Visions In Death

CHAPTER 16

"She knew the vie?" sympathy rippled over Peabody's face.

"Lucas, Lucas Grande, her ex. Didn't click before. Man, that's got to be rough. Especially rough. Must've been the trigger all along. It's the kind of logic in paranormal elements." "You can't use logic and paranormal in the same sentence." "Sure you can, oh stubbornly grounded one." They were going to check out shoes, Eve thought. That was logical.

"When can I drive the new ride?" "When you learn that a yellow light means haul ass to get through it before it turns red instead of slowing down to a crawl a half a block away." "You force me to point out that you drive offensively rather than defensively." "Damn straight. You drive like one of those prissy ladies at lunch who won't take the last cookie in case somebody else wants it. No, please, please," Eve said in a high, satisfyingly prissy voice, "you go ahead. Hell with that. I want the cookie, I eat the cookie. Now, give me a for instance and stop sulking." "I get thirty seconds of sulk time when my driving abilities have been so brutally and unjustly insulted. Besides, taking the last cookie is rude."

"And you and your prissy lady pals end up letting the waiter chow down on it after he takes the plate back to the kitchen." With a huff, Peabody folded her arms over her chest because she realized that was probably true. And there were many cookies she'd missed due to manners. "For instance what?" "Say you're shacked up with this guy." Her mood lifted instantly. "I am shacked up with a guy," she said, proudly.

"Peabody." "Yeah, yeah, this is a hypothetical." She sulked a little more as Eve plowed through a yellow light. "Is he really cute and sexy, and does he bring me cookies and let me eat the last one to show his love and devotion?" "Whatever. So you and this guy call it off." "Aw. I don't like this part." "Who does?5 "Was it because I ate all those cookies and my ass got fat?" "Peabody!" "Okay, okay. Sir. I'm just trying to understand the motivation.

Like who called it off, and why, and… never mind," she said when she saw Eve bare her teeth.

"You call it off, go your separate ways. You still pals?" "Maybe. Depends. Don't bite through my jugular or anything, because it really does. Did the breakup involve calling each other unflattering names and hurling small, breakable objects, or was it sad, yet reasonable, a mutual decision. See?" Eve didn't see it, but stayed the course. "No, but we'll say, for this case, it was sad, yet reasonable. So later this guy hooks up with another skirt. How would you feel about that?" "Depends again. Am I hooked up with a guy? Is the other woman thinner than me, or better looking, or rich or something? Does she have perkier boobs? These factors play in." "Goddamn it, why does it have to be so complicated?" "Because it is." "No, you're with the guy, then you're not, then he's with somebody else. Simple, straightforward. Are you all chummy?" "Okay, let's see. I was hot for this guy before I moved to New York. We weren't cohabbing, but we were pretty involved. Stuck together, in every sense, for nearly a year.

Then it fizzled. I wasn't wrecked or anything, but I was pretty, well, moony for a while. You get over it, though. We stayed friendly, you could say, and I used to see him around." "Is this going to take much longer? Will I need a hit of Stay-Up to get through the rest?" "You asked. Anyway, he hooked up with this skinny blonde with big tits. IQ of a rabbit, but hey, his choice, right? I felt a little pissy about it, but I got over that, too. Maybe, in some dark recesses of my soul, I wouldn't mind so much if he got a mild case of genital warts, but his dick doesn't have to actually fall off or anything. And if me and McNab ever take a spin out West, I can show him McNab off.

And so there. No big." She waited a beat. "Still awake?" "Barely." "If you're thinking Celina's got some mojo vengeance thing going because of Grande and Sommers, I don't see it. Doesn't work that way anyhow." "What doesn't work that way? You just said depends about six million times." "The psychic angle doesn't work that way. It's not like she could put a spell on some guy, have him go around whacking women and make sure one of them was Sommers. Second, she came to us. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have made a blip on the investigative radar when Sommers got dead. Third, all evidence points to the fact that Sommers went into the park voluntarily and alone. Then there's the profile. Guy's a loner, a woman hater, and a predator." "You're right, all the way down the line. I guess I don't like paranormal logic, which smacks mightily of coincidence." "I think there's another factor working in your head." Eve said nothing for a long moment. "Okay. I don't like the whole setup. Depending on psychic visions or hypnosis.

And I don't like Sanchez depending on me to bolster her up or hold her hand." "No more room at the Dallas Inn for another friend?" "Full up. Maybe if one of you moved off planet or met with a tragic accident I could juggle another one in." "Come on. You like her." "Yeah, so what? Do we have to be pals just because I like her? Does that mean we have to start hanging? Am I supposed to give her the last damn cookie now?" Peabody laughed, patted Eve's arm. "There, there. You'll get through this trial. You had a good time last night." Now Eve wanted to sulk, but she put her energy into scouting for a parking space. "Yeah, yeah. And don't think I don't know how this stuff works. Now we have to have everybody over to our place. Then you're going to have to have us over to yours, and-" "We're already planning on having a housewarming party." "See? See?" She zipped, with a deliberate recklessness she knew would have Peabody's heart stuffed into her throat, up to a second level, curbside. "It never ends. Once you start, you can't get off the friendship ride. You just keep circling around and around and around, with more people trying to cram on. Now I have to buy you a goddamn present just because you're shacked up in a new place."

"We could really use some nice wineglasses." She was laughing as she climbed out of the car. "You know, Dallas, you're pretty lucky in your friends, of which I am one. They're smart and fun and loyal. And diverse. I mean, could Mavis and Mira be any more different? But they both love you. Then the chilly thing happens, and your friends get to be friends." "Yeah, and they go out and make other ones, and I get stuck with somebody like Trina." Self-consciously, she ran a hand over the back of her hair.

"She's unique." They walked down to street level. "And you've got a man like Roarke, so you'll never lack for cookies." Eve blew out a breath. "Wineglasses?" "We don't have any nice ones, like for company."

Eve had felt more at home in Jim's Gym than she did in the high-end clothing store for the discerning king-sized man.

The shop was three floors: the main with one up and one down. Since the one down dealt with foot apparel couldn't they just call it shoes and socks? they headed down.

It seemed, she discovered, foot apparel didn't just mean shoes and socks. It included house slippers, boots, something called leg slickers with or without belly control panels. There were shoe protectors, shoe boxes, heating inserts, foot and ankle jewelry, and any number of products that dealt with foot care or decoration.

Who knew there was so much involved dealing with a guy's feet? The salesman she approached gave her the usual hem and haw before striding off to contact the store manager.

Eve zeroed in on the shoes in question while she waited.

Sturdy, she decided, hefting one. Practical and efficient, and well made from the look of it. She wouldn't mind having a pair herself.

"Madam?" "Lieutenant," she corrected and turned with the shoe in hand. And had to take a step back, angle her head up to make eye contact.

He was seven feet if he was an inch, and skinny as the beanpoles she'd seen in Greenpeace Park. His skin was dark as a new moon so that the whites of his eyes, his teeth, gleamed like ice. As she gave him the once-over, his mouth quirked in a little smile that told her he was used to it.

"Madam Lieutenant," he said, very smoothly. "I'm Kurt Richards, the store manager." "Power forward?" He seemed pleased. "Yes. For the Knicks once upon a time.

Most people automatically ask if I played basketball, but rarely guess the position." "I don't get the chance to follow much round ball. I bet you moved over the boards." "I like to think so. I've been retired nearly eight years now.

It's a young man's game, as most are." He took the shoe from her. His palms were so wide, his fingers so long, it no longer looked outsized. "And you're interested in the Mikon Avalanche?" "I'm interested in your customer list for purchases of this model in size fifteen." "You'd be Homicide." "You're good at guessing positions, too." "I saw a clip of yesterday's media conference, so have to assume this has to do with the Park Murders." "That what they're calling them?" "In large, red letters, yes." Lips pursed, he turned the shoe over in his hand, studied it. "You're looking for a man who wears this particular model in that particular size?" "It would be of help to me if I could have your customer list for those specifics."

"I'd be happy to be of help." He replaced the shoe on its stand.

"And the names of any employees who purchased same." That stopped him. "Well. I'm going to consider myself fortunate that I wear a seventeen in footgear. Would you like to come up to my office while I get that data for you, or browse the store?" "We'll come up. Peabody-" She broke off, frowning as she scanned the area and spotted Peabody with a handful of colorful socks. Tor God's sake, Detective!" "Sorry. Sorry." She hustled over. "Ah, my brother and my grandfather. Both big feet. I just figured…" "No problem." Richards gestured to a clerk. "I'll have them rung up and boxed for you. You can pick them up at the main-level counter on your way out."

You know, Christmas isn't that far away." With the business done, Peabody scrambled out of the store, purchases in hand, behind Eve.

"Oh please." "Really. Time zips, and if you pick up stuff when you see it, you don't get that holiday crazy look in your eyes. Besides, these are really nice socks, and they were on sale. Where are we going? The car's-" "We're walking. Next stop's only six or seven blocks.

Hike'll do your ass good." "I knew it looked fat in these pants." Then she stopped, squinted at Eve. "You just said that to pay me back for buying the socks. Right?" "You'll just never know, will you?" She kept walking, digging out her communicator when it signaled. "Dallas." "Got your first matches," Feeney said over a mouthful of nuts. "We're starting the next level, eliminating females, families, and those outside the profile parameters."

She wound and swerved through foot traffic. "Shoot the initial matches to my office unit, in case I need to backtrack.

Appreciate the rush job, Feeney." "My boys put in the time." "How about the discs from Transit?" "Slow going there. No promises." "Okay. Lab ID'd the shoe. I've got a customer list from the first outlet. I'll send it to you. You get a bang from that, I need to know ASAP." "On that. How many outlets altogether?" Too many, but we'll knock them down." She paused at the intersection and ignored the steam from a nearby glide-cart that carried too much rehydrated onion, the pedestrian beside her who muttered under his breath about hell-demons, and the chatter, ladened with the Bronx, from the two women behind her that appeared to center on the purchase of an outfit that was going to make one of them look like a freaking goddess.

"He's a New York guy," she told Feeney, and strode into the street along with the horde an instant before the signal changed. "And I'm banking he does his buying in the city.

We have to go outside -'burb, out of state, Net, it's going to take days, if not weeks. And he's stepped up the pace." "Yeah, so I hear. We'll keep to the grindstone here. You need more feet in the field, let me know." "I will. Thanks."

They hit two more retail outlets before Eve took pity on her partner and grabbed soy dogs at a glide-cart. It seemed like a good day to eat outdoors, to take advantage of the balmy weather.

So she sat on the grass of Central Park and studied the castle.

It hadn't begun there, but it was her jumping point.

A king-sized man. King of the castle. Or was that just stretching things? He'd placed the second victim on a bench, near a memorial that honored heroes. Men, particularly men, who'd done what needed to be done. Manly men. Men who were remembered for their actions in the face of great trauma and adversity.

He liked symbols. King of the castle. Strength in adversity.

The third laid out near a garden, under a statue of farmers.

Salt of the earth? Salt purified, or it flavored. And that was bullshit.

Making something grow. Using your own hands, your sweat, and muscle to bring life? To bring death.

She blew out a breath. It could play in with the crafts. It could. Self-reliance, then. Do it yourself.

Parks meant something to him. The parks themselves.

Something had happened to him in a park, something he paid back every time he killed.

"We could go back," she muttered. "Look back, see if there were any sexual assaults on a male in one of the city parks.

No, a kid, that's the key. He's big now, nobody's going to mess with me now. But when he was a kid, helpless, like a woman. How do you fight back when you're a kid? So you've got to get strong, so it can't happen again. You'd rather be dead than have it happen again." For a moment, Peabody said nothing. She wasn't entirely sure Eve was speaking to her. "Could be he got beat up, or humiliated rather than assaulted sexually. Humiliated or hurt in some way by the female authority figure." "Yeah." Eve rubbed absently at a headache at the base of her skull. "Most likely the female he's killing symbolically now. And if it was his mother or sister, something along those lines, it probably wasn't reported. We'll check anyway."

"If a woman who had charge of him, control of him, abused him physically, sexually it would have twisted him from a young age, and later, the trigger gets pressed and he pays her back." "You think getting knocked around as a kid is an excuse?" The snap in Eve's voice had Peabody speaking carefully.

"No, sir. I think it's a reason, and it goes to motive." "There is no reason for killing innocent people, for bathing yourself in their blood because someone messed you up. No matter how, no matter when, no matter who. That's a line for the lawyers and the shrinks, but it's not truth. Truth is you stand up, and if you can't, you're no better than the one who beat and broke you. You're no better than the worst.

You can take your cycle of abuse and your victim as victimzer traumatized bullshit and-" She stopped herself, tasted the acrid flavor of her own rage in the back of her throat. So she pressed her forehead to her updrawn knees. "Fuck it. That was over the top." "If you think I sympathize with him, or find any excuse for what he's done, you're wrong." "I don't think that. That rant came to you courtesy of personal neuroses." It was hard, it would be bitter. And it was time. Eve lifted her head.

"I expect you to go through the door with me, without hesitation. And I know you will, without hesitation. I expect you to stand with me, to walk through the blood, to handle the shit, and to put your personal safety and comfort second to the job. I know you will, not only because it's who you are but because, by God, I trained you." Peabody said nothing.

"It was different when you were my aide. A little bit different. But a partner's got a right to know things." "You were raped." Eve simply stared. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Conclusion drawn from observations, association, logical speculation. I don't think I'm wrong, but you don't have to talk about it." "You're not wrong. I don't know when it started. I can't remember everything." "You were abused habitually?" "Abuse is a clean word, Peabody. Really, it's a soft word, and you people tend to use it so easy, to cover a lot of territory. My father beat me, with his fists or whatever was handy. He raped me, countless times. Once is plenty, so why count?" "Your mother?" "Gone by then. Junkie whore. I don't really remember her, and what I do remember isn't any better than him." "I want… I want to say I'm sorry, but people say that easy, too, to cover a lot of territory. Dallas, I don't know what to say." "I'm not telling you for sympathy." "No. You wouldn't." "One night, I was eight. They said I was eight. I was locked in this dump he'd brought us to. Alone for a while, and I was trying to squirrel some food. Some cheese. I was starving. So cold, so hungry, and I thought I could get away with it before he came back. But he came back, and he wasn't drunk enough. Sometimes, if he was drunk enough he'd leave me alone. But he wasn't, and he didn't." She had to stop, gather herself for the rest. "He hit me, knocked me down. All I could do was pray that was going to be all. Just a beating. But I could see it wasn't going to be all. Don't cry. I can't take it if you cry." "I can't take it without crying." But she used one of the stingy napkins to mop at her face.

"He got on top of me. Had to teach me a lesson. It hurt.

You forget after each time how much it hurts. Until it's happening again, and it's more than you can imagine. More than you can stand. I tried to stop him. It was worse if I tried to stop him, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't stand it, and I fought. He broke my arm." "Oh, God; oh, Jesus." Now it was Peabody who pressed her face to her knees. And wept, struggling to do so soundlessly.

"Snap!" She focused on the lake, on the calm water, and the pretty boats that glided over it. "It makes a snap, a thin, young bone. And I went crazy from the pain. And the knife was in my hand. The knife I'd been using on the cheese.

Fallen on the floor, and my fingers closed over it." Slowly, face drenched, Peabody lifted her head. "You used it on him." She swiped at her face with the backs of her hands. "I hope to holy God you ripped him to pieces." "I did. I pretty much did." There were ripples on the surface of the lake, Eve saw. It wasn't as calm as it looked with those little ripples spreading. Spreading.

"I just kept stabbing until… well, bathed in blood. There you go." She drew a shaky breath. "I didn't remember that part, or most of the rest until right before Roarke and I got married." The cops-" Eve shook her head. "He had me scared of cops, social workers, anybody who might've stepped in. I left him there, in that room. I don't know how, except I was in shock. I washed up, and I walked out, walked for miles before I crawled into an alley and passed out. They found me. I woke up in the hospital. Doctors and cops asking questions. I didn't remember anything, or if I did, I was too scared to say. I'm not sure which. I'd never had the ID process, so there was no record of me. I didn't exist until they found me in the alley. In Dallas. So they gave me a name." "You made the name."

"You see it affecting the job, you tell me." "It does affect the job. It's made you a better cop. That's the way I see it. It's made you able to face anything. This guy we're after, whatever happened to him, whether it was as bad as what happened to you, or somehow worse, he's used it as an excuse to kill, to destroy, and cause pain. You use what happened to you as a reason to find justice for people who've had it taken away from them." "Doing the job isn't heroism, Peabody. It's just the job." "So you always say. I'm glad you told me. It says you trust me, as your partner and as your friend. You can." "I know I can. Now let's both put it away, and get back to work." Eve rose, held her hand down. Peabody gripped it, held it a moment, then let Eve pull her to her feet.

As much to see Annalisa Sommers again as to grill Morris, Eve made another trip to the morgue.

She found him, removing the brains of a male cadaver. It was enough to put you off, she thought, even without the soy dog in her system. But Morris cheerfully gestured her in.

"Unattended death. Fair means or foul, Lieutenant?" Morris loved his guessing games, so she obliged by moving toward the body for a closer look. It had already started to decompose, so she put time of death at twenty-four to thirty-six hours before he'd been brought in and chilled. As a result, he wasn't pretty. She judged his age in the upper reaches of seventy, which meant he'd been robbed out of forty or fifty years on the average life expectancy table.

There was some bruising on his left cheek, and his eyes were red from broken blood vessels. Curious now, she walked around the body, looking for other signs.

"What was he wearing?"

"Bottom half of pajamas, and one slipper." "Where was the top half?" Morris smiled. "On the bed." "Where was he?" "In the Conservatory, with Professor Plum." "What?" Morris chuckled, waved a hand in front of his face. "Joke.

He was beside the bed, on the floor." "Signs of disturbance, forced entry?" "None." "He live alone?" "He did, indeed." "Looks like he stroked out, had a big-ass brain pop." Since Morris was sealed up, she gestured. "Open his mouth for me, peel the lips." Morris obliged, shifted aside so she could lean in. "But I'd talk to the domestic and find out if he or she's the one who gave dead guy the laced nightcap that popped his brain.

Reddish splotches on the gums and under the lips indicate he downed, and probably OD'd on, an illegal. Booster, or a derivative would be my guess before tox eval. Guy was going to self-terminate for any reason, he'd have finished putting his pajamas on and gotten into bed nice and comfy first. So means are foul. Where's Sommers?" "I don't know why they bother to keep me around here." But he was grinning as he slid the brain into a tray for scan and analysis. "I expect the tox eval will verify both our suspicions shortly. Sommers is done, and in a cold box. Her family and boyfriend came in together this morning. I was able to block them from seeing her, though it wasn't easy. I had to use official grounds." "The eyes aren't public yet, and I don't want them to be, not even to next of kin. Even family and lovers can leak to the media. More so if they're grieving or pissed. No access outside of need-to-know to any of the vies in this investigation." "You want to see her again." "Yeah." "Let me clean up a bit. Our gentleman friend will hold." He went to the sink to scrub blood, matter, and sealant from his hands. "Her body was more traumatized than the others." "Violence is escalating. I know." "So is his pace." Morris dried his hands, then removed his protective gear, dumping it in a hamper.

"We're closer. Every minute, we're closer." "I have no doubt. Well." He stepped over in his pristine blue shirt and red necktie, offered his arm. "Shall we?" She laughed, as only he could make her in the company of the dead. "Jesus, Morris, you're some number." "I am, indeed, I am." He led her to storage, checked the logs, then opened the seal on one of the drawers. The puff of cold vapor steamed out as he drew out the body tray.

Ignoring the marks of Morris's work, Eve studied the body.

"Face took more of a beating this time. Face and upper body.

Maybe he's straddling her." She put it into her head.

"Straddling her while he pounds on her." "Her jaw wasn't broken, as with Napier, but her nose was, and several teeth. The blow to the back of the head wasn't fatal. She may or may not have come around for the rest of it. My guess is not, mercifully." "The rape. More brutal this time." "If there can be degrees of brutality in rape, yes. More abrasions, more trauma. She was a bit small, vaginally.

Smaller, that is, than the other two victims in this particular area. And our killer sports one hell of a woody." "The eyes. Surer cuts than the first, not quite as clean as the second."

"You're very good at what you do, and again cause me some concern about my own paycheck. Yes. They're all three within a range of skill, but this one falls between the others." "Okay." She stepped back so he could replace the tray, seal the door.

"How close, Dallas? It's beginning to depress me, hosting all these pretty young women in my house." "It's not close enough," Eve said flatly, "until he's in a cage."