Survivor in Death

3

SHE FELT SQUEEZED FOR TIME, BUT GOING back to the scene, moving through it, feeling it was essential.

A nice three-story single-family, she thought, bumped up against other nice two- or three-story single- or multiple families in a tonyUpper West Side neighborhood.

More solid than flashy.

Kids went to private schools, one live-in domestic. Two full-time careers, one outside the home, one based in it. Two front entrances, one rear.

Security, she noted, on all doors and windows, with the addition of decorative-but efficient-riot bars on the below street level where Keelie Swisher based her office.

“They didn't come in from below,” Eve noted as she scoped out the house from the sidewalk. “Security was active on the office entrance, and on the rear.” She turned, scanned the street, the curbs. “Parking's a bitch in neighborhoods like this. You need a permit, curb scanners verify. If you park at the curb without one, it's an automatic ticket. We'll check, but I can't see these guys making it that easy for us. Either they walked from another point, or had a permit. Or they live right around here.

“Walked, more likely walked. Block or two anyway,” she said as she crossed, opened the useless little iron gate and stepped up to the door. “Walked to the front door. Jammed the security, the alarms, the cameras, the ID pads by remote before they moved into scanning distance. Had the codes, or knew how to bypass locks quickly.”

She used her police master to deactivate the seal, open the locks. “Not a lot of people on the street around here that time of night, but some. You could have some. Walking a dog, taking a stroll, coming home from a night out. People watch people in this kind of area. Had to be slick, move fast, and casual.”

She stepped inside the narrow hall that separated living from dining areas. “Whatcha got? A couple of bags, likely. Nothing big or bold. Soft black bags, probably, to carry the weapons, the jammers, protective gear. Couldn't gear up outside, too risky. Right here, I'd wager, right here just inside the door. Pull on the gear, split up. One upstairs, one straight back to the housekeeper. No talking, just business.”

“Hand signals maybe,” Peabody suggested. “Night vision equipment.”

“Yeah. Tools in the pouch, but you know the route, the routine. You've done sims. Bet your ass you've done sims.” She walked back toward the kitchen, imagining the dark, the utter quiet. Straight back, she thought. Been here before or had a blueprint. She flicked a glance toward the table and benches where Nixie had been.

“Wouldn't see the kid, wouldn't be looking.”

She went into a crouch, and had to angle her body to see the police marker where Nixie's soda had been found. “And even if you glanced around, you wouldn't see a little girl lying on the bench. Attention's this way, toward the housekeeper's rooms.”

Inga had been neat, as she'd expect of someone who made her living cleaning up other people's debris. She could see the order under the disorder caused by the sweepers. Catch the fresh scents, and the death scents, under the smear of chemicals. And she imagined Nixie creeping in, the excitement of a child hoping to catch adults in a forbidden act.

In the bedroom, blood patterned the walls, the bedside table and lamp, pooled on the sheets, had dripped to the floor.

“She liked the right side of the bed, probably a side sleeper. See?” Eve moved into the murder zone, gestured to the spatter pattern.

“He walks up to this side, has to-or wants to-lift her head up. The spatter shows that her head was turned a little, so her body's on her left side, facing away from the bed-the way he left her after he cut her throat. Her blood's on him now, but he doesn't worry about that. Take care of that before he leaves. Walks right out again, walks right by the kid.”

Illustrating, Eve turns, heads out. “Must've passed inches away from her. Smart kid, scared kid. She doesn't make a peep.”

Turning again, she studied the bedroom. “Nothing out of place. He doesn't touch anything but her. Isn't interested in anything but her, and the rest of the mission.”

“Is that how you see it? A mission?”

“What else?” Eve shrugged. “Leaves, work's done here. Why doesn't he take the back steps?”

“Ah…” Peabody frowned in concentration, looked at the layout. “Positioning? Master bedroom's actually closer to the main stairs. That's probably where his partner was stationed. Does another sweep by going around that way.”

“Adults have to come first, have to be done at the same time.” Eve nodded as they made the trip around. “He probably has a way to signal his partner that the first wave is complete and he's on his way.”

She glanced at the blood, the occasional drops of it staining floor or carpet, stair treads. “He leaves a little trail, but no big. It's her blood, not his. This down here, on the right, will all be the housekeeper's. They removed the bloody gear, stuffed it in the bags before they came down again.”

“Cold,” Peabody commented. “No hand slapping, no good job. Slice five people, strip off the gear, and move on.”

“Straight up, straight in while the kid pulls it together enough to get the pocket 'link and call nine-one-one. 'Y' off in here, in the main bedroom, one to each side of the bed. Same pattern as the housekeeper. They've got a rhythm down. Terminate the targets, move out and on.”

“They slept back-to-back,” Peabody pointed out. “The ass-to-ass snuggle. McNab and I do that, mostly.”

Eve was seeing them, husband and wife, mother and father, sleeping butt-to-butt on the big bed with its sea green sheets, its downy quilt. Sleeping in a tidy, relaxing room, with its windows facing the back patio. Him in black boxers, her in a white sleepshirt.

“Lift the head, expose the throat. Slice, drop, head out. No chatter. They're out and heading for the two other bedrooms as the kid's coming up the stairs. They've already designated who takes which room. Split off. One takes the boy-going in as Nixie crawls across the hall behind them.”

Eve walked out as she spoke, and into Coyle's room. “Boy's a sprawler, flat on the back, covers kicked off. Don't have to touch this one to do the job. Take him out while he's flat.”

She saw it in her head, the cold horror of it as she walked across the hall to the other bedroom. “Girl's room, girl in bed. Too sure of yourself to think twice. Too steeped in the routine to deviate. Just cross over. Why would you notice the shoes, the extra backpack? You're not looking at anything but the target. She's mostly buried under the covers-stomach sleeper. Yank her up, by the hair probably. A lot of blonde hair, as advertised. Slice her throat, dump her back, walk away.”

“Not as much spatter here,” Peabody commented. “He probably took most of it on his person, and the rest went on the bed and covers.”

“Steps out into the hall, coordinating with his partner. See the blood in this spot. From their gear, dripping off the gear as they strip it off. Shove it in the bags with the knives. Go downstairs and out, clean. Walk away. Mission accomplished.”

“Except it wasn't.”

Eve nodded. “Except it wasn't. And if they'd taken a few more minutes, just a few, if they'd taken time to pick up a few goodies on the way out, or linger over the job, the black-and-white would have pulled up before they walked out. As it was, it was close. The kid acted fast, but they acted faster.”

“Why kill the kids?” Peabody asked. “What threat were they?” “For all we know at this point, one or both of the kids was the main target. Saw something, heard something, knew something-was into something. We can't assume the adults were the primary. The point is they all had to go, the entire household. That's where we start.”

She was late for Mira, but it couldn't be helped. Eve found her sitting in the parlor, drinking tea and working on her PPC.

“Sorry. I got hung up.”

“It's all right.” Mira set the PPC aside. She wore a simply cut suit in a smokey color that wasn't quite blue, wasn't quite gray. Somehow her shoes managed to be the exact same in-between tone. There were twists of silver at her ears and a trio of hair-thin chains around her neck.

Eve wondered if she had to strategize to put herself together with such elegant perfection, or if it came naturally.

“She's sleeping. The child,” Mira said. “Summerset has her on monitor.”

“Oh, good. Okay. Listen, I've got to get some real coffee or my brain's going to melt. You good?”

“Fine, thanks.”

Eve walked over to a wall panel and, opening it, revealed a mini AutoChef. “You got the report.”

“Yes, it's what I was going over when you got here.”

“It's sketchy yet, but I haven't had time to fill in the fine points. Peabody 's getting the clearance for the minor victims' data-heading to their schools, see what we can find there.”

“Do you expect to find anything there? Do you think the children were the targets?”

Eve lifted a shoulder, then closed her eyes and let the jolt of coffee do its work. “The boy was old enough, certainly, to be involved in illegals, gangs, and all sorts of bad behavior. Can't discount that. Or the possibility he and/or his sister witnessed something or were told something that required their termination. Odds are higher it was one of the adults, but it's not a certainty, especially this early on.”

“There was no additional violence, no destruction of property.”

“None, and if anything was taken from the premises, we don't know about it yet. The timing was quick and slick. Teamwork, timetable. Damn good job.”

“From anyone else, I'd say that was a cold and heartless remark.”

Eve's eyes flattened. “From their point of view, it was. Cold, heartless, and a damn good job. Except they missed. They'll know they missed soon, once the media gets going on this.”

“And they may try to finish the job,” Mira said with a nod. “So you brought the child here.”

“One of the reasons. This place is a fucking fort. And if I keep GPS at a distance, I've got unlimited access to the eye witness. Plus, the kid freaked at the idea of going with the social worker. She's no good to me if she's hysterical.”

“Remember who you're talking to,” Mira said mildly. “You would have managed full access even if she'd been placed under GPS and put in a safe house. Feeling for her doesn't make you less of a cop.”

Eve slid one hand into her pocket. “She called nine-one-one. She crawled through her parents' blood. Yeah, I feel for her. I also know a kid who can do that can stand up to what comes next.”

She sat across from Mira. “I don't want to push the wrong buttons on her. I could do that, and if I do, she's going to pull in, shut down. But I need details from her, information from her. Everything I can get. I need you to help me.”

“And I will.” She sipped her tea. “My preliminary profile of your killers is that they were indeed a team. Have likely worked together before, and have certainly killed before. They would be mature, and likely have some training. Military or paramilitary, or organized crime. There was nothing personal in this act, but the murder of the children-a family as a unit-is certainly personal. I'm sure it wasn't a thrill kill, nor was it sexual.”

“For profit?”

“Very possibly, or because they were given orders, or simply because it had to be done. The motive?” She sipped her tea thoughtfully. “We'll need more on the victims to speculate on the why. But the who? They'll be experienced, and they'll trust each other. They're organized and confident.”

“It was an op. That's how it ran for me. An operation, planned and practiced.”

“You think they had access to the house before last night?” Mira asked.

“Maybe. In any case, they knew the layout, where everyone slept. If the housekeeper was primary, there was no reason to take the second floor and vice versa. So it was a clean sweep.”

Eve checked her wrist unit. “How long do you figure she'll be out? The kid?”

“I couldn't say.”

“I don't want to hold you up.”

“And you're anxious to get to work yourself.”

“I haven't talked to the ME, or finished my report, harassed the lab, or yelled at the sweepers. People are going to think I'm on vacation.”

With a smile, Mira rose. “Why don't you contact me when… Ah,” she added when Summerset stepped into the doorway.

“Lieutenant, your young charge is awake.”

“Oh. Right. Fine. You still got time to start this now?” she asked Mira.

“Yes. Where would you like to speak with her?”

“I figured my office.”

“Why don't you bring her down here? It's a nice, comfortable space, and might help put her at ease.”

“I'll bring her down.” Summerset faded out of the doorway, and left Eve frowning.

“Am I going to owe him for this?” she wondered. “For, you know, riding herd or whatever you'd call it. Because I'd really hate that.”

“I think you're fortunate to have someone on premises who's willing and able to tend to a young, traumatized girl.”

“Yeah, shit.” Eve sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

“It might help to remember the child's welfare and state of mind is priority.”

“Looking at him on a regular basis might send her back into shock.”

But when Nixie came in, the cat on her heels, she had her hand firmly in Summerset's bony one, releasing it only when she saw Eve. Nixie walked directly to her. “Did you find them?”

“Working on it. This is Dr. Mira. She's going to help-”

“I already saw a doctor. I don't want to see a doctor.” Nixie's voice began to rise. “I don't want-”

“Throttle back,” Eve ordered. “Mira's a friend of mine, and she's not only a doctor, she works with the cops.”

Nixie slid her eyes toward Mira. “She doesn't look like the police.”

“I work with the police,” Mira said in calm, quiet tones. “I try to help them understand the people who commit crimes. I've known Lieutenant Dallas quite a while. I want to help her, and you, find the people who hurt your family.”

“They didn't hurt them, they killed them. They're all dead.”

“Yes, I know. It's horrible.” Mira's gaze and her tone stayed level. “The worst thing that can happen.”

“I wish it didn't.”

“So do I. I think if we sit down and talk, we might be able to help.”

“They killed Linnie.” Nixie's bottom lip began to tremble. “They thought she was me, and now she's dead. I wasn't supposed to go downstairs.”

“We all do things we're not really supposed to sometimes.”

“But Linnie didn't. I was bad, and she wasn't. And she's dead.”

“Not so very bad,” Mira said gently, and taking Nixie's hand led her to a chair. “Why did you go downstairs?”

“I wanted an Orange Fizzy. I'm not supposed to have them without permission. I'm not supposed to snack at night. My mom-” she broke off, knuckled her eyes.

“Your mom would have said no, so yes, it was wrong of you to go behind her back. But she'd be very glad you weren't hurt, wouldn't she? She'd be happy that, this once, you broke the rules.”

“I guess.” Galahad leaped into her lap, and Nixie stroked his wide back. “But Linnie-”

“It wasn't your fault. Nothing that happened was your fault. You didn't cause it, and you couldn't have stopped it.”

Nixie looked up. “Maybe if I'd yelled really loud, I'd've woken everyone up. My dad could've fought the bad guys.”

“Did your father have a weapon?” Eve demanded before Mira could speak.

“No, but-”

“Two men with knives, and him unarmed. Maybe if you'd yelled he'd have woken up. And he'd still be dead. Only difference is they'd have known someone else was in the house, hunted you down, and killed you, too.”

Mira shot Eve a warning look and turned her attention back to Nixie. “Lieutenant Dallas told me you were very brave and very strong. Because she's both of those things, I know she's telling the truth.”

“She found me. I was hiding.”

“It was good that you hid. It was good that she found you. I know what Lieutenant Dallas just said is hard for you to hear, but she's right. There was nothing more you could have done last night to help your family. But there are things you can do now.” Mira glanced at Eve, signalling her.

“Listen, Nixie,” Eve said, “this is rough, but the more you can tell me, the more I know. This is my recorder.” She set it on the table, sat across from Mira and the child. “I'm going to ask you some questions. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, in interview with Swisher, Nixie, minor female, with Mira, Dr. Charlotte, in attendance. Okay, Nixie?”

“Okay.”

“Do you know about what time it was that you got out of bed?”

“It was more than two o'clock. Like ten after, about. I had my Jelly-Roll on.”

“Wrist unit,” Mira translated.

“What did you do when you got up? Exactly.”

“I went downstairs-really quiet. I thought, for a minute, since Linnie didn't want to wake up, I'd get Coyle. But maybe he'd tell, and I liked being up by myself. I went to the kitchen and got an Orange Fizzy out of the friggie, even though I'm not supposed to. And I went to sit down and drink it in the breakfast area.”

“What happened then?”

“I saw the shadow come in, but it didn't see me. I got down on the bench. It went into Inga's room.”

“What did the shadow look like?”

“It looked like a man, I guess. It was dark.”

“Was he tall or short?”

“As tall as the lieutenant?” Mira prompted and gestured for Eve to stand up.

“Taller, probably. I don't know.”

“What was he wearing?”

“Dark stuff.”

“What about his hair?” Eve tugged her own. “Short, long?”

On a short sigh, Nixie nuzzled the cat. “It must've been short, 'cause I couldn't really see it. It was… it was… covered. Like.” She made a gesture, as if pulling something over her head. “It covered him up. His whole face, and his eyes, they were all black and shiny.”

Protective gear, Eve surmised. Night goggles. “Did you hear him say anything?”

“No. He killed her, with the knife. He killed her, and there was blood. And he didn't say anything.”

“Where were you?”

“On the floor, at the door. I wanted to look inside and see…”

“It was dark. How could you see?”

Her eyebrows came together a moment. “From the window. The streetlight through the window. He had a light.”

“Like a flashlight?”

“No, a little dot, a little green light. It was blinking. On his hand. On his… here.” She closed her fingers around her wrist.

“Okay, what happened then?”

“I got against the wall. I think. I was so scared. He killed Inga, and he had a knife, and I was so scared.”

“You don't have to be scared now,” Mira said. “You're safe now.”

“He didn't see me, like I wasn't there. Like hide-and-seek, but he didn't look for me. I got the 'link and I called. Dad says if you see somebody getting hurt, you call Emergency and the police will come and help. You gotta call, you gotta be a good neighbor. My dad-” She broke off, bowed her head as tears dripped.

“He would be very proud of you.” Mira reached for her own bag, took a tissue from it. “Very proud that you did just what he taught you, even when you were scared.”

“I wanted to tell him, to tell him and Mom. I wanted Mom. But they were dead.”

“You saw the man again, and someone else,” Eve prompted, “when you went upstairs. You went up the back way.”

“The man who killed Inga was going into Coyle's room.”

“How do you know? Nixie, how do you know it was the man from Inga's room who went into Coyle's?”

“Because…” She looked up again, blinking against the tears. “The light. The green light. The other didn't have one.”

“Okay. What else was different?”

“The one who killed Inga was bigger.”

“Taller?”

“A little bit, but bigger.” She flexed her arms, indicating muscle.

“Did they talk to each other?”

“They didn't say anything. They didn't make any noise. I couldn't hear anything. I wanted Mom.”

Her eyes went dull again, and a tremor shook her voice. “I knew what they were going to do and I wanted Mom and Dad, but… And there was blood, and it got on me. I hid in the bathroom, and I didn't come out. I heard people come in, but I didn't come out. You came.”

“Okay. Do you remember, before any of this happened, if your parents said anything about being concerned, about anybody who was mad at them, or if they'd seen somebody hanging around who shouldn't be?”

“Dad said Dave said he was going to beat him unconscious with his nine iron because he won the golf game.”

“Did they fight a lot, your dad and Dave?”

“Nuh-uh, not for real.” She knuckled her eyes. “Just ripping.”

“Was there anybody he did fight with? Not just ripping?”

“No. I don't know.”

“Or your mom?” When Nixie shook her head, Eve eased into a dicey area. “Did your mom and dad fight, with each other?”

“Sometimes, but not like bad. Gemmie's mom and dad used to yell at each other all the time, and Gemmie said they threw things. And they got divorced because her dad couldn't keep his pants zipped. That means he screwed around.”

“Got that. But your parents didn't fight like that.”

“They didn't, and they didn't screw around either. They danced on the beach.”

“Sorry?”

“In the summer, when we went to the beach and got the house. Sometimes they went out to walk at night, and I could see them from my window. They'd dance on the beach. They weren't going to get divorced.”

“It's good to have a memory like that,” Mira said. “When you start to feel too sad, or scared, you can try to see them dancing on the beach. You did very well. I'd like to come back and talk to you again some time.”

“I guess it's okay. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now.”

“I think you should have some lunch. I have to go soon, but Lieutenant Dallas will be here, working upstairs in her office. Do you know where the kitchen is?”

“No, the house is too big.”

“Tell me about it,” Eve muttered.

Mira rose, held out a hand. “I'll take you back, and maybe you can help Summerset for a little while. I'll be back in a minute,” she said to Eve.

Alone, Eve paced to the windows, to the fireplace, back to the windows. She wanted to get to it, start the process. She needed to set up her board, do the runs, write her report and file it. Calls to make, people to see, she thought, jingling loose credits in her pocket.

Shit, how was she going to deal with this kid?

She wondered if the cops who'd had to interview her all those years ago had been equally unsure of their footing.

“She's coping very well.” Mira came back into the room. “Better than most would. But you should expect mood swings, tears, anger, difficulty sleeping. She's going to require counseling.”

“Can you handle that?”

“For the moment, and we'll see how it goes. She may require a specialist, someone trained primarily in children. I'll look into it.”

“Thanks. I was thinking I should check the department, Youth Services, find a couple of officers who I can assign to her.”

“Take it slow. She's dealing with a lot of strangers at once.” She touched Eve's arm, then picked up her bag. “You'll handle it.”

Maybe, Eve thought when Mira left. Hopefully. But at the moment, she had plenty of doubts. She headed upstairs, detoured into Roarke's office.

He was at his desk, with three of his wall screens scrolling various data, and his desk unit humming. “Pause operations,” he said, and smiled. “Lieutenant, you look beat up.”

“Feel that way. Listen, I didn't have a chance to really run all this by you. I know I just more or less dumped some strange kid on you and blew.”

“Is she awake?”

“Yeah. She's with Summerset. I did a second interview with her, with Mira in attendance. She holds up pretty well. The kid, I mean.”

“I've had the news on. The names haven't been released yet.”

“I've got that blocked-for the moment. It's going to break soon.”

Knowing his wife, he went to the AutoChef, programmed two coffees, black. “Why don't you run it for me now?”

“Quick version, because I'm behind.”

She gave him the details, brief and stark.

“Poor child. No evidence, as yet, that anyone in the household was into something that could bring down this kind of payback?”

“Not yet. But it's early.”

“Professional, as I'm sure you've already concluded. Someone trained in wet work. The green light she saw was most likely the jammer- green for go-as the security had been bypassed.”

“Figured. On the surface, these people seem ordinary, ordinary family. Straight arrows. But we haven't done much scratching on that surface yet.”

“Sophisticated electronics, special forces-type invasion, quick, clean hits.” Sipping coffee, he ignored the beep of his laser fax. “In and out… in, what, ten or fifteen minutes? It's not something for nothing. Home terrorism would have left a mark, and the targets would have been higher profile. On the surface,” he added.

“You still have some contacts in organized crime.”

A smile ghosted around his mouth. “Do I?”

“You know people who know people who know scum of the earth.”

He tapped a fingertip on the dent in her chin. “Is that any way to talk of my friends and business associates? Former.”

“Damn straight. You could make some inquiries.”

“I can, and I will. But I can tell you I never associated with child killers. Or anyone who would slaughter a family in their sleep.”

“Not saying. I mean that. But I need every angle on this. The little girl? The one he killed in place of the kid downstairs? She was wearing a little pink nightgown with-what do you call it-frills around the neck. I could see it was pink from the bottom. The rest was red, soaked through with blood. He'd slit her throat open like it was an apple.”

He set his coffee down, walked to her. He put his hands on her hips, laid his brow on her brow. “Anything I can do, I will.”

“It makes you think. You and me, we had the worst most kids can get. Abuse, neglect, rape, beatings, hate. These kids, they had what it's supposed to be, in a perfect world: nice homes, parents who loved them, took care of them.”

“We survived,” he finished. “They didn't. Except for the one downstairs.”

“One day, when she looks back on this, I want her to know the people who did this are in a cage. That's the best I can do. That's all I can do.”

She eased back. “So, I'd better get to work.”