Authors: J. D. Robb
“Why did you go out in the alley?”
“I thought I heard something. Like a thud. I was in the storeroom getting some supplies. Sometimes people come, knock on the door early. I opened the door, thinking if they didn't seem in dire need, I'd tell them to come back at closing. She was right there, right by the door. She was naked, and facedown. I thought, By the goddess, someone's raped this poor woman. I bent down, I spoke to her. ... I touched her, her shoulder, I think, I'm not sure. I touched her, and she was so cold. I didn't think dead, not immediately. I just thought, oh, poor, poor thing, she's so cold, and I turned her over, calling for Genoa.”
“She called.” The life partner took up the story. “I could tell something was wrong, by the tone, and I stopped what I was doing in here. She started screaming before I got to the storeroom. Several of us rushed out then. I thought she was injured--the woman--and tried to pick her up. Then I saw she was dead. We called for the police. I stayed with her, with the woman, until they came. I thought someone should.”
“Did you see anyone else in the alley? See any vehicle or person leaving the alley?” she asked Leah.
“I saw, just for a second, taillights. They were gone so fast, I just saw the blocks of them.”
“Blocks?”
“Like building blocks. Three red squares, one on top of the other on either side. It was only a glimpse, I'm sorry. I wouldn't have seen even that if I'd looked down instead of over first.”
“Did you hear them drive in, drive out?”
“I might have. I'm not sure. We have music playing back here while we work. I'd only been in the storeroom a minute or so, and I was humming. You can hear the street traffic from there, but you tune it out. You understand? You hear it, but you don't. I think--I wish I could be sure--but I think I might've heard an engine in the alley before I heard the thump, and then the sound of driving away. I'm almost sure, now that I put myself back there, almost sure.”
“Have you ever seen this man?” Eve offered the composite of Kirkendall.
“No, I'm sorry. Did he--”
“Pass this around,” Eve interrupted. “See if anyone else recognizes him. Or her.” She handed Leah a copy of Isenberry's ID photo.
When she exited, Eve gestured to Trueheart. “Any tingles?”
“No, sir. So far the canvass hasn't turned up anybody who saw a vehicle entering or leaving the alley.”
“Witness heard the body hit--and caught a glimpse of the taillights at the mouth of the alley. Three vertical squares on each side. Little bits and pieces. If the witness hadn't been all but on top of the exit door when she hit, nobody would have seen even that much.”
“Bad luck for them,” Trueheart said.
“Yeah, bad luck for them. We'll let the CSU and sweepers do their thing, for what it's worth, and write this up from my home office. We've got another face to pin to our board, Trueheart.”
She looked at the black bag being loaded into the morgue wagon. “Bad luck for her.”
“I didn't mean any disrespect before, Lieutenant, regarding the bad luck comment.”
“I didn't hear any disrespect.” As she walked back toward her vehicle, she scanned as she had before. Street, sidewalks, windows, roofs, faces. “Meredith Newman was dead the minute they laid hands on her. There was nothing we could do for her. So we do for her now.”
“I shouldn't have missed the points on-scene. The fact that the body had been sanitized.”
“No, you shouldn't have. You won't next time.” She drove south, taking her time. “You learning anything working under Baxter?”
“He pushes the details, and he's patient. I'm grateful you gave me the chance to work in Homicide, Lieutenant, and to train under Baxter.”
“He hasn't corrupted you yet.” She turned east, cruised.
“He says he's working on that,” Trueheart said with a quick smile. “He speaks highly of you, Lieutenant. I know he kids around, that's his way. But he has nothing but the greatest respect for you as a police officer.”
“He didn't, he wouldn't be on this investigative team.” She checked the rearview, the sideview, back to the front. She turned south again. “And if I didn't have the same for him, he wouldn't be on this team.”
She pulled up at a bodega, dug out credits. “Run in, will you, get me a tube of Pepsi. Whatever you're drinking.”
The fact that he didn't appear to find the request odd told her Baxter sent the kid off on similar errands routinely. While he dashed out and into the shop, Eve sat, watched, tapped her fingers lightly on the butt of her weapon.
Trueheart came out with her Pepsi, and a cherry fizzy for himself She waited until he'd strapped in, then began to cruise as before.
“Do we have another stop to make, sir?” he asked a few moments later.
“Why do you ask?”
“You're well east now of your home.”
“That's right. Keep drinking that fizzy, Trueheart, keep facing front. But check the side mirror. You see that black panel van about five vehicles back?”
He did as ordered. “Yes, sir.”
“Same one's been on us since we left the scene. Not all the time, didn't pick us up until we were about four blocks south, but it keeps sliding in, four, five, six back. Gave them a chance to come at me when I sent you in for refreshing beverages.”
“Sir!”
“They didn't take it. They're just watching awhile. Just watching, maybe trying to catch a transmission, maybe thinking I might lead them to wherever we've got the kid stashed. Careful, careful, careful. Me, I'm getting a little tired of watching.”
“I'll call it in.”
“No! They're close enough, maybe they can monitor transmissions. You don't call anything in until I say different. You strapped in all right and tight, Trueheart?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Hold on to your fizzy.”
She'd gone as far east as Second, and now at an intersection, whipped the wheel, slapped into a steep vertical lift, and executed a rapid and airborne three-sixty.
“Hit the sirens,” she snapped at Trueheart. “Call it in now! Street and air support. Black panel van, New York plates. Abel-Abel-Delta-4-6-1-3. And up they go.”
The van shot into vertical, then blasted like cannon shot down Second. A white light exploded in front of Eve's windshield and shook the air like thunder.
“Shit on a stick. They've got laser rifles. Fricking armed and fricking dangerous, heading south on Second at Seventy-eight. Make that west on Seventy-seven, approaching Park. Look at that bastard move.”
“Juiced up.” Trueheart's voice was even as he spoke, as he gave dispatch a rapid-fire report of their direction. But it had gone up a full octave.
The van shot out another blast, then dropped to street level, punching up speed in a shower of sparks as they streamed onto Fifth and aimed south.
She saw two black-and-whites cut over from the west at Sixty-fifth, move to intercept. Pedestrians scattered, and some of them went airborne as the next blast boomed out. One of the black-and-whites was flung into the air to spiral like a top.
Eve was forced to slap vertical again to avoid collision and panicked civilians. She lost nearly half a block before she could set down and increase speed. Then she screamed downtown after the building-block red squares of the van's taillights.
Another blast knocked her back, had her fighting to keep control. Icy red liquid splattered over the dash. She was gaining. The shops of midtown were a colorful blur as she careened south. Lights and animated billboards were nothing but sparkle.
Overhead, one of the ad blimps boomed out about a buy-one get one half fall sale on winter coats.
She stayed on him, weaving, dodging, matching maneuver to maneuver as he swung west again. She heard the scream of sirens, her own and others.
She would tell herself later she should have anticipated, should have seen it coming.
The maxibus was lumbering in the right-hand lane. The blast from the van rolled it like a turtle, had it skidding over the street. Even as she switched to a straight lift, the maxi's spin caught a Rapid Cab, flipped it into the air like a big yellow ball.
On an oath, Eve whipped right, dived down, managed to thread between the bus, the cab, and a pocket of people on the sidewalk who were standing with eyes and mouths wide open at the free show.
“Abort standard safety factors!” she shouted and prayed the computer would act quickly enough. “Abort cushioning gel, goddamn it!” An instant later, she landed with a bone-crunching slap of tires to pavement.
Safety factors aborted. Please reset.
She was too busy swearing, shooting into reverse. But when she pulled out on Seventh, she saw nothing but chaos. And no sign of the van.
She yanked the harness clear, shoved out of the door, and slammed a fist on the roof. “Son of a bitch! Tell me air support's still got him. Tell me one of the black-and-whites still has him.”
“That's a negative, sir.”
She studied the overturned bus, the wrecked cars, the still screaming pedestrians. There was going to be hell to pay.
She looked over at Trueheart, and for one moment her heart stopped. His face, his uniform jacket, his hair were covered with red.
Then she let out a breath. “Told you to hold on to that damn fizzy.”
SUMMERSET GLANCED UP FROM HIS BOOK WHEN
Roarke tapped on the jamb of his open parlor door. It was rare for Roarke to come into his private quarters, so he put the book aside, rose.
“No, don't get up. I ... have you got a minute?”
“Of course.” He looked over at the monitor, saw that Nixie was in bed, sleeping. “I was about to get a brandy. Would you like one?”
“Yes. I would, yes.”
As he picked up the decanter, Summerset pondered over the fact that Roarke continued to stand, trouble written on his face. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Yes. No.” Roarke let out a frustrated laugh. “Well now, I've been stepping on my own feet quite a bit the last days. I've something I want to say to you, and I'm not sure quite how to start it.”
Stiffly now, Summerset handed Roarke a snifter of brandy. “I realize the lieutenant and I have had a number of difficulties. However--”
“Christ, no, it's nothing to do with that. If I came around every time the two of you locked horns I'd put in a bleeding revolving door.” He stared down at the brandy a moment, decided maybe it would be better done sitting.
He took a chair, swirled the brandy while Summerset did the same. And the silence dragged on.
“Ah, well.” It annoyed him that he had to clear his throat. “These murders. This child--the children--they've made me think about things I'd rather not. Things I make a point of not thinking of. My father, my own early years.”
“I've gone back a few times myself.”
“You think of Marlena.” Of the daughter, the young, pretty girl who'd been murdered. Raped, tortured, murdered. “I told Nixie the pain lessens. I think it must. But it never goes completely, does it?”
“Should it?”
“I don't know. I'm still grieving for my mother. I didn't even know her, and I'm still grieving when I thought I'd be done. I wonder how long that little girl will grieve for hers.”
“In some part of her, always, but she'll go on.”
She's lost more than I ever had. It's humbling to think of. I don't know how . . . You saved my life,” Roarke blurted out. “No, don't say anything, not until I manage this. I might have lived through that beating, the one he gave me before you found me. I might have survived it, physically. But you saved me that day, and days after. You took me in, and tended to me. You gave me a home when you had no obligation. No one wanted me, and then . . . You did. I'm grateful.”
“If there was a debt, it was paid long ago.”
“It can never be paid. I might have lived through that beating, and the next, and whatever came after. But I wouldn't be the man I am, sitting here now. That's a debt I'm not looking to pay, or one you're looking to collect.”
Summerset sipped brandy, two slow sips. “I would have been lost without you, after Marlena. That's another debt that's not looking for payment.”
“There's been a weight inside me,” Roarke said quietly. “Since this began, since I found myself faced with the blood of children I didn't know. I could shift it aside, do whatever I needed to do, but it kept rolling back on me. I think, like grief, it might stay there awhile. But it's less now.”
He drank down the brandy, got to his feet. “Good night.”
“Good night.” When he was alone, Summerset went into his bedroom, opened a drawer, and took out a photograph taken a lifetime ago.
Marlena, fresh and sweet, smiling out at him. Roarke, young and tough, with his arms slung around her shoulder, a cocky grin on his face.
Some children you could save, you could keep, he thought. And some you couldn't.
She got home late enough to consider just going up and dropping fully dressed onto the bed. A headache clamped the back of her neck, digging its hot fingers into the base of her skull. To avoid increasing it with sheer irritation, she pushed Trueheart at Summerset the minute they came in the door.
“Do something with his uniform,” she said, already heading up the stairs. “And put him to bed. I want him daisy fresh by seven hundred.”
“Your jacket, Lieutenant.”
She peeled it off, still walking, and tossed it over her shoulder. He probably had some household magic that got cherry fizzy off leather.
She aimed straight for the bedroom, then only stood, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to dissolve the rocks that were forming a small mountain range from that point and out to her shoulders. The bed was empty. If he was still working, and likely on her behalf, she could hardly crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head until morning.
She turned, her hand automatically slapping to her weapon, when she saw the movement behind her.
“Christ on airskates, kid. What is it with you and skulking around in the dark?”
“I heard you come in.” Nixie stood, this time in a yellow nightgown, with those sleep-starved eyes locked on Eve's face.
“No, not yet.” Eve watched the gaze drop to the floor and didn't know whether to curse or sigh. “But I know who they are.”