Survivor in Death

16

LEAVES, GOING CRISP, SKITTERED ACROSS THE sweep of the drive as Eve drove through the gates.

New sets of possibilities, probabilities, and the action required for both circled in her mind.

“Wind's coming up,”Peabody observed. “Rain's coming in.”

“Thank you for the forecast.”

“It's going to strip the trees. I always hate to see that happen. Then they're all naked out there, at least until we get the first snow.”

“You're that worried, maybe you and some of your Free-Ager relations can knit them some sweaters.”

“I'm better at weaving.”Peabody 's voice remained placid while Eve parked in front of the house. “Haven't hit the loom in a good long while, but I bet I could pick it up again. I should think about that, with Christmas right around the corner.”

“Oh, stop. It's fricking October.”

“Nearly November. I'm not going to let it get away from me this year. I've already started picking up gifts. Easier to afford it now because-hey, I made detective.”

“The fact of which you never forget to remind me, and anyone else within hearing.”

“I added time in due to being injured in the line. Still, I've cut it back to once or twice a week.” She climbed out, drew in a deep breath. “Don't you love the way it smells?”

“What smells?”

“The air, Dallas. The it's-almost-November-and-the-rain's-rollingin-on-the-city air. All brisk and damp. And you got those mums and asters going over there-just a little spicy. Makes me want to rake up a big pile of leaves and jump in them.”

That put a hitch in Eve's stride, enough for her to stop and stare. “Christ” was all she could think of, and she strode to the door and in.

Summerset was there, the specter of the foyer, with his stark black suit and thin, disapproving face.

“I see you've decided to make an appearance.”

“Yeah. And for my next act I'll boot your ugly ass out of my way.”

“You brought a child into this home, who needs and expects some of your time and attention.”

“I brought a witness, minor, into this home, who needs and expects me to find out who killed her family. If you can't deal with her while I'm doing that, I'll bring in a child care droid to handle it.”

“Is that all she is to you?” His voice was a blade, edgy and slicing. “Witness, minor. A droid has more feeling. She's a child, one who isn't through her first decade and who has endured unspeakable horror and suffered unspeakable loss. And you have to be manipulated into spending a few spare moments with her over the morning meal.”

“I know just what she's endured and suffered.” She matched him tone for tone, even as her fingers dug hard into the newel post. “I'm the one who walked through the blood they left behind. So don't you get in my face on this. You son of a bitch.” She started up the stairs, stopped, looked down at him. “She's not yours. You better remember that.”

Peabodystayed where she was a moment, breathing in air that was no longer brisk and damp but thick and seething. “You were off.” She said it quietly, drawing Summerset's gaze to her. “I make it a policy to stay out between the two of you. But you were off. Her mind's on that kid, one way or the other, every minute, every day.”

She crossed to the steps, followed Eve up.

Long, angry strides had carried Eve to her office and taken her on one turn around it whenPeabody came in.

“Dallas-”

“Don't talk to me.”

“He was wrong. I'm going to say it.”

“Just don't talk to me for a minute.”

She had to burn it off-the rage, the insult, and the damning suspicion creeping under it that he was right.

She'd taken that step back, the step away necessary to maintain professional objectivity. She wouldn't apologize for it. But she'd taken another step back, a personal one. The one she needed to keep herself from projecting, from seeing too much of herself in the girl she needed to protect. Lost, alone, terrified, damaged.

It was different, different, different, Eve repeated to herself as she paced. As she yanked off her jacket, heaved it toward a chair. But the results, weren't they horribly the same?

They'd toss her into the system, as she'd been tossed. Maybe she'd get lucky. Maybe she wouldn't. And maybe she'd spend the rest of her life reliving what Summerset had called the unspeakable in nightmares.

She stepped to the window and, looking out, didn't see the leaves dancing in that rising wind, or the burnished fall color that was already fading toward November dull. She saw the face of the cop who'd stood over her hospital bed when she'd been eight.

Who hurt you? What's your name? Where's your mom and dad?

Give me the facts, she thought now. Give me some data so I can help you. I'm not going to feel too much, standing here over this broken kid, because I've got to do the job.

She closed her eyes a moment and pulled it back in. So did she have to do the job.

“Start running Kirkendall for known associates, for other family members,” she said without turning. “Do the same on Isenberry. You get any who cross, we push it.”

“Yes, sir. Want coffee?”

“Yeah I want coffee, as I'm still among the living. Thanks.”

She turned just as Roarke came into the room. Something must have shown on her face still, as he stopped, frowned. “What's wrong?”

“A pile of dead bodies at the morgue. Same old same old.”

“Eve.”

“Leave it, would you?”

He started to speak again, she could see the struggle. Then he gave a quick nod. “All right. Where do I sign up for my assignment?”

“Gotcha covered right here. Suspect, Kirkendall, Roger, former army, rank of sergeant. Swisher repped the spouse in a custody suit, won. Presiding judge was hit a couple years back. Vehicular explosion device. GPS rep was strangled in her bed. Expert medical wit stabbed, and it looks like the asshole they pinched for it might have just been wrong place, wrong time.”

“Looks like you've got your man.”

“He's not in a cage yet. He co-owns a dojo inQueens. Flash place with Master Lu, his partner.”

“Lu the Dragon?”

“Yeah.” She was able to smile now, though it didn't quite move up into her eyes. “Who says we've got nothing in common? You catch him wiping the floor with the Korean to take his third Olympic gold?”

“I did, yes. Front row.”

“Okay, not so much in common, as I caught it on a screen in a bar in Hell's Kitchen. Anyway, Lu comes up clean. He deals with Kirkendall through the magic of E. Sends required paperwork and profits electronically. Says he hasn't seen his partner in six years. I believe him.”

“And you'd like me to trace the transmissions and deposits.”

“Check. Lu's equipment's in your comp lab. Pickup officer confirmed its delivery.”

“I'll get started.” But he crossed to her first, stroked his fingers down her cheek. “I don't like to see you sad.”

“I'll have a big, toothy smile on my face when I close this case.”

He kissed her lightly. “I'll hold you to that, Lieutenant.”

Discreetly, Peabody waited until he'd left before coming out with the coffee. “You want me to set up on your secondary unit?”

“Yeah.” Eve took the coffee. “I'm going to take a poke at Yancy's theory. If Kirkendall's had major face sculpting, wouldn't he trust- first-a military surgeon? Guy spends nearly twenty in, it doesn't seem like he'd go to a civilian.”

“That kind of change has to be recorded,”Peabody pointed out. “You can't radically change your appearance without filing fresh ID. If Yancy's right, and he did, we wouldn't be looking for a surgeon on the up.”

“Covert ops, guys have work done. Temp and permanent. We'll see if he had any before, and who he trusted to do the job.”

She sat at her desk, called up Kirkendall's military data. And Mira walked in.

“I'm sorry to interrupt you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Teeth set in frustration, Eve sat back, lifted her hands. “What?”

“I need to speak with you regarding Nixie.”

“Look, you're in charge of her counseling. You want to do a session, pick your spot. As long as it's not in here.”

“We've had a session. She's having a difficult day.”

“She should get in line.” Eve.

“I'm doing what I need to do.” Her earlier rage began to bubble back. “And I can't do it if somebody's forever in my face telling me I've got to go pat the kid on the head and give her a there, there. I can't-”

“Lieutenant.”

Safely across the room, Peabody hunched her shoulders. It was the same tone her own mother used to stop any one of her children in their tracks.

“Fine. What? I'm listening. I'm all fricking ears.”

And that, Peabody thought as she slid down another inch in her chair, was the tone that would have resulted in immediate annihilation should she, or a sibling, have dared to use it.

“I hope you find it cathartic to take your frustration out on me.”

If she'd been sure no one would notice, Peabody would have chosen that point to slink out of the room.

“However,” Mira continued in a voice cool enough to scatter frost on the windows, “we're discussing a child in our charge, not your poor manners.”

“Well, Jesus, I'm just-”

“Regarding that child,” Mira interrupted. “She needs to see her family.”

“Her family's in the damn morgue.”

“I'm aware of that, and so is she. She needs to see them, to begin to say good-bye. You and I are both aware of the importance of this step with survivors. The stages of her grief require this.”

“I told her I'd fix it so she'd see them. But for Christ's sake, not like this. You want to take a kid to the morgue so that she can see her family pulled out of containment drawers?”

“Yes.”

“With their throats cut.”

Impatience rippled over Mira's face. “I've spoken with ME Morris. There are ways, which you very well know, to treat wounds and injuries on the dead, to spare their loved ones. He's agreed to do so. It's not possible for her to attend any sort of service or memorial for her family until this case is closed and her safety is insured. She needs to see them.”

“I've got her here in lockdown for a reason.” Eve dragged her hands through her hair when Mira only stood, gaze cool and level. “Okay, fine. I can get you secure transpo there and back. I'll need to coordinate it with Morris. We get her in the delivery door-no record, no ID scans. He clears the area so you can take her straight into a view room. Out the same way. It'll have to be quick. Ten minutes.”

“That's acceptable. She'll need you there.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.”

“Like it or not, you're her touchstone. You were there when she last saw them. You're the one she believes will find the people responsible. She needs you to be there in order to feel safe. We'll be ready to leave as soon as you arrange secure transportation.”

Eve sat, too stunned to work up a glare as Mira walked out.

She decided on Roarke's jet-copter. It would be fast, and it wasn't unusual for him to buzz off in it to a meeting. It meant she had to pull him away from the trace as she didn't trust anyone else to get them there and back without incident. Not only the crashing sort of incidents she tried not to obsess over when zipping along a couple hundred feet above street level, but the assault incident she was risking by following Mira's edict.

“Risks are minimal,” he told her as the copter landed gracefully on the lawn. “We'll engage the privacy shields and the antiscan equipment. Even if they're watching, they wouldn't be able to jam-in the amount of time we'll need-to detect her on board.”

Eve frowned pessimistically at the sky that was beginning to bruise withPeabody 's predicted rain. “Maybe they'll just blow us out of the air.”

He smiled at her dour tone. “If you thought that a possibility, you wouldn't be sending her up.”

“Okay, no. I just want this the hell over with.”

“I'll be doing my own scans. I'll know if anyone's trying to track us or jam the equipment. We should be able to do this in thirty minutes. Not an appreciable delay in your schedule.”

“Then let's do it.” She signalled for Mira to bring Nixie out while Roarke exchanged a quick word with the pilot, then took the controls himself.

“I've never been in a copter,” Nixie said. “It's mag.” But her hand crept over the seat, found Mira's.

Roarke looked over his shoulder, smiled at her. “Ready?”

When she nodded, he lifted off.

Smoother, Eve noted, than he did when she was the only passenger. He liked to cowboy it, bursts of speed, quick dips-just to make her crazy. But this time, he piloted the copter with the care and grace, despite the speed, of a man hauling precious cargo.

He'd think of that, she realized. The little things. Is that what she lacked, the ability to consider the compassionate, because she was so focused on brutality?

Trueheart played with her, Baxter joked with her. Peabody had no trouble finding the right words, the right tone. Summerset-frog faced demon from hell-he was handling her overall care and feeding without a single bump.

And there was Roarke being Roarke-no matter what he said about the kid being scary and intimidating. He interacted with her as smoothly as he drove the damn copter.

And, Eve admitted, every time she got within five feet of the kid she wanted to walk the other way. She didn't know how to deal with the entity of a child. Just didn't have the instincts.

And just wasn't able to-bottom line-close out the horror of her own memories the kid pushed into her head.

She glanced down, saw Nixie watching her.

“Mira says they have to be in places that are cold.”

“Yeah.”

“But they don't feel cold anymore, so it's okay.”

Eve started to nod, dismiss it. Jesus, she thought, give her something. “Morris-Dr. Morris,” Eve corrected, “has been taking care of them. There's nobody better than Dr. Morris. So yeah, it's okay.”

“Tracking us,” Roarke said softly and she swung around to him.

“What?”

“Tracking.” He tapped a gauge bisected with green and red lines. “Or-more accurately-trying. Can't get a lock. Ah, that must be frustrating.”

She studied the dash gauges, tried to decipher the symbols. “Can you track it back to source?”

“Possibly. I engaged the tracking equipment before we took off, so it's working on it. It's mobile, I can tell you that.”

“Ground or air?”

“Ground. Clever. They're attempting to clone my signal. And yes, detected me doing precisely the same to theirs. They've shut it down. We'll call that one a draw, then.”

Still he detoured, spent a few minutes cruising to see if they'd attempt another trace. His equipment continued to sound the all-clear when he landed on the roof of the morgue.

As arranged, it was Morris himself who opened the by-air delivery doors. Closing and latching them when everyone was inside.

“Nixie.” He offered his hand. “I'm Dr. Morris. I'm very sorry about your family.”

“You didn't hurt them.”

“No, I didn't. I'll take you to them now. Level B,” he ordered, and the wide elevator began its descent. “I know Dr. Mira and Lieutenant Dallas have explained some of this to you, but if you have any questions you can ask me.”

“I watch a show about a man who does work on dead bodies. I'm not really supposed to, but Coyle can, and sometimes I sneak.”

“Dr. Death? I watch that sometimes myself.” The doors opened into the long, cool white corridor. “It's a little more entertaining than it is accurate. I don't chase the bad guys, for instance-I leave that in the capable hands of the police, like Lieutenant Dallas.”

“You have to cut them open sometimes.”

“Yes. I try to find something that will help the police.”

“Did you find something with my mom and dad, with my brother?”

“Everything Morris has done has helped,” Eve said.

They stopped by double doors, their small, round observation windows screened now. Nixie reached for Eve's hand, but they were jammed in pockets. She settled for Mira's. “Are they in there?”

“Yes.” Morris paused again. “Are you ready to go in?”

She only nodded.

She would smell it, of course, Eve thought. No matter what sterilizer they used, it never quite masked the smell of death, the fluids and liquids and flesh.

She would smell it, and never forget it.

“Can I see my daddy first? Please.”

Her voice trembled a little, and when Eve looked down she saw Nixie was pale, but her face was set with a concentrated determination.

So nor would she forget it, Eve thought. She wouldn't forget this kind of courage, the kind it had to take for a child to stand, to wait while her father-not a monster, but a father-was drawn out of a steel drawer.

Morris had masked the throat wound with the magic of his enhancers. He had draped the body with a clean white sheet. But dead was dead.

“Can I touch him?”

“Yes.” Morris set a stool by the drawer, helped her climb onto it, and stood by her, his hand lightly on her shoulder. She brushed her fingers-light as a wish-over her father's cheek.

“He has a scratchy face. Sometimes he rubs it on mine to make me laugh. It's dark in the drawer.”

“I know, but I think where he is now, it's not.”

She nodded, silent tears trickling down her face. “He had to go to heaven, even though he didn't want to.” And when she leaned over, touched her lips to her father's cheek, Eve felt the hot ball of tears in her own belly.

“You can put him back now.” She climbed off the stool, took the tissue Mira offered her. “Maybe I can see Coyle now.”

She touched her brother's hair, studied his face in a way that made Eve think she was trying to see him alive again. “Maybe he can play baseball all the time now. He likes baseball best.”

She asked for Inga, touched her hair as well. “Sometimes she baked cookies-the ones with sugar. She'd pretend it was a secret, but I knew Mom told her it was okay.”

She stepped off the stool again. Her face wasn't pale now, but flushed from the tears. Eve could see her chest tremble with the effort to hold them back.

“Linnie's not here. They took her already. They didn't let me see her or say good-bye. I know they're mad at me.”

“They're not.” Eve looked down when Nixie turned to her. “I saw Linnie's mother today, and she's not mad at you. She's upset, like you are. She's sad and upset, but she's not mad at you. She asked about you. She wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“She's not mad? You swear?”

Her belly churned but she kept her eyes steady. If the kid could maintain, by God, so could she. “She's not mad. I swear. I couldn't let you go say good-bye to Linnie, so that's on me. It wasn't safe, and it was my call.”

“Because of the bad guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it's on them,” Nixie said simply. “I want to see my mother now. Will you come with me?”

Oh Christ, Eve thought, but she took Nixie's hand and stepped toward the drawer Morris pulled out.

Eve knew the face well now. Pretty woman who'd passed the shape of her mouth on to her daughter. White as wax now, with that faint tinge of unearthly blue, and soft as wax as well, in the way the dead go soft.

Nixie's fingers trembled in hers as the girl reached down to touch that soft, white face. And the sound she made as she lay her head on the sheet over her mother's breast was a low, painful keening.

When it quieted to whimpers, Mira stepped forward, stroked her hand over Nixie's hair. “She'd be glad you came to see her, proud that you could. Can you say good-bye to her, Nixie?”

“I don't want to.”

“Oh, baby, I know, and so does she. It's so hard to say goodbye.”

“Her heart doesn't thump. If I sat in her lap and leaned my head here, I could hear her heart thump. But now it doesn't.” She lifted her head, whispered good-bye, and stepped off the stool for the last time.

“Thank you for taking care of them,” she said to Morris.

He merely nodded, then walked to the door to hold it open. When Eve passed behind Mira and Nixie, he murmured to her, “You think you can handle anything in this job.” His voice was thick and raw. “Stand anything, stand up to anything. But my sweet Christ, that child almost had me on the floor.”

“Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.'“

Looking at Roarke now, Morris managed a small smile. “Well said. I'll get you out.”

“What was that from?” Eve asked. “What you just said.”

“ParadiseLost. Written by a poet namedMilton. It seemed apt as what we just witnessed was a wrenching form of poetry.”

She drew in a breath. “Let's get her back.”

When they returned, Mira sent Nixie upstairs with Summerset and the promise to be up in a moment.

Gauging the ground, Roarke excused himself and went back to work.

“I know that was difficult for you,” Mira began. “It's not about me.”

“Every case is about you, to some extent, or you wouldn't be able to do what you do so well. You have the gift of being able to mate your objectivity with compassion.”

“That's not the way I hear it.”

“She needed what you gave her. She'll heal. She's too strong not to. But she needed this to begin.”

“She'll need a hell of a lot more since the Dysons won't take her.”

“I'd hoped… well, it may be for the best on all sides. She would remind them of their loss, and they of hers.”

“It's not best for her to end up a ward of the court. I may have another possibility. I know some people who'd qualify to take her on. I was thinking maybe we could contact Richard DeBlass and Elizabeth Barrister.”

“It's a good thought.”

“They took that kid, the boy, we found on a murder scene last year.” Eve shifted, not entirely comfortable with the role of family planner. “I figure they decided to foster him because their daughter was murdered. Though she was an adult, and-”

“Your child is always your child. Age doesn't factor.”

“If you say so. Anyway, I guess they wanted another chance to… whatever. I know Roarke waded in with that kid, ah, Kevin. Gave them a little nudge to take him in. From what I know, it worked out okay, and like I said, they're qualified. Maybe they'd consider taking in another.”

“I think it's a very good idea. You'll talk to them.”

Boggy area, Eve thought. “Ah… I need to talk to Roarke because he knows them better. I'm the cop who closed their daughter's murder case-and uncovered some ugly family secrets. He's their friend. But if this pans out, I'm going to need you to add your weight with GPS.”

“You've given this considerable thought.”

“No, but it's the best thought I've had on it since Mrs. Dyson dropped the boomer on me this morning. She's been kicked around enough. I don't want her kicked around by the system that's supposed to protect her.”

“Once you've talked to Roarke, let me know. We'll work to get what's best for Nixie. I should go up to her now.”

“Ah, just one more thing.” Eve got out the photograph Dave Rangle had given her. “Her father's partner sent this for her. Swisher kept it on his desk. His partner figured Nixie would want it.”

“What a lovely family,” Mira said as she took the photograph. “Yes, she'll want this. And it couldn't come at a better time. She'll see this, remember this, and imagine them this way rather than as they were at the morgue.”

She looked back at Eve. “Wouldn't you like to give this to her yourself?” When Eve only shook her head, Mira nodded. “All right, then. I'll take it to her.”

Mira turned toward the steps, stopped at the base. “She doesn't know how hard that was for you, to stand with her while she said good-bye to her family. But I do.”

Upstairs, Summerset sat with Nixie in his lap. “They didn't look like they were sleeping,” she said, with her head on his chest, his heart beating in her ear. “I thought maybe they would, but you could tell they weren't.”

His long, thin fingers stroked through her hair. “Some people believe, as I do, that when we die the essence of ourselves-the spirit or the soul-has choices.”

“What kind?”

“Some of those choices might depend on how we've lived our lives. If we've tried to do our best, we might then decide to go to a place of peace.”

“Like angels on a cloud.”

“Perhaps.” He continued to stroke her hair as the cat padded into the room, then leaped up to join them on the arm of the chair. “Or like a garden where we can walk or play, where we see others who made this same choice before us.”

Nixie reached out, petted Galahad's wide flank. “Where Coyle can play baseball?”

“Yes. Or we might decide to come back, live again, begin a new life at the very start of it, inside the womb. We may decide to do this because we want to do better than we did before, or right some wrong we may have done. Or simply because we're not quite ready to go to that place of peace.”

“So maybe they'll decide to come back, like babies?” The idea made her smile a little. “Would I know them if I got to meet them some time?”

“I think you would, in some part of your heart. Even if you don't realize it, you recognize in your heart. Do you understand?”

“I guess. I think so. Did you ever recognize somebody who had to die before?”

“I think I have. But there's one I keep hoping I might recognize one day.” He thought of his daughter, his beautiful, lost Marlena. “I haven't found her yet.”

“Maybe she made the choice to go to the garden.”

He bent to touch his lips to Nixie's hair. “Maybe she did.”

Summerset waited nearly an hour, monitoring Eve's office until he sawPeabody leave the room. He hoped whatever task she'd been sent to perform took long enough for him to finish what he had to do.

When he stepped into Eve's office, she was just coming out of the kitchen with another mug of coffee. Her hand jerked slightly, lapping hot liquid over the rim.

“Oh, fuck me. Consider this area police property and restricted to tight-assed fuckwits I don't want around. Which is you.”

“I only need a moment of your time. I would apologize.”

“You would what?”

His voice was as stiff as hers and only went more rigid. “I would apologize for my remarks earlier. They were incorrect.”

“As far as I'm concerned, your remarks are always incorrect. So fine. Now make tracks. I'm working.”

He would damn well finish swallowing this hideous crow. “You brought the child here for safe-keeping, and you've seen that she's been safely kept. I'm aware that you're working diligently to identify and capture the people who killed her family. It's visibly apparent that you're giving this considerable time and effort as you have circles under your eyes and your disposition is even more disagreeable than usual due to lack of proper rest and nutrition.”

“Bite me.”

“And your clever repartee suffers as a result.”

“How's this for clever repartee?” She jabbed her middle finger into the air.

“Typical.” He nearly turned and left. Very nearly. But he couldn't forget that Nixie had told him Eve stood with her when she'd said good-bye to her mother.

“She had a very hard day, Lieutenant. Grieving. And when I coaxed her to take a nap, she had another nightmare. She asked for you, and you wouldn't… couldn't,” he corrected, “be here. I was overwrought when you arrived, and I was incorrect.”

“Okay. Forget it.”

When he turned to leave, she took a deep breath. She didn't mind giving as good as she got, when it came to cheap shots. It was harder to give as good when it was conciliatory. But if she didn't, it would itch at her and distract her from the work.

“Hey.” He stopped, turned. “I brought her here because I figured it was the safest place for her. And because I figured I had someone on site who'd know how to take care of a nine-year-old girl. Knowing she's comfortable with you gives me the space I need to do what I have to do.”

“Understood. I'll leave you to do it.”

It's about time somebody did, Eve thought as he left. Then she sat down, propped her feet on her desk, sipped her coffee. And studied her murder board while the computer ran the next search.