with the happy coincidence of a nice apartment within walking distance of Swisher's office. She, like Kirkendall, seems to travel a good deal. And I'll bet my next month's salary against yours that Kirkendall and Isenberry not only knew each other, but served together.”
“One moment, Lieutenant.” The holo vanished.
“Checking it now, aren't you? Tight-assed bitch.” Eve caught herself, turned to Whitney. “I beg your pardon, Commander.”
“No need.”
“You've been busy,” Feeney said. “Good going, kid.”
“We're rolling. We don't really need the military details at this point, but I'm not going to let her stonewall us. I want them.”
“Holes in the ER doc's case,” Baxter put in. “If you're looking at them. Guy who went down for it claimed he found her that way, just decided to rob the body--and got himself busted with her wallet and persona] effects before he got off the lot. Her blood all over him. But they never found the murder weapon.”
“Anything in his statement? He claim to see anything?”
“He was juiced. Had a homemade stunner in his pocket. No evidence vie was stunned. Already had a sheet. He'd gone down for illegals, and for assault, and for robbery. Cops find him a hundred feet from a dead body, dead body's possessions and blood on him, they didn't look elsewhere.”
“I want copies of the case file, the ME's report, the whole shot.”
“Already done.”
The holo shimmered back on. “The records requested will be made available to you.”
“Add Isenberry's.”
“Along with former Corporal Isenberry's. These officers are no longer under military jurisdiction. If either or both are responsible for these deaths, I hope you get them.”
“Thank you, Major.” Whitney gave the holo a nod of acknowledgment. “My department and the city of New York appreciate your help in this matter.”
“Commander. Lieutenant.” The holo faded away.
Whitney settled at his desk again. “I'd like an update while we wait for the data.”
Eve ran through it for him, for the team.
“Patient isn't the word.” Baxter huffed out a breath. “Patient's a cat at a mouse hole. This guy's like a spider who'll work for years to spin a web from the Bronx to the Bowery. Our retired USMC seemed clean. He was out of town the night of the Swisher murders. Golf tourney in Palm Springs. Transpo checked out, hotel, and he's got plenty of witnesses.”
“Ours was running night maneuver drills the night of.” McNab spread his hands. “He's got a whole platoon to back him up. Maybe they had solids because they needed to cover, but they seemed straight.”
“This is our man.” Again, Eve called on Whitney's computer, and brought Kirkendall's image on-screen. “Swisher helped cost him his wife and kids. And that wife, those kids, went missing directly after the trial.”
“He got them.”
“Maybe. Maybe. But then why spend years planning and executing the assassinations of those he blamed for the loss? Payback maybe, for the time and trouble, but if you got them back, or punished them, why plant a cohort with Swisher's paralegal? For six years.”
“Because they got away from him,” Peabody put in. “Whiffed. Vanished.”
“I'm thinking they did just that. She probably planned to go, no matter how the trial came out. So that's a pisser. She not only gets custody, she gets away, with his kids. He loses his control over them. So, plant somebody with Tully, and maybe she talks about where they went. Except she didn't know, she figures they're dead. Only thing left to do is take out the enemy. The people who went up against him, and won.”
“Data incoming.” Whitney checked his unit. He removed the images currently on-screen, replaced them with the new data.
“Eighteen years in,” Eve read. “Went in a fresh young kid. Why didn't he do his twenty? Yeah, yeah, there it is. Special Forces, covert ops. Grade-five rating.”
“That would be termination grade.” Baxter lifted a shoulder. “My grandfather does a lot of yapping about this stuff. Non-wartime termination level. Means you can off somebody outside of a declared situation. You can be ordered to assassinate targets.”
“Continue, Lieutenant. Split screen, Isenberry data.”
“They served together. Based in the same unit in Baghdad. He's listed as her sergeant during her covert training. Bet they were good pals. War buddies. Jilly and the good old Sarge. They both stepped out of uniform about the same time, too.”
“They both have a couple of conducts not becoming,” Feeney pointed out.
“Dallas,” Peabody interrupted. “There are no siblings listed under Kirkendall's data. No male cousins.”
“We'll need to study this further. I have to see what Yancy's got for us, and I've got a meet.” Eve checked her wrist unit. “Feeney, I've got the go-ahead from Tully for EDD to check all her communication equipment at home. Off chance Isenberry might have used it to contact someone involved in this. Also, I've requested an expert consultant, civilian, to work on other electronic traces.”
“If it's your usual ECC, no objections.”
“Baxter, Trueheart, Linnie Dyson's funeral is starting shortly. Attend as reps from the department and keep your eyes peeled.”
“Kid's burial.” Baxter shook his head. “We get the choice assignments.”
Nothing,” Yancy told her. “Nothing above a seventy-two percent match, so far. I've got another hour or two to run, but I've gone through IRCCA--so no criminal matchups.”
“We've got cooperation from the military. Request Whitney contact them re doing a search for a match with members of any of Kirkendall's units during his stint. Guys with the same training as his. Ah, start with the inactive and retired. These two don't have time to answer reveille.”
“Okay. But I've been thinking. Doing this sort of search gives you plenty of time to think, to speculate. Look at these guys again.”
He brought them up on a secondary screen. “These faces are close. Twin close.”
“We've agreed on that. Most likely brothers, but Kirkendall's got no bro. Hirelings maybe.” But she didn't like it. Where was the rush if you paid someone to do the job?
“Well, thinking twins, identical faces--but not identical heights. That's not a stretch, but what don't you see when you look at them?”
“Humanity.”
“Besides. I spend most of my time with faces. What you don't see, Dallas, are lines or scars, bumps, flaws. You said they'd had strong physical training, most probably military. Seen action. But you don't see action on their faces. You don't see wear. She'd have given it to me,” he said almost to himself. “Ophelia would, because you nudge them along there instinctively. You want identifying marks when you can get them. But other than the one favoring his leg, they were perfect.”