Devoted in Death

16

Eve started a deeper run on the nephew while Peabody confirmed the all-points on the stolen van.

“Banner, Hanks has a nephew, Hanks, Curtis Monroe, age twenty-eight, rancher. Sending his contact to your PPC now. Play the good-old boy again. Confirm his whereabouts, get a feel for him. He doesn’t play for me, but let’s nail him down.”

“Got it. What’s he drive?”

“Drive?”

“Say we had a hit-and-run in Silby’s Pond, and his vehicle matches the description.”

“Okay, I got that. It’s a… ’56 Toro pickup, forest-green exterior, OK plate 572 Echo-Papa-Alpha. Second vehicle, motorcycle, ’60 Hawker Midnight Rider, color gunmetal, personalized OK plate: BOOM. That’s Beta, Omega —”

“Got it. I’ll go with the cycle.”

When he walked out, Eve rose to update her board. “Peabody, write up where we are – all the details – send an update to Whitney, Mira, Carmichael and Santiago. Fold in Baxter and Trueheart, too. If they’re clear, I want them starting on Banner’s list of shops and restaurants.”

“Trueheart’s got the exam today. He’d be starting in about an hour.”

“Right.” Shit. Shit, fuck, damn. “Right. Okay, fold in Baxter. He and Banner can work the sector together with the best image McNab can pull out of the vid feed. Let Baxter know we’ll be at Central with Banner within the hour.”

She studied the board as she added data, shifted data.

Hanks = truck dumped by unsubs at Jansen kill site.

That took the unsubs back to Oklahoma. And damn it, it connected them, somehow, with Hanks. Why didn’t he report a theft, if there had been one? More likely he sold, under the table, or lent the truck.

Selling more likely as who lends a truck to anybody for months?

But the damn thing was still registered in his name. Wouldn’t he have fixed that for a sale?

She studied the nephew’s photo again. Just didn’t feel right. But if there was a nephew, there might be cousins, uncles, aunts, whatever. Good buddies, or just someone he owed a major solid to.

Younger, she thought as she circled the board. Not a contemporary. Someone young enough to be his son or daughter.

Girlfriend? Maybe he went for the young ones, and she’d sexed him into giving her the truck. Or maybe he had a girlfriend with a son or daughter who —

“Nephew Hanks is on the ranch,” Banner announced. “Seemed like a nice guy, and upstanding come to that. Got upset about the hit-and-run, wanted to know if anybody was hurt. Cooperated straight down. I gave him the night Campbell was snatched, and he says he had a poker party that night, went till about one in the morning. Gave me a dozen names to verify, and said I could come on out and test his cycle.”

“Cross him off. We’re not going to move much there until my people grill Hanks.” Not move there, she thought, but time to move in other directions. “Wrap it up, Peabody. We’re heading downtown. Banner, I’m going to hook you up with Detective Baxter. You can start canvassing those shops and restaurants on your list with the best image we have of the male unsub. You add in the couple, the age range profiled, the accent. Maybe we hit. When we get their names, faces – and we damn well will – we’ll send them to you.”

“Ready when you are, Lieutenant.”

“Meet you downstairs. I’m going to go by the comp lab first.”

She found her three favorite geeks in a huddle, with one screen running face recognition, another working on enhancing the loading-dock feed.

Roarke turned to her first. “The feed’s complete rubbish. We can push at it for hours, but we’re just not going to do much better. You can’t enhance what isn’t there.”

“I’ll take what you’ve got. McNab, send it to Banner, to Baxter. Might as well make the sweep and send it to all parties. Hanks is the link, and we’ll pull the data out of him one way or the other. I’m going in.”

“You want my take?” Feeney asked her.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Your guy here?” He gestured to the screen and the grainy shadow of an image. “He hasn’t seen thirty yet, or if he has, he’s barely had a glimpse. We figure he’s about six feet, maybe six-one, lean with it. Coat adds some bulk, but not much. He wanted to be able to move fast. He’s white. Low probability on mixed race from what we can figure.”

“That’s more for Baxter and Banner. How about her?”

“She’s clearer as she was the bait for the boy,” Roarke said, rocking on his heels now as he studied what they had of the female. “We’ve calculated her height at five-five, her weight between one-twenty and one-thirty. She’s got a good set of legs there. We get the hair – though it may be a wig – long and blond. Again we’d play odds on white for race, and her age? Given the body, as we don’t have a clear view of the face, the analysis of her voice from what we had, most likely between twenty-five and thirty.

“I did run her voice on a dialect program as well,” he added. “It pegs her as northwestern Oklahoma.”

“Okay, it’s all more than we had, and we’ll get more.” For a moment longer she stared at the image as if she could bring it clear through sheer force of will. “Crack’s widening. Feeney, do you need a lift to Central?”

“I’ve got my ride. Do you want the boy?”

“I’ll take him if you can spare him.”

“Take him. Tag me if you need more.” He flicked a finger salute at Roarke. “Nice working with you.”

“And you. I’ll run with this for another thirty, then I’ll leave it open if you want to send more data by remote.”

“Appreciate that.” Just how much would he juggle today? she wondered – then set the idea aside as it was more than she could imagine. “Head down, McNab. Peabody and Banner are doing the same.”

“On the way. Fun toys,” he said to Roarke, and walked out with Feeney.

Eve stuck her hands in her pockets. “As soon as this one closes, I’ll be the only cop in the house for a while.”

Roarke stepped to her, laid his hands on her shoulders. “I like your cops.” Kissed her lightly. “I believe I like Banner now that I’ve had a bit of a chance to know him. Speaking of cops, Feeney’s coat’s done. Summerset has it downstairs. Knowing the both of you, I assumed you wouldn’t want to give it to him in company.”

“No.” Gifts were sticky enough, in her opinion. “Anyway, you should give it to him.”

Understanding her well, Roarke gave her shoulders a squeeze. “It was your idea, and a fine one. And he was your cop first. The two of you will survive a gift. Go on now, and mind your step out there. I definitely want a cop in my bed tonight.”

“I bet that’s something you never thought you’d say.” This time she kissed him. “Thanks for the assist. I’ll keep you in the loop if you want.”

“I want.”

“Done,” she said and strode out.

He watched her go and, fingering the gray button he carried always in his pocket, turned back to the screens to do what he could in the time he had.

She jogged down, found all her cops still in a gaggle. As she grabbed her coat off the newel post, Summerset slid into view – like smoke – with a box wrapped in plain brown paper. Before she could evade, he pushed it into her hands.

“As requested.”

Not now, she wanted to say, but the box had already caught Peabody’s interest.

“Whatcha got?”

“It’s just a thing.” She muttered it, couldn’t figure how to avoid the presentation. Get it over with, she decided, and gave Summerset the fish-eye. “Vehicles out front?”

“Of course.”

She narrowed the fish-eye until he glided – like more smoke – away.

“Go pile in,” she told the rest. “Feeney, give me a minute?”

Banner unfolded himself from his crouch, giving Galahad one last stroke along the way. Peabody nearly turned her head in a one-eighty to keep Eve and the box in view as they went out the door.

“It’s a thing,” Eve repeated, and pushed the box at Feeney. “For you.”

His hands went directly into his pockets; his face fell into wary lines. “Why?”

She often thought the same when it came to gifts, so only shrugged. “Just a… you know,” she mumbled, and shoved it at him.

He looked puzzled, mildly embarrassed, but ripped the paper away. Wanting to keep it moving, she snagged the paper from him, balled it up, and tossed it on the closest table. Then got busy putting on her coat.

“Well, fuck me sideways.”

The stunned pleasure in his voice gave twin tugs – that mild embarrassment, and quick satisfaction. She turned back, pulling the scarf out of her pocket when he dumped the box on the floor, pulled out the coat.

“Son of a bitch!”

He grinned as he held it up. Shit-brown – she’d chosen the color as it was his usual choice of hue – the coat with its protective lining would, she saw, hit him about mid-thigh.

She’d left the design to Roarke, saw he’d gone roomy, simple, and had added the flash of captain’s bars as buttons.

“You got me a goddamn magic coat.”

“Well, Roarke —”

“Son of a bitch.” Still grinning, he punched her in the shoulder, then immediately pulled off his old shit-brown coat, dumped it on the floor.

“Bastard fits, too.” He folded it back, studied the lining with a shake of his head. “Freaking genius is what it is.”

More comfortable discussing the body armor aspect, she relaxed a bit. “No bulk, no weight, and it works. Deflects a full stun – I can attest. Sharps, too, though I haven’t personally tested that one.”

“Son of a bitch,” he said for a third time, and met her eyes. His ears had gone faintly pink. “  ’Preciate it.”

“Sure.”

He bent to gather up his old coat, the box, and looked at her again. “Really appreciate it.”

“Really sure.”

“Wait till the wife gets a load of this.” He skimmed one hand down the leather. “Let’s go get some bad guys, kid.”

“It’s what we do.”

They walked out. She heard him murmur “son of a bitch” yet again as they peeled off to their separate vehicles.

The instant she was in the car, Peabody leaned forward from the backseat she shared with McNab. “Is that a magic coat? Did you get Feeney a magic coat? Awww!”

“What’s a magic coat?” Banner demanded. “What kind of magic?”

“It’s totally frosted. See?” Peabody opened her pink coat to show off the lining. With some relief Eve let them ramble about body armor while she drove.

McNab slid up, spoke quietly near Eve’s ear. “That would’ve meant a lot to him, coming from you.”

He touched her shoulder lightly, then slid back. Either knowing she’d welcome a distraction or because he was greedy, he lifted his voice again.

“Who wants hot chocolate?”

And that took care of that.

She dumped Banner and McNab at Central, waited for Peabody to switch to the front seat for the trip to the lab.

On the way, she took a tag from Santiago.

“We’re at the garage now, but Hanks is out on a service call. Due back in a few. We took a little poke at his head mechanic, but he’s tight-lipped. We can poke at a couple of the others – the woman he’s got running the service counter’s got the wide eyes. She’d spill.”

“If he’s not back in a few, poke. Otherwise, keep it all easy.”

“No hits on the APB?”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know. Get me a name, Santiago. One name.”

“Working on it. He’s rolling in now. Back at you.”

“You can feel it falling,” Peabody said, “piece by piece.”

“There are two people it can’t fall fast enough for.”

She’d do whatever she could to speed it up, she thought as she moved quickly through the warren of the lab to DeWinter’s level.

Eve found the three doctors, all in lab coats. DeWinter’s was a metallic bronze that nearly matched her hair. She’d gone with ruler-straight, slicked back to leave her arresting face unframed.

Like Mira, she wore boots with scalpel-thin heels, hers in a deep green. Eve saw it matched the body-hugging dress under the lab coat.

DeWinter must have a hundred of them, Eve thought – dresses and lab coats.

Morris had chosen slate-gray over a suit of the same hue, and a single braid coiled up in poppy-red cord. And Mira had the traditional white over a suit as quietly blue as her eyes.

They made an interesting triad, Eve thought, standing around the white bones of the dead.

“Pretty clean,” Eve commented.

“The remains were in advanced decomp,” DeWinter began. “Morris worked with what flesh there was.”

“We ran reconstructions, of course,” he told Eve, before his colleague could recount chapter and verse. “And a number of tests you don’t want to hear about. We’re overruling the previous findings. The victim didn’t die in a fall. There was evidence of torture.”

“A thorough autopsy, a comprehensive one, should never have concluded accidental death.” DeWinter’s tone sharpened, as did the contempt in her eyes. “There are injuries obviously caused by implements, tools – several fingers were crushed – blunt force. A hammer, most probably. If you find the weapon I could match it. I would match it,” she corrected.

“There was also dehydration,” Mira put in. “We estimate the victim went at least thirty-six hours without water prior to death. If, indeed, he had suffered these injuries in a fall, he would have died instantly, not survived for more than a day.”

“Okay, that’s what I needed to hear.” She looked down again, at what remained of Little Mel. Justice would come, she thought. “What about the other one?”

“I’ve just started on tests, in the next room. Dr. Mira and I have already concluded a visual exam, and begun preliminary testing.” He glanced at Mira.

“It’s too soon to give you firm results and conclusions, but we both feel we’ll have a similar story to tell you.”

Thinking it through, Eve circled the table, the remains of Melvin Little, war vet, lost soul. Harmless.

“Here’s how I want to handle this. I’m going to wait until you have solid conclusions, until you put it all down, detail by minute detail, before I notify the feds. Right now, you’re reassessing, testing, examining, and if we even hint where this is going, the feds might be inclined to zip in and take over after they red tape it to death. The red taping may impede us, so we’ll just red tape it first.”

She glanced up, saw Morris with a slight smile, DeWinter with a more pronounced frown. “I’d be fine with them taking it over if it would speed this up, help us find the two people who are going through what this one went through. But it won’t. Objections?”

Mira folded her hands in a gesture that drew Eve’s attention. “The nature of the beast is bureaucracy, so I have to agree adding another agency to this mix would tend to slow down progress. But once conclusions are reached, conclusions that will stand in court, you must.”

“And I will. I won’t hold back. This isn’t about credit, the collar. It’s about making sure when we get these bastards we’ve got everything we need to put them away for the rest of their fucked-up lives. Agreed?”

“I’d like to finish what we’ve started without pausing to fill out countless forms,” Morris said. “Agreed.”

When DeWinter hesitated, frowned down at the bones, Eve tilted her head. “You stole a dog.”

“Damn it, you’ll never let that one go. Agreed, but we follow the rules, point-by-point.”

“Do that. And keep me updated. And remember this. The feds have nobody who can match the three of you. So, the ones we couldn’t save help you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to save the two who still can be. Together, we’ll put these sick assholes away.”

“Meanwhile,” Mira began, “I’ve reviewed your report. I agree it’s possible they escalated to two. That both Campbell and Mulligan are alive. It’s a progression. However, I can’t tell you that’s foregone. The longer we go without finding Campbell’s body, the better the chances. I don’t see them changing pattern and concealing or attempting to conceal the body, if there is one, as there’s no discernable motive to do so.”

“Then I’m banking on both of them being alive, until we know different.”

When she started out, Peabody lengthened her stride to keep up. “What are you going to tell Whitney?”

“Everything. If he tells me to bring in the feds, I bring them in. But I think he’s going to see this part of it my way. They can’t do any more than Mira, Morris and DeWinter on the remains – especially since they already signed off there. On the active hunt, I’ll send the agent in charge everything we have. The truck, the van, the conclusions regarding those we’ve eliminated. I’ll take whatever I can get for Campbell and Mulligan.”

“Okay. I’m all in.”

She decided to save time and contacted Whitney as she drove. He listened, said little, until she’d finished.

“Detective Peabody didn’t copy the FBI on her update this morning.”

“No, sir, I gave her the list to inform. I wanted you to see the progress first.”

“Where are Santiago and Carmichael in this interview with Hanks?”

“It’s going on now, sir. They haven’t contacted me with results as yet.”

“Let me know when they do. Whatever those results may be, I’ll inform the FBI of your progress to date. As for the ongoing lab work, they dismissed those victims from the investigation. On that, they can wait.”

Satisfied, Eve pulled into her slot at Central. “Thank you, sir. Heading up to Homicide now. If I don’t hear from Oklahoma in the next ten, I’ll contact Carmichael.”

She got out of the car, moved fast to the elevator. “Let’s keep the momentum going. Get a couple of uniforms to coordinate with Banner. He can give them part of the list. Let’s cover what we can cover. Sometimes you get lucky.”

As she stepped into the elevator, her ’link signaled.

“Give me something, Santiago.”

“How about a name, boss? Darryl Roy James.”

“Peabody.”

“Running it now, sir.”

“Who is he?”

“Hanks’s woman’s son. No cohab on record because he didn’t want to go that route, but they’ve been together for about ten years. Darryl worked for him at the garage. Good mechanic, lazy asshole – or that’s Hanks’s opinion. Took off when he was about sixteen, landed in Texas. Did time in juvie in there – boosting rides – came back home, went to work for Hanks. In July 2057, he took off again, this time in the ’52 Bobcat he stole from the garage, about six thousand in cash, tools, an antique bowie knife and so on. His mother begged Hanks not to report it, so he didn’t to keep the peace.

“James did another stint in the Oklahoma State Pen. Four years for attempted robbery, armed – he had the bowie knife on him when he tried to shoplift a diamond engagement ring.”

“For the woman. True freaking love.”

“Maybe. Got busted in December of ’57, got out early August of this past year. Time off, good behavior.”

“Timing works. Do they know his whereabouts?”

The elevator doors opened; a trio of uniforms started to board.

Eve snarled, laid her hand on her stunner.

They backed out again.

“He says no, and I believe him. No love lost there, LT. He took the loss on the truck and the tools for his woman, but when we said the M word, he spewed like a geyser. Carmichael’s talking to the mother now, but it doesn’t look like she knows anything much. She claims she hasn’t spoken to him since midsummer, right before he got out, and it rings true. But she did say something about a woman before she got hysterical. No name, just he’d hooked up with some woman somewhere, and it was all her fault – according to the mother.”

Santiago managed an eye roll and a smirk at the same time. “Carmichael’s working it.”

“Get me her name, get all you can, then get home.”

“I’m so ready for that. Yippee-ki-freaking-yay.”

“Peabody,” Eve said as she clicked off, and stepping out this time when the doors opened and other cops piled on.

“James, Darryl Roy, age twenty-five, single, one offspring.”

Eve’s head snapped around to her partner. “Offspring?”

“He’s listed as the father of a baby, Darra Louise James, born in April of last year. The mother is listed as Ella-Loo Parsens, age twenty-six.”

“That’s going to be her. That’s got to be.” Revved, Eve jogged her way up the glides. “How the hell are they doing all this with a baby in tow?”

“Jeez, poor baby. Not even a year old.”

Eve yanked out her ’link again, contacted Carmichael. “Ask the mother if she knows about a baby. Does she know she’s a grandmother?”

“Holy hell. I’m betting no. Hang loose a minute.”

Eve waited, pushing her way up to Homicide. When Carmichael came back on, Eve could hear the wailing from Oklahoma.

“She didn’t know. I’m going to calm her down again, Dallas, but she didn’t know about a kid, she doesn’t know the woman’s name. She only knows Darryl told her he was in love – had met his soul mate. Called her his Juliet, but he was into the Shakespeare thing, star-crossed lovers, Romeo, and all that. This was during visitation in prison.”

“Settle her down, work her some more. You and Santiago hang there until I get back to you. You may be out there a little longer.”

“Then I’m buying some damn cowboy boots.”

“If you buy pink ones, I’ll hurt you, Carmichael. Work the mother. She may know more than she thinks she knows. Peabody.”

Peabody read off her PPC. “Parsens, Ella-Loo, born Elk City, Oklahoma. Couple of pops for possession, low-rent stuff. No marriages, no cohabs on record. Lots of short employment history, with the last one picking up in January of ’58 through last August – her longest on record. A bar called Ringo’s, McAlester, Oklahoma. That’s where the prison is, Dallas. The Oklahoma pen.”

“Wanted to be near her man, waited for him. Close to four years – that’s devoted. Go back over the employment.”

“The next is short-term. March to July, 2057, the Rope ’N Ride, Dry Creek, Oklahoma.”

“And Darryl boosted Hanks’s truck, stole the cash, the tools, the knife in July, set out from there, and you bet your ass into the Rope ’N Ride in Dry Creek.”

She stepped into Homicide, held a hand up to stop anyone from asking her anything, and tagged Santiago again.

“NYPSD West,” he answered.

“Ha. Wrap it up there, asap, and head to someplace called Dry Creek.”

“Ah, man.”

“A bar called the Rope ’N Ride. Show the photos, Santiago. Get everything you can get on Ella-Loo Parsens – she worked there – and James. From there, it’s Elk City and Parsens’s mother.”

“Janelyn,” Peabody provided when Eve turned to her.

“Janelyn. Peabody’ll send you the data. Last stop, as of now, is McAlester. Talk to the warden at the prison, and check out a bar called Ringo’s where Parsens worked while James was in a cage. See who knows what. I’m going to bag these two, Santiago, and what you and Carmichael pull out of Oklahoma’s going to sew them up tight.”

“Light a candle for me, LT.”

“What?”

“I lost a bet with Carmichael, and she gets to drive. The speeds you can get up to out here? She’s pretty damn scary.”

“But you’ll get there fast. I know when you know, Santiago. It’s busting wide now.”

“We’ll bang the hammer here. NYPSD West, out.”

“Peabody, get them all the data they’ll need. Anybody has anything for me that can’t wait, say it now,” she told the room at large. “Otherwise, I need ten.”

She gave it five seconds, turned and went into her office. Shut the door. After tossing her coat aside, sat down and wrote everything up.

Updated her board with all the fresh data.

Sat down again, put her feet on the desk, and let herself think.

A guy walks into a bar, she thought, only there was no lame punch line to this one.

Something sparks between these two – two people, aimless, low-rent as Peabody said. Without that meet, without that spark, maybe they just stay low-rent and aimless. But that spark lit up something vicious inside them.

They like the vicious, she concluded, it’s part of what binds them together.

Eve studied the board where she now had Darryl and Ella-Loo front and center.

She’s the smart one, Eve decided. As far as smarts went. He’s the romantic. Gets busted for trying to cop a traditional engagement ring.

“I bet you found that stupid but touching, right, Ella-Loo? He did that on his own, a surprise for you. But you got yourself another crap job and waited for him. Three and a half years, that’s love, of its kind. That’s devotion. Must’ve gotten knocked up on a conjugal. Another tie that binds? I bet you timed that one, too.”

She rose, paced.

How the hell were they traveling, abducting, torturing and killing with a baby to deal with? Ditch the kid? Couldn’t just dump it on a doorstep – why have one if you’re going to toss it to fate or strangers?

She circled around that, wondered if Ella-Loo subscribed to the Stella school of motherhood. You have a kid because it may be useful or profitable, and keeps your man locked to you.

Then she let it slide away as she couldn’t see how it applied, for now, to the investigation.

Wait for your man. Head east when he’s sprung. In the same truck he boosted from Hanks. A truck that’s showing its age now, and Darryl hasn’t been able to maintain it in those three and a half years.

Does what he can when he gets out, but it gives up on that quiet road over the Arkansas border.

And that’s where it really began, she thought. That’s when the spark went off like a rocket.

“I know you now,” she murmured. “We’ll get more, but I know you. And I’m going to find you.”

Soon, she thought, it had to be soon, or it would be too late to save Jayla Campbell.