Judgment in Death

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The assailant with the polite voice and the natty topcoat went by the name of Elmore Riggs. A quick search proved that it had been the name he'd been born with, some thirty-nine years before, in Vancouver, Canada.

There had been a small dispute with the Canadian authorities over smuggling explosive devices across the border, and Elmore had done some time before he'd been considered rehabilitated and had moved to New York.

His address was listed in a tidy, moderately wealthy enclave north of the city, and his profession was reported to be security consultant.

A fancy name for a hired hammer, Eve decided.

Armed with this data, she headed toward the Interview level to link up with Feeney and put Elmore Riggs through his paces.

Vernon stepped in front of her when she reached the top of the glide.

"A little out of your territory, aren't you, Detective?"

"You think you can shake me?" He gave her a body bump that had a number of the cops moving through the area pausing.

Eve simply waved the hand she held at her side to keep them back. "I don't know, Jerry. You look shaken."

"Everybody knows you're trying to throw trash at the squad. IAB sow's what you are. If you think you can dump on me like you're doing on Kohli and Mills, think again. I've contacted my union rep, and we're coming down on you."

"Gee, Vernon, now you're scaring me. Not the union rep." She gave a deliberate shudder.

"You won't be so smart when you're hit with a lawsuit, and I start bleeding that rich husband you hooked."

"My God, Peabody, a lawsuit. I feel faint."

"Don't worry, Lieutenant, I'll catch you."

"They'll take your badge." Vernon sneered. "Like they did before, only this time they'll keep it. Before I'm done, you'll wish you never heard my name."

"We aren't close to done, and I already wish that, Jerry." She grinned at him. "I've got you cold, and when Ricker gets wind of it, when he starts worrying how I'm tracing those numbered accounts you set up back to him, he's going to be very unhappy with you. I don't think your union rep's going to be much help where he's concerned."

"You got nothing. You're just trying to set me up. I figure you want Roth's job over the One two-eight, so you're messing us up so she gets the boot, and you can sail in. That's what she thinks, too."

"Make sure you put that in your lawsuit. How I pulled your name out of a hat and decided to dedicate myself to destroying you and your squad, so I can sit behind a desk. That ought to fly."

She shifted a little closer, her eyes drilling into his. "Only you'd better start thinking how to cover yourself. The money you've been taking isn't going to help much, since I'm arranging to have those accounts frozen. And while you're dealing with that, remember I'm the only one coming at you who has even a marginal interest in keeping you breathing. While I'm coming at your face, Ricker's going to be at your back. And there's a cop killer hunting dirty cops. You won't know which direction he's coming from."

"That's a rash of shit."

He lifted his fists, she cocked her chin. "I wouldn't," she said softly. "But you go right ahead."

"I'm taking you down." He stepped back, clenched those fists at his sides. "You're finished." He shoved past her, hopped on the downward glide.

"No, but I'm getting there," Eve murmured. "Let's put some men on him. I don't want him rabbiting." She rolled her shoulders. "You know what I'm in the mood for now?"

"Kicking righteous ass, sir?"

"Got it in one. Let's go sweat Riggs."

"You're limping again."

"I am not. And shut up."

She limped, damn it, to Interview A, where Feeney was waiting and popping nuts in his mouth. "What kept you?"

"Just a little kissy-face with a close personal friend. Did Riggs lawyer?"

"Nope. Made his phone call. Claimed it was to his wife. I gotta say, he's a cucumber. And polite with it. Cool and well mannered, that's our boy."

"He's Canadian."

"Oh. I guess that explains it."

They walked in to where Riggs sat patiently in a miserably uncomfortable chair.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Riggs," Eve said and moved to the table.

"Lieutenant. Nice to see you." He glanced down at the rip in her pants. "A pity about those trousers. They look so well on you."

"Yeah, I'm pretty torn up about it. Record on." She read in the information as she took her seat. "No lawyer, Riggs?"

"Not at this time, though thank you for asking."

"You do, then, understand your rights and obligations in this matter?"

"Perfectly. First let me say I'm full of remorse for my actions."

Clever, she thought. This was no moron. "Are you?"

"Absolutely. I regret what happened today. It was, of course, never my intention to cause any injury. I see now how reckless and foolish it was to approach you in the manner I did. I'd like to apologize."

"That's really big of you. How did it happen you were armed with banned weapons while traveling on a New York street with the intention of abducting and/or assaulting a police officer?"

"I fell in with bad companions," he said with a soft smile. "I have no excuse for having illegal weapons in my possession. I would like to say, however, that in my line of work, security consultation, it's often part of the routine to rub shoulders with criminal elements and to find oneself in possession of illegal weapons. Naturally, I should have turned those weapons over to the proper authorities."

"Where did you acquire those weapons?"

"From the man you killed. I was hired by him, you see, just this morning."

"The dead guy hired you."

"Yes. I was unaware, of course, that you were a police officer when I accepted the commission. I was told that you were a dangerous individual who had threatened him and his family with bodily harm. Obviously, I was deceived, and I'm afraid I accepted his story and the weapons at face value. Very poor judgment on my part."

"If you weren't aware I was a police officer, why did you call me Lieutenant at the scene?"

"I have no recollection of having done so."

"So you just took this job. What was the name of the guy who hired you?"

"Haggerty, Clarence Haggerty. Or so he told me at the time. Imagine my shock when I discovered his purpose was not, as he told me, to frighten away by show of force, a woman who was endangering his family."

"I'm trying to do just that," Eve said mildly. "I guess having him grab some innocent kid and hold a stunner to his throat where it could cause permanent paralysis or death, seemed like a fine way to frighten me."

"It happened so fast. I was shocked when he grabbed the boy. I'm afraid my reaction was slow. Obviously Haggerty-or whoever he was-was not the man I believed him to be. Anyone who would endanger a child in that manner…"

He trailed off, sadly shaking his head. "I'm quite glad you killed him, Lieutenant." He smiled again. "I can't begin to tell you how glad I am."

"I'm sure you're dancing." She leaned forward. "Do you really think this lame story is going to fly, Riggs?"

"Why shouldn't it? If you require any documentation to corroborate my brief employment by Mr. Haggerty, I'll be happy to supply it. I keep excellent records."

"I'll just bet you do."

"This, of course, in no way negates my responsibility for what took place. I will, no doubt, lose my security license. I face a prison term, or at the very least home incarceration. I'm prepared to take my punishment, as the law demands."

"You work for Max Ricker."

"I'm afraid I don't recall the name. If a Mr. Ricker has hired me as a consultant at any time, it would be in my records. I'll be happy to sign an authorization so that you can search those records."

"You're looking at twenty-five years, Riggs. Minimum."

"I hope the courts won't be too harsh, as I was unaware of the true purpose when I was hired. And I certainly did nothing to harm that little boy. I was duped." He lifted his hands, his face still placid. "But I stand prepared to accept the punishment due me."

"You figure that's better than ending up like Lewis."

"I'm sorry? Do I know a Lewis?"

"He's worm food. And we both know Ricker may cut his losses with you so you end up the same."

"I just don't understand, Lieutenant. I'm sorry."

"Let's run it through again, in words of one syllable."

She worked him for more than an hour, shifting over to Feeney to change the pace, coming back hard, leading in soft.

Riggs never broke a sweat, never varied his story by an iota. It was, she thought, like interrogating a goddamn droid with perfect programming.

"Get him out of here," Eve ordered in disgust, then stalked out of the room.

"This guy won't roll," she said when Feeney joined her. "Ricker sent brains this time. But Riggs wasn't completely in control. He didn't expect that creep to grab the kid. So while he's got brains, there's no saying the others do. I want to double the guards on the two in the hospital, get an update on their condition."

"Riggs gets a decent lawyer, using that line, holds to it, won't even do five years."

"I know it, and so does he. Self-satisfied son of a bitch. Let's get a run on the two in the hospital, find a level."

"I'll take that. We don't need the smoke now, so I'd as soon work out of my office."

"Okay. I'm going to go write this up, then head home. I've got some lines to tug on that end."

– =O=-***-=O=-

By the time she was finished, it was well after shift. She cut Peabody loose, then headed down to the garage. Her leg hurt, which pissed her off. Her head throbbed, which was only a minor annoyance.

But when she reached her parking level and saw the condition of her vehicle, she was ready to spit rock.

"Goddamn it. Goddamn it."

She'd had this unit-one that actually worked-for less than eight months. It was ugly, had already been wrecked once and repaired, but it was hers, and she'd kept it in decent shape.

Now the hood, the trunk, the doors on both sides were smashed in, the tires slashed, and the rear glass looked like it had been attacked by lasers.

And all, she thought, in a police garage with full security cams.

"Whoa." Baxter strolled up behind her. "I heard you had a little trouble earlier, but didn't know you'd wrecked your vehicle. Maintenance isn't going to be happy with you."

"I didn't wreck it. How the hell did somebody walk in here and beat the crap out of my ride?" She took another step toward it, and Baxter grabbed her arm.

"Let's just keep some distance. Call the bomb squad. You've got a very temperamental enemy at the moment. Could be rigged."

"You're right. Yeah, you're right. If it blows up, they'll never issue me another one. They hate me in Requisitions."

– =O=-***-=O=-

It wasn't rigged, and she managed to cop four new tires. Because Baxter called down for them and sweet-talked Maintenance. While they were being changed and two crabby Maintenance men were doing something to the doors to make them open and close again, she checked with Garage Security.

A blip, she was told, in the disc run.

"What's the verdict?" Baxter asked when she came back.

"A blip, fifteen minutes of snow and blocked audio. This level only. They didn't notice." Her eyes narrowed into tawny glints. "I guarantee they'll notice the next time. You didn't have to hang, Baxter."

"This may be your game, Dallas, but we all want part of the ball. You should take something for that leg. You're limping."

"I am not." She sighed as she wrenched open her dented car door. "Thanks."

"Don't I get a kiss good-bye?"

"Sure, honey. Come on over here."

He laughed, backed away. "You'll hit me. You heading home?"

"Yeah."

He wandered to his vehicle. "I'm heading uptown, myself." He said it casually and didn't fool her for a minute. "I'll follow you up."

"I don't need a baby-sitter."

"I'm heading uptown," he said and got in his car.

She wanted to be annoyed with him but couldn't quite pull it off. On the drive, she stayed alert, watching for tails, preparing for ambush. Other than her vehicle making ominous whining noises when she got over thirty miles an hour, and thumping ones when she turned left, the trip home was uneventful.

She waved Baxter off at her gates, figured she'd raid Roarke's liquor supply for a bottle of unblended scotch as payment for the favor.

She wanted a drink herself, she thought as she walked up the front steps. A nice cool glass of wine, maybe a quick swim to work out the kinks.

She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

"I assume," Summerset began while the cat streaked between his legs to greet Eve, "you've been involved in some sort of vehicular accident."

"You assume incorrectly. My unit was involved in some sort of vehicular accident." She bent, picked up Galahad, and found a little comfort by rubbing her cheek against his fur. "Where's Roarke?"

"He is not yet home for the evening. If you had consulted his schedule, you'd be aware he isn't expected for another hour. Those trousers are ruined."

"People keep telling me that." She set the cat down, stripped off her jacket, and tossed it over the newel post. She walked past him, intended to go down to the pool house.

"You're limping."

She kept going, but she did indulge herself in a single short scream.

– =O=-***-=O=-

The swim helped, and once she was alone and naked, she took a good look at the wound on her leg. The MT had done a good job, she had to admit. It was healing up well, even if it did ache like hell.

There were a number of scrapes and bruises to go along with it. Some of which, she decided, she'd gotten during the jungle sex with Roarke. It didn't seem so bad when she backed those out of the mix. Feeling better, she tugged on a robe and, giving in to her knee, took the elevator up to the bedroom.

And coming out, nearly rapped straight into Roarke on the point of going in.

"Hello, Lieutenant. I was coming down to join you."

"I took a long swim, but I could sit and watch you take one. If you're naked."

"Why don't we take one together later?" He drew her into the bedroom. "What happened to your car?"

"I can't prove it, but my guess is Ricker. It was like that when I got down to the garage. We seem to keep annoying each other." She started toward her closet.

"Why are you limping?"

She rolled her eyes but resisted banging her head against the wall. "I rapped my knee. Look, I want to get dressed, have a drink. I'll tell you about it." She started to tug off the robe, remembered the range of bruises and scrapes. "I ran into some trouble today, took a roll on the street. I'm a little banged up, so don't go crazy on me."

"I'll try to retain my sanity." His only reaction when she stripped was a sigh. "Very colorful. Lie down."

"No."

"Eve, lie down so I don't have to knock you down. I'll treat them, and it'll be done."

She grabbed out a shirt. "Listen, ace, I missed a very much desired ass-kicking round today. I can substitute you for my intended target." But when he took a step toward her, she tossed down the shirt. "All right, all right. I'm not in the mood to fight. But if you're going to play doctor, I want a drink."

She stalked to the bed, flopped onto her stomach, and said in a tone she hoped would irritate him a little, "Wine. White and cold."

"We're here to serve." He got the glass, slipped a pain blocker into it, knowing it would irritate her when she figured it out. He retrieved the medication for her injuries, set them down, and flipped her over.

"Sit up, and no whining."

"I don't whine."

"Rarely," he agreed. "But when you do, you make up for the lack of quantity with quality."

She picked up the glass while he ran the healing wand over the worst of the bruises. "Why don't you crawl up in here with me, doc?"

"I intend to, a bit later. That's how I collect my fee."

She'd finished half the glass before she noticed the effects. "What did you put in here?" she demanded. "You put a blocker in here." When she started to set the glass aside, he simply plucked it out of her hand, gave her hair a yank to pull her head back, and poured the rest down her throat.

She choked, sputtered. "I hate that."

"Yes, I know, but I so enjoy it. Turn over."

"Kiss my ass."

"Darling, I will, once you turn over."

She had to laugh. She rolled, forced to admit, at least to herself, that the worst of the pain had eased. Better yet, she decided with a sigh, when that wonderful mouth of his brushed over her butt. "Keep going," she invited.

"Later. I want these aches to settle down first."

"I feel okay."

"I want to make love with you, Eve." He turned her over again, gently this time, leaned over her. "Slowly, thoroughly, and for a very long time. I want you to feel much better than okay before that happens."

"I'm starting to feel really good." She reached for him, but he took her hands, tugged her up.

"Tell me what happened."

"Well, if you're not going to jump me, I'm getting dressed."

"The robe." He held it out. "You'll be more comfortable in something loose. And it'll be less for me to take off you later."

Finding it hard to argue with his logic, she put the robe back on, then walked to the AutoChef. "You want something?"

"Whatever you're having's fine."

She ordered pasta for two, going for the spicy sauce. She sat with him, began to eat to fuel herself for the night to come, and told him about her day.

He listened, and the fact that he made no comments while she spoke had the nerves dancing at the base of her neck. Even when the delicate pasta began to taste like paste in her throat, she continued to eat.

"I've got some angles I want to play, and it takes a load off knowing I have the full support of the chief of police. It did my heart good to watch him skewer Bayliss. Bloodlessly. You have to admire that."

"Eve."

She met his eyes, cold as winter, blue as an iced ocean. Odd, she thought, how facing down four armed men only hours before had merely kicked her adrenaline into gear. One look from Roarke was a great deal more potent.

"He's gone after you three times. However much you dislike it, disapprove of it, I will deal with him."

"Two times," she corrected. "The third was just my car, and the score's been in my favor every time. But," she continued, "I anticipated your reaction. It's not going to do any good, but I'm going to point out that given my job, I've been gone after before and will be again. This personal thing between the two of you shouldn't enter into it."

"You're mistaken." And his voice was terrifyingly mild.

"But since it does, I want you to work with me on this."

She could sense his underlying fury.

"Do you think you can placate me, Eve?"

"No. Hell, no. Stop staring at me that way. You're spoiling my appetite." She tossed down her fork. "I could use your help. I asked for it before this happened today, didn't I? All that's changed is he sent another goon squad after me, and I took them down. He's got to be royally burnt by that. If we go at this from the same angle, work together, we can both get what we want.

"Well, you won't get exactly what you want, which is, at my guess, eating Ricker's liver after you've roasted it on a spit over a slow fire. But we can get as close to that as the law allows."

"The law's your yardstick, not mine."

"Roarke." She put a hand over his. "I can get him without you, but it wouldn't be as quick and it sure as hell wouldn't be as satisfying. You could get him without me. Maybe quicker, and maybe more satisfying to you. But think about this: Wouldn't you rather picture him living a long, miserable life in a cage than just throwing the switch on him?"

He considered it. "No."

"You're a scary guy, Roarke. A very scary guy."

"But I'll work with you on this, Lieutenant. And I'll contemplate, depending on how that work goes, settling for that image. I'll do that for you. I promise you, it costs me more than I can tell you."

"I know that. So, thanks."

"Don't thank me until it's done. Because if it doesn't work your way, it will work mine. What do you need?"

She let out a breath. "First I need to know why IAB sent Kohli into Purgatory. What is there in the club or who is there they wanted? Bayliss said something today about Ricker's connection to it, but you told me you severed business with him over ten years ago."

"That's right, I did, taking some of his more lucrative accounts with me. I've sold them off since, or adjusted them. As for Purgatory, he has no connection to it. But he did. I bought it from him five years ago. Or I should say," he added when she gaped. "My representatives acquired it from his representatives."

"He owned the place? And you didn't tell me?"

"Lieutenant, I have to point out, you didn't ask."

"For God's sake," she grumbled and got to her feet to pace, to think.

"And at the time your Kohli was murdered, I didn't think of it, see a connection, or consider it relevant. It's been mine for a number of years and has been completely overhauled, remodeled, and re-staffed."

"If he used it for a front, it could be some of his people still come in. Do business."

"None that's ever been reported to me. If that's the case, it's very minor business."

"A cop died there. That's not minor."

"Point taken."

"Why did he sell it?"

"My research at the time indicated that it was becoming a little too warm. He often dispenses of businesses and property when they've outlived their usefulness to him. It's basic business practice."

"If he's got this hard-on for you, why did he sell it to you?"

"He didn't know until after the fact. I assume he was displeased, but the deal was done." He sat back, doing some thinking himself. "Possibly he put out word that there was outside business being done there, or had some of his people come in to do some. He may have hoped to take a swipe at me that way. I can see that. He'd have waited until the club was well established, until it was running smoothly, then tried to disrupt it. He's a patient man. A few years wouldn't have been any time to wait."

"And with his connections in the department, he'd have had a funnel for the rumors. IAB picked up on them, started looking into it, and put Kohli in. It plays. And it's looking more and more like the poor guy died for nothing."

"You'll fix that." Roarke got to his feet.

"Yeah, I'll fix it. I want to look at some data, data I'm not supposed to see, without anyone knowing I'm looking."

He smiled now. "Lieutenant, I believe I can help you with that."

– =O=-***-=O=-

In his brilliantly lit lounging room in his expansive Connecticut estate, Max Ricker stomped viciously on the face of a house droid he'd called Marta.

She would never be the same.

Canarde wisely kept his distance during this torrent of temper. He'd seen it before, and it wasn't always a droid Ricker broke to pieces when the rage was on him.

For a time, the only sounds in the room were harsh, ragged breathing and the distressing crunch of plastic and metal. Canarde had seen it before, yes indeed. But these lapses of control were getting much worse.

He began to think it would soon be time to put his carefully outlined escape plan into action, and spend the rest of his days in the relative peace and elegance of the home he'd purchased under a false name on the Paradise Colony.

But for now, he was confident he could weather the storm.

"One woman, one single woman, and they can't deal with her? Can't deal with her? I promise you, promise you, they will be dealt with."

He kicked what was left of Maria's head out of his way. The air stank with the stench of fried circuits. Calmer, as he always was after an… episode, he walked to the bar, filled a glass with his favored pink liquid that was sweetened rum with a heavy lacing of barbiturates.

"One dead, you say?" His voice was mild now, as were his eyes as he glanced toward Canarde. He might have said, "Two for dinner?" for all the inflection in the tone.

"Yes. Yawly. Ines and Murdock are being treated for injuries. Riggs has been booked and has followed my instructions as to his story. He'll stick to it. He's an intelligent man."

"He's a fool, like the rest of them. I want them disposed of."

Prepared for this directive, Canarde stepped forward. "That may be prudent with Ines and Murdock. I believe, however, that if you act on Riggs when he proves himself to be loyal, it will seriously damage your organization's morale."

Ricker sipped, and his silver eyes slithered over Canarde's face. "Why would you be under the impression I'm the least bit concerned with morale?"

"You should be," Canarde said, knowing he risked a great deal. "By demonstrating goodwill, even lenience, to an employee under these circumstances-as you showed instant discipline to Lewis under different circumstances-you send a clear message to those who work for you. And," he added, "Riggs can always be handled after a period of time has passed."

Ricker continued to drink, continued to calm. "You're right. Of course, you're right." His smile was quick and almost terrifyingly brilliant. "Thank you. I'm afraid I let the matter of this annoying cop influence my better judgment. Some things are worth waiting for."

He thought of Roarke. He'd waited there. Years now. And hadn't he found just the right place to strike?

But it was harder to wait, harder to see clearly, when he could almost taste the blood.

"Assure Mr. Riggs that his loyalty is appreciated and will be rewarded."

He started toward the window-wall, saw the droid debris scattered over the floor. For a moment he was blank, for another simply puzzled. Then, dismissing it from his mind, he walked around it, slid open the glass, and stepped out on the deck overlooking his lawns.

"I spent a lifetime building what I have, and will one day pass it all to my son. A man needs a legacy to pass on to his son." He was mellowing now, his tone turning dreamy. "But I have a number of goals to reach before that time comes. And one I intend to achieve very soon is to crush Roarke. To have him on his knees. I will accomplish that, Canarde. Make no mistake."

He sipped his bright drink and looked out over the grounds, a man satisfied and still vital. "I'll accomplish that," he said again, "and have his cop begging for mercy."