New York to Dallas

16

As Roarke drove, Eve worked the ’link, coordinated with, strategized, updated the team Ricchio put together.

“Four uniforms on scene, pulled a block back from target,” she muttered, while Roarke roared through the gap between a truck and a Mini with a stream of spit to spare. “He doesn’t know we have this location. Has to know she wouldn’t go back if we did—and they’ve spotted the stolen car just inside the apartment’s garage. So she’s there.

“We need to keep them back,” she said into the ’link. “Right now he has bait, a new start to his collection. If he sees cops, the bait become hostages. And he only needs one.”

“SWAT’s ten minutes out,” Ricchio told her. “We’re right ahead of them.”

“We’re under two. We need a way in. He’ll have security. He’s on guard now, wondering what we know. Or he’s already poofed.”

“We’ll ascertain with EDD on arrival.”

“Heat sensors won’t show them in the room he’s prepped for them. If they’re all in there—On scene now. I’ll get back to you.”

She leaped out before Roarke braked at the curb.

“Status.” She snapped it out, flashed her badge at the uniforms.

“No visible activity in the subject’s apartment from the exterior. We got the stolen car in the garage.”

“He’s got another vehicle. Dark blue Orion sedan.”

“We got that data, Lieutenant, and have no confirmation on it. There’s an underground level. We’d have to approach the building and go in to ascertain. Orders are to hold here.”

She nodded.

“I need to get in there.”

“I can certainly get us in,” Roarke said, but she shook her head.

“If he’s watching he’d make you in two seconds flat.”

“And not you?”

“That’s a problem.” She kept scanning, kept thinking. “Wait. Hey, you. Kid.”

Near the corner, the teenaged boy executed a smooth half-pipe on his airboard.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Christ, even boarders were polite here. “This is police business. See?” She held her badge up.

“I didn’t do anything.” He shoved his flop of hair out of his eyes. “I’m just—”

“I need to borrow your hat, your sunshades.” And God help her. “Your board.”

“Oh man, I just got the board.”

“You see that guy over there, with the cops? The one who looks rich?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“He’s going to give you a hundred for the loan. If you stay right where you are.”

“Well, yes, ma’am, but the board cost—”

“Two hundred, for a loan. If I’m not back in ten minutes, he’ll make it three. Now give me the goddamn stupid hat and shades. I need that shirt, too.”

His face went pink. “My shirt?”

“Yeah. And don’t say ‘yes, ma’am’ again.”

“No, ma’am.”

“What are you doing?” Roarke demanded as he joined them.

“Going boarding.” She stripped off her jacket, tossed it to him. Then pulled the oversized black shirt with its wild-haired music group on the front over her head. “I need to get in.”

“If you think you look like a teenaged boy,” he began, then reconsidered when she cocked the hat on her head, fixed the rainbow neon shades on her face. “Not that far off, actually. But you’ve got no business going in there.”

“Going in there is my business. He’s on two,” she added, giving the building a good study. “I’m not going above ground level. I can get down to the garage, verify his vehicle’s there—or that it’s not. We have to know, and may have to do what we can to evacuate civilians.”

“I’ll go in from the rear.”

“Roarke—”

“You want me to trust you to take the front, and go unrecognized. Do me the same courtesy.” He gave the bill of the cap a flick with his finger. “Keep your head down. And slouch.”

“Excuse me, sir, but the lady said you’d pay me two hundred for the loan.”

“Two . . .” Resigned, Roarke pulled out his wallet. “Do you know who owns that truck there?”

“Sure, that’s Ben Clipper’s truck.”

“If Ben comes looking for it, tell him it’s on loan. There’s two in it for him as well.”

Eve gave a glance back, signaled the uniforms. She wondered how the hell she was supposed to slouch on a goddamn airboard. Knees loose, she ordered herself, and for God’s sake don’t run into anything.

She kept her head down, as much to keep her eye where she feared she might plant it on the sidewalk as to block her face from any cams.

She didn’t risk any flourishes, but hopped off at the building’s entrance, and shouldered the board at an angle to shield her face.

She palmed her master, bopping her head and shoulders as she’d observed teenaged boys did for no good reason.

Inside she reached a hand under the shirt for her weapon, glanced up the stairs.

Nothing and no one moved.

“Single elevator,” she muttered into her com, tossed the sunshades onto the single chair beside the elevator. “Both it and stairs right of entrance. Elevator’s coming up. Stand by.”

She kept her weapon low, moved to the far side of the car, back to the wall.

A woman and two kids got out, making enough noise to raise the dead.

Eve stepped forward. “Please stop where you are.”

“Oh! You startled me.” The woman’s surprised laugh cut off as she spotted Eve’s weapon. In a finger snap she had both kids shoved behind her.

“I’m the police,” Eve said quickly. She held up her free hand, then dug under the shirt for her badge. “Do you know the residents of apartment two-oh-eight?”

“I’m not sure. I—”

“Big guy, good shape, late thirties. A lot of charm. Just moved in a few days ago. He’d be with a woman now and then, and she’d be in a lot. Blond, mid-fifties, attractive, a little flashy.”

“You must mean Tony, Tony Maxwell. He’s the nicest man. Is he all right? I just saw him a little while ago when he was leaving.”

“When?” Damn it, Eve thought as she pulled off the borrowed shirt, tossed it on the chair. “Exactly when?”

“Ah, maybe a half-hour ago. I had to go pick up the kids, and I saw him in the garage on the way out, stowing his suitcase. He said he had to go away on business for a couple days. What’s this about?”

“Was he alone?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see him leave—actually drive away?”

“No, I left first, but he was getting in his car.” She wrapped her wide-eyed kids to her sides. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“I want you to take your kids, go outside, turn left, and keep walking until you get to the uniformed officers down this block.”

“But—”

“Go now.” She heard the elevator start its rise. “Right now!”

She swung back, lifted her weapon as the woman grabbed both kids by the hands and fled. She lowered the weapon again as Roarke stepped out.

“His car’s not there.”

“He’s gone. Neighbor saw him leave—alone, and with a suitcase. Fuck! He told her he’d be gone a couple days.”

She pulled off the cap, raked a hand through her hair. “We’ve got to go up.” She reached for her ’link as it signaled.

“Dallas, what’s your status?”

She filled Ricchio in.

“EDD finds no heat sources in the target location. We’ve got the building hemmed in, and SWAT’s moving into position now.”

“We’re going up to try to verify whether the suspect is still in this location.”

“Backup’s coming in.”

“Can you hold them, Lieutenant? Two minutes. On the off chance he’s still here, his captives will be safer if he doesn’t see us coming.”

“Two minutes, counting now.”

She shoved the ’link in her pocket. “He’s gone, but we can’t take the chance. Can you jam his security long enough for a quick, quiet entry?”

“You know I can.”

“Stairs.”

They went up fast. She swept the second-floor hallway.

“Hold here,” Roarke murmured, keying codes into his jammer. “He’s got several layers. And there.”

He moved ahead of her now, pulling a small case out of his pocket. “A number of layers here as well.” He mumbled it as he crouched and got to work. “They only look like standard locks. Very nicely done.”

“You can compliment him when he’s in a cage. Just get us in.”

“So I have.” He met her eyes. “Ready?”

She nodded, held up one finger, then two. They burst in on three, her low, him high.

She smelled the blood, smelled the death instantly. Swinging left, she saw the body, saw her mother and the pool of blood.

“God. God. God.”

“Eve.”

“We have to clear.” Her voice came out thin through the narrow opening the burn of shock left in her throat. “We have to clear the area, take your side.”

When she swung the other way she saw the keys on the high table by the door, and the memo cube with them.

Gone, she thought. Gone, and walked over to pick up the keys.

She could hear the backup pushing through the door downstairs. If Bree was with them, and if he’d left more death, she’d need to be prepared.

Eve unlocked the door. She breathed deep, braced herself.

Opened it.

They were on the floor, the girl wrapped in a blanket, the woman’s body shielding her.

Melinda stared at her. Blinked.

“Officer Dallas.” The words broke on a strangled sob. “Darlie, it’s Officer Dallas. I told you they’d come for us.”

“It’s ‘Lieutenant.’ ” Her voice sounded distant and tinny to her ears. Eve looked at the girl, at Darlie. And another pair of shattered eyes etched themselves into her head. “You’re safe now.”

Alive. She reminded herself what she’d told Tray Schuster on a morning that seemed years ago. Alive was better.

“You’re safe now. They’re safe,” Eve said as Bree burst through the door.

“Melly.”

“I’m all right.” But she dropped her head on her sister’s shoulder and wept when Bree wrapped her arms around her. “We’re all right. I knew you’d find us.”

Eve stepped back, shifted away as Detective Price pushed his way through to Melinda.

“Let’s go outside.” Roarke took her arm. “There’s nothing for you to do here.”

“Yes, there is.” Sweat, icy and thin, ran in a line down her back. “There is,” she repeated, and turned to Ricchio. “Your scene, Lieutenant.”

“Ambulance is on the way. We need to get them out, Melinda and the girl. Get them medical attention before we take statements. I want this scene secured and every inch of it gone over. We’ve issued a BOLO for the vehicle he’s driving.”

He won’t be driving it long, Eve thought, but nodded.

“We’ve got agents at every transpo station in the city,” Nikos added. “If he ditches the vehicle and tries to get out of Dallas by other means, we’ll find him.”

“He had to leave in a hurry.” Laurence glanced at the body. “He could’ve left something behind besides his dead partner. If he’s going to make a mistake, this would be the time. I’ll start on the scene with a couple of your men. Lieutenant Ricchio, continue when your CSU arrives.”

“Good. I’m going to notify Darlie’s parents, get some people knocking on doors.”

They watched as Detective Price lifted Darlie into his arms. He murmured to her, and she closed her eyes; he pressed her face to his shoulder as he carried her out.

Didn’t want her to see the body, Eve thought, the blood. Spare her from that anyway. She’d have enough horror in her head already.

Melinda came out, leaning on her sister. She looked at death, then at Eve. “Thank you. Again. He said to tell you to stick around. He said, ‘Tell Dallas to stick around. More fun to come.’ He’s . . .”

“Later, Melinda.” Bree gripped her tighter.

“I need to stay with Darlie. She needs me to stay with her.”

“I’ll be around,” Eve told her. “We’ll talk later.”

“Come on, Melly, come with me. We need to tell Mom and Dad you’re okay,” Bree said as she led her sister out.

“Bad as it is,” Ricchio said, “it’s a good day.”

But it wasn’t over, Eve thought. Not nearly over. “I’m Homicide. I’ll take the body if you have no objections.”

“I’d appreciate it. We’ll inform the ME. Do you want an aide or assistant?”

“Roarke’s done it before.”

“Then I’ll leave it to you.” His glance at the body, the blood, held no pity. “It looks pretty straightforward.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does.” She stepped over to the body again. “I’ll need a field kit,” she said to Roarke, then looked at him, held his eyes when he said nothing. She reached up, switched off her recorder. “Please. I need to do this. It’ll be easier if you help me do it.”

“Then I will. But Eve, there’s a great deal to say when this is done.”

“I know it.”

“I’ll get the kit.”

The room buzzed with cops, but she was alone, very much alone when she crouched by the body, the toes of her boots at the edge of a river of blood.

What should she feel, she asked herself. She didn’t know, only knew what to do.

Routine.

She switched on her recorder.

“The victim is female, Caucasian, approximately fifty-five. Facial bruises and contusions were incurred in a vehicular accident earlier on this date, and treated at Dallas City Hospital. Other injuries so incurred are on record. Initial visual shows a single deep gash across the throat, which severed the jugular. Blood-spatter patterns consistent with same.”

She sat back on her heels, let her gaze scan the floor, the walls, the sofa.

Work the scene, she ordered herself.

“She was sitting on the sofa, facing out into the room. Pressure syringe on the cushion. Needed a hit. He gave her a hit. Tox screen hereby ordered to determine substance and amount. Talking to her, taking time to talk to her, placate her, until she told him what she’d spilled, what we knew. Already packed, ready to go. Sure, all packed and ready because she’d tagged him from the stolen car. Note to check the in-dash ’link in the vehicle stolen from hospital lot for communications from vic to McQueen.”

She tagged him, Eve thought. Warned him, gave him time to pack up, plan, and plot. She set up her own murder.

While she waited for Roarke and the kit, Eve imagined it. The frantic rush in the stolen car from the hospital, after she’d done murder. After she’d killed in the same way she’d be killed so soon after. By the man she ran to.

Was that irony? she wondered. Some sort of brutal poetic justice.

She’d have been hurting, Eve thought. Head, ribs, chest.

Eve let her eyes track over the body. Badly swollen left ankle. That had to give her pain. Limping, trying to run, jonesing, sweating, heart racing, head pounding. Sick and hurt, a cop’s blood on her hands, and thinking only of getting back to the man who’d kill her.

Thinking, too, no doubt, of another cop. Thinking of payback and paydays, of causing pain, spilling blood.

Was it more irony that her mother’s last thoughts had revolved around her? Hateful, violent, murderous thoughts.

She straightened when Roarke came back with the kit.

“Easy enough to see how it played out,” she began, and kept her eyes on his face. Kept them on him until she felt centered again.

“We’re going to find she contacted him from the stolen car. That gave him time to pack up what he wanted or needed to take with him. There aren’t enough electronics in here, not for McQueen. He’s got what he wanted there with him. Clothes, personal items, cash, alternate IDs. He had time. Most likely he already had a go bag stashed with the essentials.”

“He’d want the flexibility of being able to leave, move quickly, at any time,” Roarke agreed.

“I bet he kept that suit, the sharp one from the bank. He doesn’t know you found the accounts. He doesn’t know that yet. Can you trace any transactions he makes?”

“I can.”

“Set that up, okay? But I’ve got to play the team deal. Nikos! I need a minute.”

“You need help with her?”

“No. Roarke found McQueen’s primary accounts. We’ve got his money.”

“That’s good work.” Nikos gave Roarke a considering look. “Our guys are still bouncing around. I need that data. We can freeze the funds, block him out, make him sweat.”

“You could,” Eve said, “or you could track any activity, and maybe lock his new location.”

“And if he uses the money, manages to get someplace we don’t have extradition, he’s gone.”

“It’s a chance. He’s not finished, Nikos. He didn’t get what he wants, what he’s been working toward, planning. You better believe no matter how he rolls on this, under it he’s pissed. He’s furious. He wants another shot.”

“At you, maybe. Or he’s smart enough to cut his losses. Look, I’ll run this by my superiors—both ways. We’ll make a decision, but I need the data.”

“I’ll send you the files,” Roarke said. “It’s actually three accounts. He’s not an eggs-in-one-basket sort.”

“Thanks.” Nikos pulled out her ’link, turned, and walked away.

“I can delay the data transfer, maybe an hour with a bit of a glitch in the routing.”

“Do that.” Eve nodded. “Yeah, do that. I’ll push harder if the feds opt for the freeze, because it’s the wrong move. For now, we set it up—you should get Feeney in on that.” She took the field kit. “I have to finish this.”

He laid a hand over hers on the handle. “I can do this. You could assist with the search. You’ve a better sense of McQueen than anyone here.”

“You know I can’t. She’s mine now, whether I want it or not.”

She opened the kit, hunkered down again. And taking her mother’s hand, checked prints. “Victim is identified as Sylvia Prentiss, which has been determined to be falsified ID. Victim will be listed as Jane Doe until true identification can be verified.”

She fit on microgoggles, said nothing when Roarke stooped down beside her, took out gauges. Instead, she examined the fatal wound.

“ME to confirm. However, primary investigator’s on-scene examination indicates a single cut, left to right with a sharp, smooth-edged blade. Both the angle and the blood-spatter pattern indicate the attack came from behind. He yanks her head back, slices. She slides down. He’d get some blood on him, on that shirt he tossed down there. Note to the sweepers to check all drains. He’d have washed up.”

She sat back on her heels again when Roarke read off the time of death. “That’s less than thirty—closer to twenty—before we had cops on the building. Yeah, like Laurence said, he had to hurry. TOD’s about twenty-five minutes after she broke out of the hospital. So she was dead before we knew she was out. But . . . can you run a program, determine travel time from the hospital to here?”

“All right.”

She pulled out an evidence bag, sealed the syringe for evidence.

“Factoring in the most usual traffic patterns for that time of day, it would take about fifteen minutes.”

“Couple less,” Eve decided. “She’d be driving fast, taking chances. But you have to factor in the time it took her to steal the car, the time it took her to get into the building from the lot—and on that bum ankle. We’ll know more when we look at the ’link in the stolen car, get the time and location of her transmission to him. But putting it together, even though he’s got to move, he takes at least four or five minutes with her. He doesn’t just do her when she walks in. He lets her sit down, he gives her a fix. He talks to her.”

She fit the microgoggles on again, studied what she could of the face, the hands and wrists. “I’d like to roll her, but I’d better wait for the ME. But the way it looks, he doesn’t hurt her. He doesn’t give her a good belt for fucking things up. He’s going to kill her, and that’s enough. He’s got that strange sense of proportion, and he’s got the control. He could have loaded that syringe with enough to kill her, but see, that’s not enough.”

“It’s too impersonal, too simple for her.”

“Yeah, exactly. When he kills, and he kills selectively, he wants to feel it. He likes the blade, the way it feels cutting flesh, the way the blood spurts. He doesn’t mutilate. It’s too messy, and it lacks the class he believes he has.”

She looked toward the room where he’d held Melinda and Darlie. “With the girls, he likes to torture. It’s part of that control and power game, part of the training. He’ll take a lot of time with them—they matter. But with the partner? It’s like taking out the garbage. You just get rid of it.”

“You have enough now,” Roarke said quietly. “You know how, when, who, even why. It’s enough now, Eve.”

“We need the ME to confirm, and to run the tox. Because if McQueen gave her more than a little buzz, if he gave her enough to put her under before he killed her it means something different.”

“Lieutenant Dallas?”

“Yeah.”

One of the crime scene investigators offered her a memo cube. “McQueen left this for you. You’re going to want to hear it.”

“Thanks.”

She activated it.

Hello again, Eve. I hope I can call you Eve now, after all we’ve been through together. I’d planned to have a nice, long chat with you today, but plans change, and this will have to do.

Welcome to my home—former. I wish I could be there to offer you a glass of wine in person. I know you enjoy a glass now and again—the photographs of you in Italy sampling the local vintages were really quite fetching. Marriage agrees with you.

As you can see, I left a bit of a mess behind. But then I know you like tidying up those little misadventures, and I’m a bit rushed. I had hoped to entertain you here, to put you up for a few days. I so looked forward to some Isaac and Eve time. But we’ll do it very soon, just the two of us.

You’re probably wondering why I left the steadfast Melinda and the adorable Darlie alive. You know, I’m wondering that myself. Perhaps I like knowing how well they’ll remember me. No one likes to be forgotten, to be ignored. Don’t think for a minute I’ll do either with you.

You’re in my thoughts, day and night. I’ll see you soon.

“Cocky bastard, but you can hear it in his voice. All that fury, just barely restrained. He’s thinking that bitch got lucky again.” She carried the memo cube with her as she walked over to study the holding room.

“Only four sets of shackles,” she noted. “He wouldn’t need Melinda once he had me. He could eliminate her, start the tidying-up process. He’d keep the girl, and want another. He’d always want another. He’d need that rush. He could take his time with me, take two or three days with me. Maybe he was going to try to squeeze you for ransom. He’s too much a grifter not to look for a profit.”

“If he had you, stayed here, spent that much time and open communications for a ransom, he’d risk his primary goal for money.”

“Adds to the thrill. And he’s got everything covered so well—he thinks. He’s arrogant,” she added. “So fucking cocksure he’s the smartest one in the room.”

“What does that make you?” Roarke asked her. “The one who beat him?”

Eve shrugged. “Going down before, that was just a twist of fate, just a lucky break for a rookie cop. He’s not that wrong. He eluded authorities for years. Years. He’s absolutely certain he can do it again. Takes me,” she continued. “Kills Melinda. He’d want me to see him do it, want me to watch him kill someone I saved. He’d want me to see him kill his partner, then when he’d had enough from me, kill the girl—or girls. I’d be last. He’d want me to watch him kill the kid, to know I was helpless to stop it. When he was done, he’d drift away. Set up shop somewhere else, far away. Maybe Europe this time. Somewhere urban and cosmopolitan enough for his tastes, where he could start a new collection.”

“Now he has to regroup, rethink, replan.”

So, Eve acknowledged, did she. “He’s got a contingency operation. He’ll adjust, refine. He means it when he says it’ll be soon. That must be the ME. I need to work with her, and I want to check with Laurence.”

Her ’link signaled.

“Dallas.”

“Lieutenant,” Bree began, “sorry to interrupt.”

“What do you need, Detective?”

“Melinda—they’re hydrating her and treating her injuries. They want to keep her overnight for observation. Darlie . . . you know what they need to do with her.”

“Yes.”

“But they want to talk to you, both of them. They’ve given us a statement, answered some questions. It seems important to them. Ricchio and the doctors, and Darlie’s parents, have cleared it. If you could make the time, Lieutenant. We’re at Dallas City.”

“When I’m done here.”

“I’ll let them know.”

When she put the ’link away, Roarke reached up, switched off her recorder. “You need a break.”

“I don’t. The busier I am the better I am. I’ll deal with the rest of it when I have to. But not now, not yet, because once I start dealing with it I just don’t know. We don’t even have the DNA match, so . . .”

She trailed off when he simply took her hand. And saw it in his eyes.

“You got it done?”

“The results came in when I went out to get your kit.”

Something sick and sour lodged in her throat. “I was right.”

“Yes. It’s conclusive.”

“Better to know,” she said, and stared hard at the wall.

“Is it?”

“I knew it—knew her—the minute we looked at each other. I thought I’d accepted it. Now . . . Hell, I just don’t know.” She rubbed a hand over her face, pressed her fingers to eyes that throbbed. “I need to work. I need to work and deal with this later.”

She walked to the medical examiner and the body. And Roarke stood for quite some time staring at the shackles fixed to the wall of the horrible little room.