Devoted in Death

19

Her office smelled like chicken and dumplings soaked in strong black coffee – with a dash of cherry from McNab’s endless fizzies.

Roarke brought in another auxiliary as she doled out assignments. Peabody to cover deep background on Darryl Roy James, Banner deep background on Ella-Loo Parsens. Roarke and McNab would continue the e-work, combing through security discs in evidence, and checking any storefront cams that may have picked up their suspects on foot.

Eve worked the maps, focused on trying to narrow the target area foot by foot.

The first interruption, a ’link tag from Special Agent Zweck, pulled her out of the groove. But by the end of it she kicked back in her chair, feet on the desk.

“I’ll keep you updated,” she told him. “You’ll let me know how you want to proceed on your end.”

She picked up her coffee, and though it had gone cold during the conversation, drank it anyway.

“The feds won’t sign off on Little and Fastbinder as vics of the spree killers they still refer to as unsubs.”

Banner’s head came up in one fast jerk. “What?”

“Someone’s dick’s in a knot over DeWinter’s report – which apparently fried asses, many of which she named, specifically, before she sliced them up for the pan.”

Yeah, she definitely owed DeWinter that drink.

“The remains ‘in question’ will be transferred to a federal facility in the morning where federal forensic specialists will examine and test.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s bureaucracy. DeWinter’s on a rampage and stomping on other dicks to get the remains of Noah Paston in her house. The boy’s next of kin has signed off on it, and my money’s on DeWinter. Oh yeah, I forgot.”

Eve circled a finger in the air. “Same thing. While the feds will investigate James and Parsens, thoroughly review our reports and findings, they will not, at this time, name them as suspects. They are, officially, ‘persons of interest’ only.”

“We’ve tracked them,” Peabody began.

“We’ve verified James and Parsens met in Oklahoma in ’57. There is reasonable evidence James stole a ’52 pickup matching the description of one towed away, illegally, by the Dorrans. Federal investigations will track whatever’s left of that vehicle to verify or disprove it was the one James allegedly stole. We’ve determined Parsens bore a female child, but until DNA can be tested, the child’s paternity remains a question mark for the feds.”

“Assholes,” Banner muttered.

“A sentiment I believe Zweck shares but was careful not to voice. We can’t, at this time, prove without a doubt Parsens and James killed anyone or, indeed, took the route we’ve determined through our investigation. We haven’t to their satisfaction proven either Parsens or James is, indeed, in New York. They will examine the loading dock feed, and Zweck will follow up with the hardware store, pawnshop, restaurants in the morning.”

“Stepping in our footprints,” Peabody said. “Wasting time and resources.”

“Dicks,” Eve returned and made a tying motion with her hands. “Here’s what that means for us. We won’t have the full weight of the federal resources on the investigation. We also won’t have them in the way. Zweck, if I’m any judge, is going to do a lot of pushback on this. He, apparently, isn’t a moron.

“It also means we’ve got a breather on the FBI releasing James’s and Parsens’s names and faces to the media. A breather, because someone may unknot his dick long enough to throw them out as POIs.”

Banner considered. “So, nothing much changes.”

“Nothing much. Zweck’s going to raise some hell – that’s my take. But somebody higher on the food chain doesn’t like being told they’re wrong – and the mistake might, eventually in the media, make them look bad. The feds didn’t listen to you, Banner, and you were right. That makes them wrong. A small-town deputy – no offense.”

“None taken.”

“Was right, and the FBI was wrong. That’ll knot a lot of dicks.”

Eve nodded toward the board from where she sat. “And if they’d done what you did, if they’d backtracked from Little Mel, tied into Jansen, maybe they’d have caught these fuckers sooner. Maybe some people would still be alive.”

“They’ve gotta live with that,” Banner said.

The kind of badge whose dick knotted over being wrong, Eve knew, could and did live with it. They just shifted the blame down the food chain.

“That’s the maybes,” she continued, “and that kind of maybe doesn’t look good in PR and political terms. And it doesn’t change a thing for us. So give me some more on James.”

Banner shoved his hand through his hair, shifted in his chair.

“He wasn’t much for school, skimmed through, did some repeating, worked with a state-sponsored tutor a time or three. No extra activities, nothing over mandatory requirements. That includes sports, and that’s the exception rather than the rule in small towns back where I come from.”

“Not a team player,” Eve concluded, “not an academic.”

“Not even close. Got a weak spot for sex and women.”

“Details.”

“I got a bunch of articles here on how he had an affair with one of his teachers. He was fifteen – she was twenty-six. She did time for it.”

Eve straightened in her chair. “Was he coerced?”

“Doesn’t read that way. I’ll send them to you, but it reads pretty clear he wasn’t coerced, forced or pressured. Doesn’t excuse the teacher, not one bit, and it’s statutory rape however you slice it, but he was willing and eager. Romanced her.”

“Romance again.”

“Bought her flowers, wrote her bad poetry, gave her little gifts. Came out he’d stolen most of them. And he was also banging two other girls during the same six months – that came out when they testified. One took a slap as she was eighteen. The other was sixteen, so that’s legally consensual.”

“Sex, stealing, romance. He started all of it young.”

“Had some tangles – his juvenile record’s unsealed,” Banner added. “Got a history of shoplifting and moved that up to joyriding, destruction of property, a couple minor assaults. Usual court-appointed counseling, community service. And a quick stint of rehab when he got bagged with some illegals. Can’t get into any of his psych reports – they’re sealed.”

Eve thought of Roarke – the quick way. Or Mira – the official way. “We’ll cut through that if necessary.” Either way.

“He showed an aptitude for mechanics – had better luck for the year they put him in trade school. Showed above-average interest and aptitude for electronics. What you get, Lieutenant, is he’s not all-over bright, but has a knack for those areas. But he’s bone-lazy with it. He took off at sixteen, ended up in Texas, got popped trying to boost a car and did his time in juvie down there. We got pretty much the rest of it.”

“Get that to Mira. It’ll add to the whole picture. Peabody, Parsens.”

“It’s going to sound like a lot of repetition. Low-level achiever in school, no extracurriculars, with a handful of suspensions and write-ups for fighting, disruption of others, unexcused absences. Accused a male teacher of molestation. Thorough investigation there, by my eye. The teacher was completely vindicated. Solicited another – who had a recorder in his pocket, running. Sex for a passing grade was her offer. Any kind of sex he wanted. Mandatory counseling, community service assigned. Dropped out as soon as she reached legal age. No steady employment, and all employment on record is bar work. Applied for an LC license at eighteen, again at twenty-one. Both times denied.”

When she picked up her mug, frowned into it, Banner said, “Out?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll fix you up.”

“Actually, I could do with something sweet at this point. Could you make it an orange fizzy?”

“Coming up. Keep going,” he said as he rose. “I can hear you.”

“I dug up a couple reports, when she was a minor. She was accused of killing a dog – twice.”

Now, Eve thought. There it was. The need to shed blood, give pain.

“How young was she?”

“Thirteen the first time – they couldn’t nail it down, but she’d gone a round with this other girl, over a boy. And the girl’s dog ended up eating poisoned kibble. She was fifteen the next time, and it was the same sort of scenario. Only this time the dog was cut up, burned, and found hanging from a tree.”

“Bitch,” Banner muttered from the kitchen. “I’ve got a soft spot for dogs. I know she’s doing people, but I’ve got a soft spot.”

“Torturing and/or killing animals. One of the foundations of a serial killer. She’d have gone on to people eventually. With or without James, she’d have evolved to that. Any more?” Eve asked.

“We’ve got a few police reports with her the complainant – boyfriend at the time popping her one, other rape or molestation charges. From the photos and reports, the popping did happen, and was mutual. None of the sex charges stuck.”

“Sex as a payoff, a weapon, as currency. I’ve talked to Charles about this sort of thing before.”

“Charles who?” Banner asked as he came back with two fizzies.

“Former LC, current sex therapist, friend,” Eve explained. “And if we consulted him I’d expect him to say sex was never a real pleasure for her. Always a weapon or tool. Maybe we’ll find she rang that bell with James, and that’s what keeps her with him. That, and the killing.”

Peabody took a big gulp of fizzy, winced, rubbed between her eyebrows. “Cold snap. Why do I do that? She ran away a couple of times as a minor, but always came back on her own. Took off for good at eighteen. Stepfather reported stolen articles, cash, but withdrew the complaint.”

“Her mother pushed there,” Eve speculated.

“She bounced around, ended up at the Rope ’N Ride.”

“Organize it, get it to Mira. When we get these two, we’re nailing them shut.”

She rose, pulled out her signaling ’link. “Santiago, give it to me.”

“We rounded up the warden, a couple of guards, the head waitress from the place Parsens worked, her former landlord, and just to top it off, the midwife who delivered her baby. We corralled them, boss.”

“You’ve been out there too long.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Sum it up. You’re on screen,” she said as she walked back to her office, ordered the open transmission. “Talking to the room.”

“Yo, room. Wish I was there. According to all reports, James kept his head down and his nose clean during his incarceration. Took some classes in e-work, did well. Worked in the mechanics shop, did exceptional. He was, in fact, recommended for a job at a local garage here, but requested permission to return home after his early release, stating he and his woman wanted to go home, where their baby was being tended by family. Said permission was granted. He never reported in.”

“They took off, heading east.”

“The guards on his block said he was affable and easy. Did a lot of reading on his time in, talked about his woman, who visited him every week. They took advantage of every scheduled conjugal. According to Parsens’s supervisor at the bar, she wasn’t what you’d call a self-starter, didn’t get along well with the other staff, and was suspected of offering sexual favors on the side. Her landlord adds to that. She brought men home, but none of them stayed above an hour, usually less. She left without notice, and owing back-rent. She drove the pickup, had it serviced a time or two – and it’s believed paid for service with service.”

“No surprises there.”

“The midwife? She says definitely imbibed during pregnancy – but she could never prove it. Caterwauled – that’s a quote – during delivery that, according to the source, was as easy as a cat having kittens. I can’t speak to that, never having had kittens or a baby, for which I remain eternally grateful.”

“What is that noise?”

“It’s cows, Lieutenant. Or steers. I think there’s a difference, but I’m not going to ask. There are… members of the cow/steer/cattle family in the trailer Carmichael opted to park next to. I really don’t think they like it in there.”

“You should get away from there, in case they get out.”

“I’m thinking that.” Glancing over his shoulder, he walked a few paces away. “You’ve been off-planet, right, LT?”

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t, but I think this is something like it. Anyway, the midwife stated Parsens’s labor was textbook and quick. No interest from Parsens in the kid after. The midwife was concerned enough, she went back twice a day, on her own time, to check on the baby, make sure it was clean and fed. Bottle and store-bought milk, earning said midwife’s stern disapproval. Parsens said – quote – she wasn’t having her tits ruined from some baby sucking them dry.

“When Parsens took off with the kid, came back without her, the midwife was worried enough to do some digging – again on her own – came up with Parsens’s mother, contacted her. She ascertained the baby was there, but didn’t reveal her connection to Parsens or Parsens’s location, as she could’ve lost her license for it. But she needed to be sure the kid was alive and well. She believed Parsens capable of dumping it somewhere, or even infanticide.”

“Infanticide’s a serious leap.”

“Midwife said Parsens was a lot more concerned about getting her body back in shape than the kid. Claims she saw actual hate in Parsens’s eyes once when the baby was crying, and the midwife tried to get her to take care of it.”

Eve said nothing to that as the image of her mother’s eyes, the hate in them when she herself had been a child, flashed into her mind.

“Mostly indifference, but that look she claims to have witnessed had her awake at night worrying. She didn’t have anything to go to the authorities about, just that sick feeling.”

“Okay.”

“All over it? People tend to like James well enough. People seem not to like Parsens.”

“James does, and that’s all it took. Come home, Santiago. This time I mean it.”

“Gracias a Dios. And when I think in Spanish I’m verklempt.”

She had to laugh. “Write it up on the way, make sure Mira’s copied. Report to Central at oh-eight-hundred because by Dios we’re going to have a net around these two tomorrow.”

She clicked off, nodded as she noted Roarke and McNab had come back in. “You catch all that?”

“Enough of it.”

“Peabody and Banner are writing summaries from their deep background. You can read them if you want, but they’re mostly going to be useful in the trial phase. They further cement the pattern and profile of each, and confirm predilections, pathology, and some of the movements. I’ve carved off another block, eighty percent probability, using my own parameters.”

“We can maybe help you there.” McNab picked up Peabody’s fizzy, took a slurp. “We got lucky on a couple of store cams, and caught sight of James heading away from the hardware store – the roll of plastic over his shoulder, shopping bag in hand. Heading north.”

“North.” She whirled back to the map. “If we can cut off anything south of the hardware store… Not conclusive, but I can run two maps. How far could you track him?”

“Only half a block. The cams in that sector tend to be dicey. We could see him bopping along. I’ll put it on screen. Just a half block north, head swiveling back and forth, craning up, like tourists do.”

Eve watched James bop – not a bad description for it – nearly beaning a couple of pedestrians with the roll of plastic as he did the tourist head-swivel-and-crane.

Then he zigged closer to the street, out of range of the limited cams.

“Hell. He could’ve gotten lucky with parking. He could’ve been heading toward the van. Or he could’ve caught a cab.”

“Maybe the van,” McNab agreed. “Probably no on the cab. We worked that angle. He’d have more luck on corners, but we put in an official on pickups, all four corners, or anywhere within a two-block radius to start. It was a lot of checking, and we got the ‘it’ll take time to run a search,’ so…”

He glanced at Roarke.

“I looked into it.” He shrugged off Eve’s narrowed look, turned to Banner. “Do you have any issues with me… circumventing the official protocol here, Deputy?”

“Not a one.”

“Well, then, we did find several pickups in that area, in that time frame. Two were single passenger fares. One was dropped off in Midtown, corner of Fifty-first and Madison.”

“I did the badge thing,” McNab said, “contacted the cabbie directly. He doesn’t remember the fare, exactly, but he says he didn’t pick up anybody downtown hefting a roll of plastic.”

“The second single fare was driven to Franklin and Hudson.”

“Tribeca. I’ve pretty much eliminated that sector.”

“The cabbie also says she – in this case – didn’t pick up any guy hauling plastic. It’s not absolute, Dallas, but we lean no on flagging a cab.”

“We’ll focus north. It’s worth the leap. Another shot at any vacant buildings, apartments or flops in the narrowed sector. We’ll do a door-to-door sweep if it comes to it, hit every street slot, parking lot, vacant lot and underground. That van’s somewhere.”

“Private garage perhaps,” Roarke suggested.

“I can’t see them paying that freight, but maybe. Maybe if they hit a vic with one, if they did take out somebody to make their nest who had one. We’ll pull in private.”

“I can do a search for you. Residents of this sector who also rent or own garage space.”

“Good. Do that. He’s got an aptitude for electronics – according to his background.” Factor that in, she thought. “There must be hotels, office buildings in that general area with parking. Some apartment units with parking. How hard would it be to bypass the permit, the payment, take a vehicle in and out?”

“If he’s got any feel for it, and a decent jammer?” McNab nodded. “Oh yeah, icy cake on that. We’ve got a couple of drones in EDD dealing with that all the time.”

“They can’t help but steal, so why pay for parking? Permit parking,” she considered, “they’d have reasonably decent cams. We’ll start on that, too. Public parking lots have cams, but a lot of them are just for show. We’re going to check those. After dark, after, say, nine,” she continued, pacing now. “Anything before that’s too early. Nine’s too early, but it’s as far as I’ll cut it. We’ll go by Banner’s take – no need to drive in the city. Except when they’re hunting. So we’ll start running feeds from permit and public parking, after twenty-one hundred.”

She turned to McNab. “Can you pull in those drones, the ones who handle this routinely?”

“I’ll ask the captain, but I think yeah.”

“I’ll contact Feeney. Do what you can tonight, and if we don’t nail it down, we’ll put the drones on it in the morning. Peabody, use the map. Start another search for any missings reported in that sector. Any DBs who worked or resided in that sector.

“Banner, use the map. Vacant buildings or units. And spread that out to recently rented. Maybe they invested some of the money they stole along the way. Focus in on basement apartments and self-contained houses. Anything you can find with a rear or side entrance. I’ve already started there, so you’ve got a jump.”

Now she turned to Roarke. “Are you up for a drive?”

“I could be.”

“I need to cruise that sector. I want to roll through it, at night. They hunt at night. Maybe it’s not the best use of my time or yours, but I can’t let it go. I need to see it, feel it.”

“You’ll need your boots,” he told her. “It’s still sleeting.”

“Immediate contact if anything – anything pops,” she said, and headed out for her boots.

“She’ll want to walk it as well,” he commented. “Are you set, Ian?” he asked McNab. “The lieutenant wouldn’t care for it overmuch, but Summerset’s a good hand, and I can have him work with you while I’m in the field.”

“I’ve got this, but thanks.”

“Fuel up when you need to. It looks to be a long night.”

He met Eve downstairs, pulled the scarf out of her coat pocket, wound it expertly around her neck. “It’s bitter and filthy out.”

“I get that, and odds are slim they’re out hunting. But —” She walked outside, into the icy sleet and wicked cold. “It’s also the perfect time to grab somebody. Most people are inside – home, a bar, whatever. It’s good cover.”

Once inside the all-terrain, she frowned at the interior. “This isn’t the one from before.”

“It’s another one. A bit smaller as we’re not hauling people around with us. Quick,” he said as he punched it to a speed she wouldn’t have attempted unless in pursuit. “And agile.”

To demonstrate he hit vertical and flew over the gates.

“It moves. And this isn’t the way you figured to spend your evening.”

“I believe we’re past evening now. I enjoy working with McNab. His mind’s quick, his energy infectious. And I got a Bella report if you’re interested.”

She watched the streets. Plenty of cabs – few with lights on – fewer private vehicles. And a stingy scatter of pedestrians. “McNab gave you a Bella report?”

“He’s fairly mad for her. He and Peabody babysat last week so Mavis and Leonardo could have a date night. The three of them, I’m told, had a dance party. With costumes.”

“Huh.”

“She’s coming up on her first birthday. Have you given that any thought?”

“No.” Panic wanted to rise. “I don’t know how to buy a birthday thing for a one-year-old. You do it.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

She shifted her attention from the street to him for a heartbeat. He knew much about most, but she wasn’t sure even Roarke knew what you were supposed to get for a first birthday.

“I’ll ask Peabody.”

“Excellent idea.”

“There’s going to be a party, isn’t there? Some big, insane Mavis party. Possibly with costumes.”

“I imagine so.”

“I’m not wearing a costume, not even for Mavis. Or one of those hats. Those pointy hats.”

“There’s bound to be cake.”

“I like cake. They were getting bored.”

Not Bella, Roarke thought, or her parents. The killers.

“So they wanted to mix it up.”

“I think so.” She knew them now, knew them, and it… “It feels so. All the way here, they were on the move, had this goal – her dream of New York, and his romantic ideal to fulfill her dream. Then they got here. We assumed Kuper was their first in New York, but I’m not even close to assuming that now.”

“The tenant or owner of wherever they’re – nesting is how you put it.”

“Yeah. They could have gone the straight rental route, but it’s not pattern. Skipping out on the rent, stealing from wherever they work. I’ll bet you a night in costumes when we track them back, they’ll have skipped out on motels and flops, or used vacants, killed owners and tenants along their route.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still considering the bet for costumes as I don’t see how I can lose.”

“Eye on the prize, pal.”

He looked at her, straight at her. “It always is.”

“Sap.” But she laid her hand over his a moment. “I’m going to put the map up, dash screen. Highlighting the parking areas I already earmarked. Peabody can feed us anything she gets.”

It took her some time, but since they had it, Roarke let her fight with the in-dash comp.

“Fuck me. Why can’t you just say put up the damn map, and it puts up the damn map?”

As, essentially, you could, Roarke kept his thoughts to himself.

He headed down Seventh Avenue, and once south of the West Village, began to hunt with her.

“I’m not going to let them take another. It may be too late for Campbell. Her chances are razor-thin, and that goes for Mulligan because I think they might go for the double-kill.”

“A bigger thrill.”

“And that’s all it’s about now. All it was ever about. Let’s try that lot.”

They wound through a parking garage, level by level, drove out again, cut east.

She studied every vehicle, every pedestrian.

“It’s the perfect cover for them,” she said as they tried another lot. “Everyone’s bundled up, less people on the street. Even the chemi-heads and dealers take it inside or underground in weather like this.”

They gave it an hour, covering every section of every block, driving through parking structures, into and out of lots.

“Try this one.” She gestured to a private multilevel for a run of buildings. “We’ll park, and I’ll do a quick canvass on foot. You can wait for me.”

“Really?”

His really was another man’s fat chance, she thought.

“You could. You won’t, but you could. We’ll take this last one tonight, do the foot patrol, and count on Feeney’s drones in the morning.”

He doubted she knew it was going onto midnight. She had the scent, couldn’t quite give it up and settle down to hunt fresh the next day.

So they’d scan another three levels of vehicles, he thought as he circumvented the permit requirement, drove smoothly in. Then they’d take a very unlovely winter’s walk.

On the second level, she grabbed his arm. “Stop! There. That van. New York plates, but the rest fits. Navy-blue, tinted windows, the right make and model. Change the plates, just an extra cover.”

She yanked out her PPC, more comfortable with that than the in-dash, ran the registered plates.

“Registered to Anthony Charles Lappans, age seven-three, East Broadway address, and that’s not only not here, it’s near Kuper’s dump site. Keep an eye out.”

She jumped out of the all-terrain, shoved her coat back for easy access to her weapon, and approached the van.

She gestured to the sticker on the back window, circled the van, then walked back. “I’m going to get a warrant, but you’re right here, right now.”

Understanding, he got out, took out his pocket tools. After a quick glance at the lock, he selected what he wanted. He had the rear doors open in seconds.

Inside Eve studied a bulky armchair, a tool bag, a balled-up blanket, and spots and stains she’d bet her badge were dried blood.

“Close it back up, will you, and open the passenger door.”

“Dog gets the bone,” he murmured as he did as she asked.

“What?”

“You don’t give up. Just keep on digging until you have the bone. Your killers are also very untidy.”

“Yeah, isn’t that handy?” Her lips spread in a feral smile as she studied the litter of fast-food bags, disposable go-cups and receipts. “I don’t suppose there’s a field kit in that new ride of yours?”

“There is, of course, but I think all you’ll want at this point is…” He took tweezers out of his kit.

Nodding, she used them to lift one of the receipts. “From a Stop ’N Go in New Jersey. Another from a café here, on West Broad.

“Lock it back up. We’ve got them now. One way or the other, we’ve got them.”