Survivor in Death

14

SHE FOUND YANCY IN A LITTLE GLASS BOX CONFERENCE room in his sector, drinking station-house coffee with Ophelia. The LC wore the same feathers and paint as the night before. In the harsh lights she looked the way Eve had always thought carnies looked in daylight-a little worn, a little tawdry, and not particularly inviting.

But Yancy was chatting her up, flirting.

“So, asshole tells me he wants me to sing. Says it's the only way he can get the wood on. Wants me to sing 'God BlessAmerica.' Can you digit?”

“What did you do?”

“What you think? I sing. I got the tune okay, but I gotta make up the words mostly. Giving him a hand job, and he's singing with me, fixing the words. There we are, squeezed in a doorway, having ourselves a duet.”

“What happened?”

“He got up, got in, and round about the third time around the tune, got off. Got to be a regular after that. Every Tuesday night, we had ourselves a performance. I got me a red, white, and blue outfit, too. Give him a little more bang for his buck.”

“You see a lot of characters in your line of work.”

“Honey, you been on the stroll long as me, there's nothing you haven't seen. Why just last week-”

“Excuse me.” Eve's voice was hard as baked earth. “Sorry to interrupt your chat, but I need to see Detective Yancy for a moment. Detective?”

“Be right back, Ophelia.”

“Oooh, she looks mean enough to chew rock and spit pebbles in your eye.” Voice low, Ophelia winked at Yancy. “You watch that fine ass of yours.”

The minute they were outside, the door closed behind them, Eve tore in. “What the hell are you doing? Drinking coffee, chatting about her exploits on the stroll.”

“I'm warming her up.”

“She had a bed, her meals, her entertainment, courtesy of the NYPSD. If you ask me, she's warm enough now to sweat. I need results, Detective, not amusing anecdotes for your case file.”

“I know what I'm doing, you don't. And if you're going to rip me a new one, wait until I'm finished.”

“I'll schedule that-as soon as you tell me when the hell you're going to be finished.”

“If I don't have something you can use in an hour, I'm not going to have it at all.”

“Do it. Get it. Bring it to Conference Room C.”

They turned their backs on each other. Eve walked away, ignoring the interested parties at desks and cubes.

When she arrived at the conference room herself, Peabody was already there, setting up. At least she hadn't forgotten the duties of an aide.

“Got three names for you, Dallas, that fit the parameters of our profile.”

“At least somebody's doing what they're supposed to do today.”

Peabody preened a little as she arranged labeled discs. “One still lives in the city, one is still on active and based atFortDrum inBrooklyn. The last, is co-owner of a martial arts studio inQueens and has it listed as business and personal.”

“All still inNew York. Handy. What was their deal with Swisher?”

“First one, retired sergeant, was a client-divorced with kids. Swisher got him a decent enough deal, at least when you're looking in from the outside. Reasonable split of marital property and assets, liberal visitation with minor children.”

“And where's the missus?”

“Westchester. Remarried. Spouse was the client with the second. Custody deal. She claimed emotional and physical abuse, and Swisher nailed him with it. Spouse got full custody and a stinging percentage of the guy's monthly as child support. She moved toPhiladelphia, single parent status.”

“Lost the wife and kiddies, and had to pay for it. That'll piss you off. The last?”

“Similar deal as the second, with the wife-Swisher's client- testifying under wraps. Regular and consistent abuse claimed over a period of twelve years. Two minor children. Her documentation was shaky, but Swisher pulled it through. And she went into the wind.”

“She's missing?”

“No record of her or the kids the day after the court decided in her favor. I haven't got all the details yet, but it looks like she ran. Or-”

“He got to her. Any papers on her?”

“Sister filed a missing persons. Actively pursued. Sister and family moved toNebraska.”

“Nebraska? Who lives inNebraska?”

“Apparently they do.”

“Yeah, with the cows and sheep.”

“Parents live there, too. The missing woman and her sister's parents. Not the cows' and sheep's-though I'm sure there are lots of parental farm animals inNebraska.”

The thought actually brought on a shudder. “I don't like to think about those things. Cows banging each other in the field. Bizarre.”

“Well, if they don't, all we've got are manmade-”

“Don't go there. It's almost worse. Some science guy creating them in the lab.” Her voice darkened. “One day they're going to make a mistake-a big one-and mutant clone cows are going to revolt and start eating people. You wait and see.”

“I saw this vid once where these clone pigs developed intelligence and started attacking people.”

“See?” She jabbed a finger in the air. “From vid to reality is one small, slippery step. I hope to Christ I don't have to go toNebraska.”

“I've been there. It's actually very nice. Some good cities, and the countryside's interesting. All those cornfields.”

“Cornfields? Cornfields? Do you know what can hide in cornfields- what might be lurking in the corn? Have you thought about that?”

“No, but I will now.”

“Give me a nice dark alley. Okay.” She shook it off, looked at the murder boardPeabody had set up for the briefing. “We talk to all three of the guys you popped. We visit the investigators on the Duberry and the Judge Moss cases, and we review the missing-persons report and that case file. I want to talk to the primary on a robbery homicide. ER doc, taken out in the parking lot of her hospital. They got a guy for it, but she popped on this Kirkendall custody deal, too. We reinterview any witnesses to those cases, recanvass. And if we ever get a goddamn composite from Yancy, we find a match.”

“Yancy's sketches are gold,”Peabody reminded her. “If he pulls a decent description out of the LC, we should be able to run it through the system, pop a name.”

“Step at a time.” She glanced over as Feeney walked in with McNab. She caught the suggestive look McNab sentPeabody, and tried to ignore it. They were in a cuddle stage of their relationship-new cohabs. She wasn't sure what it said about her to know she'd be relieved when they got back to sniping at each other.

“Put your hands, or your big, goofy mouth on my partner in this room, McNab, I'll rip those stupid hoops out of your ears so bloody strips of lobe fly around the room.”

In reflex, he lifted a hand to his ear and the quartet of bright blue hoops.

Feeney shook his head, spoke under his breath to Eve. “Hornier now, you ask me, than before they moved in together. Wish they'd start swiping at each other like before. This shit's getting creepy.”

It was good, Eve thought, to have someone on the team who showed good sense. To show solidarity, she gave him a slap on one of his slouched shoulders.

When Baxter and Trueheart arrived, they got coffee, the updated files.

“Detective Yancy should be joining us shortly,” Eve began. “If the wit comes through, we'll have faces. Meanwhile, we've found connections.”

Using both the board and the screen, Eve briefed the team on the potential links between the Swishers and the two other victims.

“If this same person or persons killed or arranged to have killed Moss, Duberry, and the Swisher family, we can see by the time frame that these murders are not only carefully planned, but that the person or persons behind them are controlled, patient, careful. This is no psychopath on a spree, but a purposeful man on a mission. One with connections of his own, with skill and/or the money or resources to hire those with skill. He does not work alone, but as part of a well-honed team.”

“Cop killers,” Baxter said without any of his usual humor.

“Cop killers,” Eve confirmed. “But the fact that they were cops was irrelevant. They were obstacles, nothing more.”

“But not collateral damage.” Trueheart looked surprised, even slightly embarrassed to realize he'd spoken aloud. “What I mean, Lieutenant, is that Detectives Knight andPreston weren't bystanders or innocent victims from the killers' points of view. They were what I guess we could call enemy guards?”

“Agreed. This is a small, very personal war. With very specific objectives. One of those objectives has not been met. Nixie Swisher.” She brought the child's ID image onscreen.

“Given what we know, we can speculate that the survivor is no threat to them. She is a child, one who saw nothing that can lead to the identification of the individuals who killed the family. In any case, what she saw, what she knew, had already been reported. Her death gains nothing. It is probable they abducted Meredith Newman, likely they interrogated her, under duress, and gained the knowledge that the survivor knew nothing that would lead us to their identity.”

“But they don't give it a wash.” Baxter studied the child. “They don't move on, consider it done. They put together another operation to try to find and eliminate her, and instead take down two cops.”

“The mission isn't complete, therefore the mission has not been successful. What did they want from the Swishers?”

“Their lives,” Baxter answered.

“Their family. The destruction of their family. You take mine, I'll take yours. So they continue to hunt the last remaining member, illustrating a need for completion, for perfection, for a fulfillment of the work. With the murder of Knight andPreston, a message was sent. They will engage the enemy, they will eliminate obstacles. They will complete their mission.”

“Hell they will,” Feeney voiced.

“Hell they will. DetectivePeabody?”

Peabodyjolted, blinked at Eve. “Sir?”

“Brief the rest of the team on the results of your recent search.”

“Ahhh.” She cleared her throat and rose. “At Lieutenant Dallas's orders, I conducted a search for any individuals who fit our current profile who were involved in a trial or case that included Swisher, Moss, and Duberry. The search resulted in three individuals. The first, Donaldson, John Jay, Sergeant USMC, retired.”

She ordered image and data on-screen and relayed the details of the divorce case.

“Looks like a jarhead.” Baxter shrugged when Eve frowned at him. “That's what my grandfather called marines. He was regular army during the Urbans.”

“You and Trueheart will take the jarhead. It's possible he wasn't satisfied with the court's decision. Peabody, next up.”

“Next is Glick, Viktor, LieutenantColonel, U. S. Army, active and based atFortHamilton, Brooklyn.”

WhenPeabody finished the data, Eve gestured to Feeney. “You and McNab up for some field work inBrooklyn?”

“Can do. I'm going to enjoy seeing what the army makes of our E-Division fashion plate.”

“Peabody and I will take the last. Peabody?”

“Kirkendall, Roger, Sergeant, U. S. Army, retired.”

When the data was complete, she sat down with obvious relief.

“Kirkendall,” Eve continued, “also has a connect to a Brenegan, Jaynene, who was stabbed to death in a parking lot outside the health center where she served as an ER doc. They got a guy for that, but it bears looking at. Baxter, reach out to the investigators on that. Let's see if anything rings.”

“You thinking they hired somebody to hit the doctor?”

“No. They're too smart to hire some junkie and leave him alive after. Just covering all the ground. We'll need clearance in order to acquire the full military records of these three individuals,” Eve added. “Which, let's face it, isn't going to be a snap. I'll start fighting through the red tape there. Unless I get clear to handle it myself, I want you to talk to the primary on the Duberry case.”

She stopped when Yancy entered.

“Lieutenant.” He walked over, handed her a disc. “As ordered.”

“Have a seat, Detective. Give us the rundown.”

She plugged in the disc herself, called up the images on two screens.

On each screen a nearly identical face appeared. Squared, tough, pale brows, close-cut hair. The lips were firm, noses sharply planed.

Ears close to the head, she noted. Eyes cold and pale. She judged them both to be early fifties.

“The witness was cooperative, and got a good, close-up look at both men. However, she, at least initially,” Yancy added with a flick of a glance at Eve, “had trouble with details. Both men wore watch caps and sun shades which can be seen in the next sketch. But working with the witness, and adding probability of certain details, i. e, natural eye color, given the lightness of the brows, eye shape given the facial structure, we can assume.”

“How close an assumption?”

“Close as I can get. I ran probabilities on these, with the data received from the wit. It comes to ninety-six and change. I was also able to get full-length composites. The witness recalled the body types in detail. Next sketch.”

Now Eve studied two muscular, well-built men, wide at the shoulders, narrow at the hip. Both wore black-turtleneck-style shirt; loose, straight pants; jump boots-and carried bags cross-body. Yancy had added projected heights and weights.

Six foot one, and one-ninety to two hundred on suspect one, five foot eleven, same weight range on suspect two.

“You confident in these, Detective?”

“I am, yes, sir.”

“None of them match the menPeabody dug up,” McNab said. “Body type's close enough on her first guy and her last, but the faces aren't.”

“No, they're not.” And that was a severe disappointment. “But that doesn't preclude the possibility that these were soldiers-hirelings or under orders-and that one of the men we've found is in a command position. We'll put these images and the data through the system, see what we find.”

She hesitated briefly. “You can take that, Yancy. You'd have the best eye for it.”

The rigor eased out of his shoulders. “Sure.”

“Then let's get started. You do good work, Yancy, even when you're dealing with a pain in your ass.”

“Would that be my witness, sir, or you?” “Take your choice.”

She walked it by Whitney first, compiling copies of all data along with her oral. “I've done the first pass at both military branches for full disclosure of records, and as expected on first pass, request was denied. I'm working my way up with the second.”

“Leave that to me,” Whitney told her. He studied the sketches. “You'd have to say brothers. The resemblance is too strong otherwise. Or your witness projected the resemblance.”

“Yancy was thorough. He's standing by the composites. Brothers isn't far out of reach, sir, considering the smoothness of the teamwork. Twins, as they appear to be, often have a close, almost preternatural bond.”

“We'll give them adjoining cages when you bring them in.”

Brothers they were, a unit of beliefs, desires, and training. Machines. Though they were human, though they ran on blood, humanity was lost in them.

The obsession of one was the obsession of the other.

They rose at the same hour every day, retired at the same hour in their identical rooms. They ate the same food, worshipped the same gods, in a sychronicity of discipline and objective.

They shared the same cold, harsh love for each other that each would have termed loyalty.

Now, as one worked, sweat streaming down his face while he executed punishing squats and lunges on his injured leg, the other sat at a command console, pale eyes tracking screens. The room where they worked had no windows and a single door. It contained an emergency underground exit, and the capability for self-destruct should their security be compromised.

It was outfitted with enough supplies to last two men a full year. Once, they had planned to use it as both shelter and command post when the primary vision of the organization they both had served had been met, and the city above was in their hands.

Now, it was shelter and command post for a more personal vision.

They had worked together for the larger cause for nearly a decade, and this more personal one for six years. They had seen the larger fractured, scattered. But the smaller, the personal, they would complete. Whatever the cost.

One stopped, sweat still dripping as he reached for a jug containing filtered water and electrolytes.

“How's the leg?” his brother asked.

“Eighty percent. A hundred by tomorrow. Bastard cop was fast.”

“Now he's dead. We'll terminate more, strike the other locations, but that can wait until we've hit the primary target.”

On one of the screens, Nixie's young face smiled out at the spartan room and the two men who wanted her life.

“They might have moved her out of the city.”

His brother shook his head. “Dallaswould want her close. All the probabilities indicate she's still in the city. Cops coming and going out ofDallas 's home location, but the probabilities are low that she'd take the target there. But she'll be close.”

“We bringDallas in, ascertain the target's location.”

“She'll be ready for it, waiting for it. We can't rush it. Roarke's security and intelligence may be as good as ours. It may be better. His pockets are deeper, even with our contingency funds.”

“They have nothing that leads to us. That gives us time. It would be a coup, the kind that would boost morale and bring the primary mission back in place, if Roarke's home location was breached, if he was terminated in his own bed, and the cop taken. We'd have the message needed to regroup our members, and the information needed to complete our mission here.”

The man at the console turned. “We'll start on tactics.”

The martial arts studio inQueens was more of a palace, in Eve's opinion. Or a temple.

The entrance was decorated in a spare yet somehow lustrous style- an Asian flavor with the Japanese sand gardens she'd never understood, gongs, the whiff of incense, a glossy red ceiling against cool, white walls and floor.

Tables were low, and the seats were red cushions decorated in gold thread that formed symbols.

Doorways were the papery screens she'd seen in Asian restaurants.

The woman who sat cross-legged on a cushion by a neat and tiny workstation nodded, placed the palms of her hands together, and bowed.

“How can I serve you?”

She wore a red robe with a black dragon flying across the bottom. Her head was shaved clean, the shape of her skull somehow as tidy and lustrous as the room.

“Roger Kirkendall.” Eve showed her badge.

She smiled, showing white, even teeth. “I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkendall isn't with us. May I inquire as to the nature of your business?”

“No. Where is he?”

“I believe Mr. Kirkendall is traveling.” Despite the clipped response, the woman's tone never altered. “Perhaps you'd like to speak with Mr. Lu, his partner. Should I inform Mr. Lu that you'd like to speak with him?”

“Do that.” She turned, rescanned the room. “Pretty kicked for a dojo. Must do a hell of a business. Not bad for former Army.”

“Mr. Lu will come out and escort you. May I serve you some refreshments? Green tea, spring water?”

“No, we're good. How long have you worked here?”

“I've been employed in this capacity for three years.”

“So you know Kirkendall.”

“I have not had the pleasure of meeting him.”

One of the screens slid open. The man who came out wore a black gi, with the black belt around it scored in a way that told Eve he was a master.

He was no more than five-eight in his bare feet. Like the woman, his head was hairless. And like her, he put his palms together and bowed.

“You are welcome here. You inquire about Mr. Kirkendall. Do you require privacy?”

“Never hurts.”

“Please, then.” He gestured to the opening. “We will speak in my office. I am Lu,” he told them as he escorted them down a narrow white hallway.

“Dallas, Lieutenant. Peabody, Detective. NYPSD. What are these rooms?”

“We offer privacy rooms for meditation.” He bowed to a white robed man who carried a white pot of tea and two handleless cups on a tray.

Eve watched the man slip through one of the sliding screens and close it behind him.

She caught the sounds of hand-to-hand ahead. The slap of flesh, the thud of bodies, the hiss of breath. Saying nothing, she moved passed Lu and walked to another opening.

The studio spread out, in sections. In one she saw a class of six executing the sharp, silent movements of an elaborate and graceful kata. In another, several students of various ranks fought under the supervision of another black belt.

“We instruct in tai chi, karate, tai kwon do, aikido,” Lu began. “Other forms and methods as well. We offer instruction to novices and continuing instruction and practice to the experienced.”

“You offer anything but tea and meditation in those privacy room?”

“Yes. We offer spring water.” He neither smiled nor seemed insulted by the question. “If you would like to examine one of our meditation rooms, not currently in use, I would only request you remove your boots before entering.”

“We'll leave that for now.”

He led her through another doorway, into a small, efficient, and attractive office. More low tables and cushions. Painted screens on the walls, a single white orchid bowing out of a red pot.

His desk space was stringently ordered with its compact d and c unit and a miniature 'link.

“Would you care to sit?”

“Standing's fine. I need to speak with Kirkendall.”

“He's traveling.”

“Where?”

“I can't tell you. He is, to my knowledge, traveling extensively.”

“You don't know how to reach your partner?”

“I'm afraid I don't. Is there a problem that involves my business?”

“He lists this as his address on his official data.”

“He does not live at this address.” Lu's voice remained smooth and untroubled. “There is no residence here. I fear there is some mistake.”

“When's the last time you spoke with him?”

“Six years ago.”

“Six years? You haven't spoken with your partner in six years.”

“That is correct. Mr. Kirkendall approached me with a business opportunity that I found interesting. At that time I owned a small dojo inOkinawa. I was afforded this by some success in tournaments and instructional discs.”

“Lu. The Dragon. I recognized you.”

There was the faintest of smiles, the slightest of bows. “I am honored.”

“You kicked some serious ass. Three-time Olympic gold medalist, world record holder. They use some of your vids at the Academy.”

“You are interested in the art?”

“Yeah, especially when it's executed by a master. You were undefeated, Master Lu.”

“The gods favored me.”

“Your signature flying kick didn't hurt either.”

A gleam of humor brightened his eyes. “It occasionally hurt my opponent.”

“Bet. What business opportunity did Kirkendall bring to you?”

“Partnership, with considerable funds, this location, and the freedom to operate this school personally. His money, my expertise and reputation. I accepted.”

“You don't consider it odd that he hasn't come to check up on you in six years?”

“He wished to travel and not to be encumbered by business. He is, I believe, eccentric.”

“How does he get his cut?”

“The business reports and figures are sent to him electronically, as is his share of the profits, which goes to an account inZurich. I am sent confirmation of the receipt of these. Has there been some difficulty with the funds and their transfer?”

“Not that I'm aware of. That's it?” Eve asked. “You don't speak with him at all, don't deal through an intermediary, a representative?”

“He was specific in his requirements for this arrangement. As it benefits me, and harms no one, I agreed to it.”

“I'm going to need the paperwork, the information on all e-transfers and communications.”

“I must ask the reason before I agree or refuse.”

“His name has come up during an investigation of several homicides.”

“But he is traveling.”

“Maybe, or maybe he's a lot closer to home. Peabody, show Lu the composites.”

Peabodytook them out of her file bag, offered them. “Mr. Lu, do you recognize either of these men?”

“They appear to be twins. And no, they are not familiar to me.” The first sign of distress eked through his considerable calm. “Who are they? What have they done?”

“They're wanted for questioning on seven murders, including two children.”

Lu drew in a breath. “The tragedy, the family, a few days ago. I heard of it. Children. I have a child, Lieutenant. My wife, who greeted you, we have a child. He's four.” His eyes weren't calm now, nor did they show distress. They were simply cold. “The media reports that this family was in their home, in their beds, sleeping. They were unarmed, they were defenseless. And the throats of these defenseless children were slashed. Is this truth?”

“Yes, it's truth.”

“There is no punishment that will balance this scale. Not even death.”

“Justice doesn't always balance the scale, Master Lu, but it's the best we have.”

“Yes.” He stood very still for a moment. “You believe the man I call partner may be in some way involved with these deaths?”

“It's a possibility.”

“I will give you whatever you require. Do whatever can be done. A moment.” He moved to his desk, gave his unit several commands in what Eve took to be Japanese.

“When would Kirkendall expect to hear from you again, to receive a report or a payment?”

“Not until December, and the last quarter of this year.”

“Do you ever contact him otherwise? With a question, a problem?”

“It's not usual, but there has been the occasion.”

“Maybe we can work with that. I'd like to send someone from our E-Division in to do a scan on your unit, on any unit you might have used to send communication to Kirkendall.”

“Only this one, and you may send an officer. Or you may take it with you. I apologize that this will take a few moments. I have ordered all communications and transmissions since the beginning of the partnership.”

“No problem.” He was upset, Eve thought. Holding it in, but struggling with the emotion of realizing he may have done business, years of business, with a murderer. His cooperation could very well lead them to close the case.

“Master Lu.” She spoke with respect and his eyes lifted toward her. “It takes more than skill-even the level of yours-it takes more than training and discipline to go undefeated, to accomplish what you have without once falling to an opponent. How did you do it?”

“Training, yes, skill developed through that training and through discipline-both physical and mental. Spiritual, if you will. And with that, instinct. Anticipation of the opponent and a belief that you can, indeed must, prevail.”

Now he smiled, quickly, charmingly. “And I like to win.”

“Yeah.” Eve grinned back at him. “Me, too.”