Obsession in Death

  “You popped up on a search in the course of our investigation.”

  “Me? On Bastwick?” Messner started to laugh, then sobered quickly. “No shit?”

  “None. Make it easy all around, give me your whereabouts for December twenty-seventh, between seventeen hundred and nineteen hundred hours.”

  “Easy. I was in Disney World with a couple friends. None of us have much in the way of family, so we took a few days, picked a spot, and went. Road trip. We headed out early Christmas Eve, came back on the twenty-seventh—didn’t get back to New York until about seven that night, took turns at the wheel, then caught dinner. I’ll give you the names and contacts, the hotel we booked, whatever.”

  “I’d appreciate it. Cover it all, will you? The morning of December twenty-ninth around six hundred hours.”

  Now two high red flags bloomed on her olive-toned cheeks. “Crap. We polished off the mini-vaca with some clubbing the next night. I met somebody, and she came home with me. She didn’t leave until about eight the next morning. Look, I’ve got her name and contact, but if she gets a call from the cops on me, it might screw things up. I really like her.”

  “How about the evening of the twenty-ninth? About nineteen hundred?”

  “I took her out to dinner. The Olive Branch, on Reade. Seven o’clock reservations. I’ve got the receipt on that, and they’d have the booking. Jesus, Lieutenant.”

  “Just elimination, Messner. We’ll check the first, the last, and when they check out, we’ll leave out the middle.”

  “I’d appreciate it. I don’t get how I popped in this.”

  “It’s a broad search, and we’re following every lead. Give the contact information to Detective Peabody. And Messner, I’m sorry about your father.”

  “He was a good cop. A great dad. Miss him every day. Okay, you want to talk to Marisol Butler,” Messner began.

  • • •

  That bombed,” Peabody said as they exited the courthouse.

  “We can cross her off, and that’s something. The alibis are going to hold, but check them anyway.”

  She listened with half an ear as she drove and Peabody spoke with Messner’s alibis.

  The check on health clinics had tanked, the first really promising lead, another tank.

  She’d try again, Eve thought. She had to. Bigger this time? More violent, more bloody? Or would she go the other way, with the misses shaking her confidence? Go smaller, simpler. Go back to someone like Ledo, which was like stepping on an ant.

  “That’s not what I’d do.”

  “What?”

  Eve shook her head. “I’d go bigger on my next target. Make a statement. She has to prove herself, to me, to herself. I let her down, right? I wasn’t who she thought I was, who she wanted me to be. All that time and emotion invested, and I screw with her. She should come after me now.”

  “It’s a big jump to you. She profiles as a coward.”

  “People evolve.”

  And things change, she remembered, no matter how hard you try to hold them in place.

  “She didn’t run from Nadine—not until she was hurt. Now she’s been wounded in battle. She didn’t go crawling away, and I’d say that’s some evolution, but headed straight over to Jamie’s, tried for another. She’s found her passion, her courage. She should come after me.”

  Eve pulled into Central. “Keep running the search. Pull anybody who looks good. We follow up. We’ll take the top five, say, from everybody’s results. Scattershot, but we’ll cover it.

  “We’re not wrong on this,” she added as they rode up the elevator. “I can almost see her.”

  “If I wanted to do something big, I’d do it tonight. Times Square.”

  “For what? Oh, right, right. New Year’s Eve. Ball drop.” Mavis, she thought, and felt her stomach clutch. “Too much security. Cameras and people everywhere. But . . . if you’re going big, you want that, don’t you? You want to prove you can get through security, you’re not afraid of crowds, of cameras.”

  “You’d go big, but trying something like that? Something in front of, basically, the world? Suicide mission.”

  “You’d be important,” Eve considered, rolling it through as they pushed off the elevator. “Is that what she’s been missing? She’s not important to anyone. She was supposed to be important to me, but I twisted that on her.

  “But she should come at me—that’s the logic. And I’m not going to be at the ball drop.”

  “You’re really going to miss it.”

  “A few million people, a lot of whom are drunk or stoned despite the restrictions, and have no place to pee. Yeah, it’s breaking my heart not to be there. But she could figure I would be. Mavis is one of the headliners, so maybe . . .”

  She rolled that around in turn as she stepped into Homicide.

  Baxter was back, she noted, eyes closed, feet on his desk. She walked over, shoved his feet down.

  “Hey! Oh, hey.” He changed tones when he saw her. “Just a little catnap to prep for the all-nighter I’ve got planned.”

  “It’s nice you can take a little downtime on the job.”

  “We got the bad guy.” He jerked a thumb back at Trueheart. “My boy’s writing it up. Guy mugs this young, foolish couple in Greenpeace Park. They hand it all over, nobody gets hurt, and the mugger takes off. Young, foolish couple go home, bang to settle their nerves, then report the mugging. Turns out the mugger was the DB we caught. He takes off running with his ill-gotten gains, and tox is going to show he was more flying anyway, crashed, burned, hit his head on a rock. Case—or should I say cases—closed. He still had their wrist units and plastic on him.”

  “Lucky break, so you’ve got time for grunt work.”

  “Got some running, boss, as we speak. Lead didn’t pan out?”

  “Not such a lucky break. Work now, sleep later.”

  She went into her office, thought: process, routine, so got coffee before she sat at her desk. The time out hadn’t been completely wasted, she noted, as her comp had tossed out a few more maybes.

  She studied them in turn, reading the accompanying data.

  She liked the look of Marti Fester, who worked right in Central, in Maintenance. Single, thirty-five, five years on the crew. Skinny face, sallow complexion, a hank of medium-brown hair, bored brown eyes.

  Maintenance could get into her office, her vehicle, maybe her files. Hell, Maintenance swarmed all over the building, and if anyone had a mind to, could find out a hell of a lot.

  No criminal, and she lived three blocks from Mavis. No cohab.

  “Okay, Marti, you make the top five.”

  She went through the others, carefully, rejecting the next. Zoey Trimbal looked too damn cheerful, and while the spiky red hair could be dyed any color known to man, it said pay attention to me.

  Not you, Zoey, Eve thought.

  “Settled for civilian consultant, e-division, after washing out of the Academy, but you just don’t blend, do you? Let’s look at . . . Wait a minute.”

  She leaned closer to the screen, looked into the eyes of Lottie Roebuck.

  “I’ve seen you,” Eve murmured.

  Crime scene unit, under Dawson, Eve read. Four years as lab tech, over two years now as field tech. Single, age thirty-three, resided . . . on the same block as Mavis.

  She felt the punch of it.

  Long mousy hair—what did they call that? Dishwater-blond, which made no sense. Didn’t matter. Lottie wore the dishwater hair pulled back from a narrow face. Thin mouth, thin nose, good skin—café au lait said it, high forehead, and those good bones DeWinter had talked about. Pale hazel eyes that looked . . . empty.

  Mother deceased, one sibling—sister, deceased, same day.

  Eve dug down. Vehicular accident, two minor boys charged, vehicular manslaughter. Joyriding, drunk, both fifteen. One of th
em ended up in the hospital, multiple surgeries. Juvie time, community service, mandatory rehab, and so on.

  Both free and clear by the eighteenth birthday.

  The sister had been twelve.

  Eve shifted her gaze from the data, back to the image.

  “Hello, Lottie.”

  • • •

  Dawson slogged through paperwork. He wanted to get it done, get out, get home. He’d all but sworn to his wife in blood he wouldn’t miss her sister’s bash tonight.

  But people just kept killing each other, regardless of party plans. And he was two field techs short. Still, with some luck, maybe nobody else would get murdered on his shift. Or at least, nobody would find the DB until tomorrow—after the hangover he was bound to have had passed.

  “Yo! Got the vic’s shirt processed and sent up to Harvo.”

  Dawson grunted at Mickey, one of the rookie techs. He didn’t need chapter and verse. He needed to finish the paperwork.

  “How come you got this drawing of Lottie hanging out here?”

  Irritated, Dawson barely glanced up. “The what?”

  “The picture of Lottie. Different ’do, but it looks like her. Sort of.”

  “Lottie? Lottie Roebuck?”

  “Well, yeah. Or her cousin maybe.”

  Something ugly sank into his gut as Dawson shoved away from his desk, stepped out to where he’d stuck up the sketch. “It doesn’t look like . . . Get my microgoggles,” he snapped, and leaned in, squinted, leaned out, squinted.

  “Goddamn eyes. Who has time to . . .” He snatched the goggles, pulled them on.

  His vision blurred so he reached up, began to adjust them until he got clarity.

  Lottie? It didn’t exactly look like her unless . . . Change the hair, he thought, rounder at the chin. Put her in a sweeper’s suit.

  “Oh fuck me.” He grabbed for his pocket ’link, and it beeped in his hand. He started to hit ignore, saw the readout.

  “Dallas. Listen. It’s Lottie, Lottie Roebuck, one of my field techs. This is her.”

  “I know. Where is she?”

  “She took a personal day. First time in . . . I don’t know. She’s not here. Jesus, Dallas, she’s one of mine. She’s one of my people.”

  “Check your log-in, make sure she’s not there. Contact Berenski, DeWinter. All department heads. Lock it down, Dawson, until you hear different.”

  In her office, Eve broke transmission, grabbed her coat.

  “We’ve got her,” she said to Peabody as she rushed out.

  “What?”

  “Lottie Roebuck. She’s a sweeper. She worked the scenes, Bastwick, Ledo, Hastings. Baxter, Trueheart, you’re with me. Grab vests. Uniform Carmichael, Hannigan, same goes. Peabody, tag McNab. I want eyes and ears on her building. We don’t go in until we’re sure she’s there. Then we take her, quick and quiet.”

  She turned, ready with more orders. The woman, a strange, blurred mirror image of herself, stepped in.

  Eve drew her weapon. “Stop right there, hands up,” she snapped, as every cop in the room surged up, weapons drawn.

  “I wouldn’t.” With her left hand, Lottie opened her coat, revealed the suicide vest. “This is a dead man’s switch in my right hand. If you stun me, I release it and we all go. We all go now.”

  “Nobody has to die here.”

  Solemnly, Lottie nodded. “I need all of you to put down your weapons, and I need you to secure the doors to this division. All of them. If you don’t, I’ll release the switch. I’d like some privacy, I have things to say. But if not, I’ll just let it go.”

  “We should talk,” Eve agreed. “Let’s get everybody out of here so we can talk in private.”

  A flash of anger sparked in her eyes. “Do you think I’m stupid? Nobody leaves. Secure the doors. Now. Right now, or we all go.”

  “Everybody, lower your weapons. Secure the hallway doors, Jenkinson.”

  They were never closed, Eve thought, so that alone would set off an alert. But if the crazy woman in the room released the switch, it would, at least, contain the explosion. Nobody outside Homicide had to die.

  Slowly, Eve slid her own weapon back in its harness. “Do you want to talk here?”

  “I want everybody’s ’links and comms out, on the floor. Weapons, ’links, comms, on the floor. Nobody uses any communication.”

  “No problem.” Eve turned. She wanted her people to see her face, to make sure no one tried to be a hero.

  “’Links and comms,” she ordered, noted Reineke wasn’t at his desk, or in the room. She caught Jenkinson’s eye, understood when he glanced briefly at the break room. “Nobody in this room will use any sort of communication device.” She held up her hands when her pocket ’link signaled. “How do you want me to handle that? You’re in charge here.”

  “Who is it? I want to know who it is.”

  Eve look at the ’link. “It’s Roarke. I was supposed to contact him about ten minutes ago. I forgot.”

  “Answer it. Keep it short. Tell him you’re busy. Try to signal him, I let it go.”

  Eve answered. “Hey, baby. Sorry I forgot to tag you—you must’ve been worried. But sweetheart, I’ve been busy. Still am.”

  His eyes, blue and vivid, held hers. She could see him rethink whatever he’d been about to say. “Understood. It wouldn’t be the first time. As it happens, I’m heading down your way. I thought I’d stop in, see if I can be of any help.”

  “Appreciate the thought, but I’m really swamped here. I’d like to stick with it, get what I can done. You know how much I’m looking forward to the ball drop tonight.”

  “As am I. I’ll let you get back to it. Take care of my cop.”

  “That’s the plan. Later, honey.”

  She clicked off, set her ’link on the floor. “Okay?”

  “I want everybody on the floor! Facedown. Except you,” she said to Eve. “On the floor, everybody else.”

  “On the floor, facedown. You’re in charge here.”

  “I know how that works! You can’t play me like some civilian.”

  “I’m just stating the facts. Why would I play you? You’re one of us.”

  “You don’t even know who I am.”

  “But I do. Lottie Roebuck, crime scene unit. Field tech. We’ve worked countless cases together.”

  Surprise, maybe happiness, glimmered for an instant, then died again. “You never even talked to me. All I wanted was a conversation.”

  “We’re talking now. Why don’t we go in my office? It’s got a door, it’s got a lock. Just you and me, Lottie.”

  “You care more about them than about me.”

  She thought about her cops. Smart cops. If one of them saw a move, they’d take it. She didn’t want to risk it.

  “I’m all about you, Lottie. I’ve never had a friend like you. I’m just getting used to it. I needed time to get used to it.”

  “I did what you wanted. Bastwick, Ledo. It’s what you wanted, but you didn’t appreciate it. You said I was a coward. Does this look like I’m a coward?”

  “Come on, Lottie, you said you knew how it worked. I’ve got to say things like that. I didn’t want them to take me off the case, right? Now we’ve got to figure out a way to get you out of here, get you somewhere safe.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “It doesn’t have to be. We can figure it out together. I mean, Jesus, look at us. Who’s smarter than us?”

  “I’m the smart one.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Not pretty enough, not sweet enough, not happy enough. Just not enough, ever, for anybody. I’m enough now. Why wasn’t it enough for you?”

  Eve wished to God she had Mira in her ear, telling her what to say, how to play it. But she only had herself.

  “You didn’t give me a chan
ce. I didn’t know about you, Lottie. I knew you were the best at the work, sure. Really smart. I depended on you, your work, your smarts. But I didn’t know you felt the way you did. I didn’t know you wanted to be my friend the way I wanted to be yours.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “What’s the point in lying? We’re past all that. You need to tell me what you want, let me try to get it for you, like you got me what I wanted.”

  “I thought I could wait until midnight. It’s symbolic. But it’s too long. I need to show you who we are. Not just how we look now. That’s symbolic, too. I thought, if I did what you wanted, what you needed, you’d see, you’d know. But you didn’t. You treated me like I was just one of the faces on the board, one of the names in the murder book.”

  “I had to find you.” Six feet, Eve gauged. Just six feet between her and the switch. “We couldn’t talk until I found you.”

  “It felt so good to help you. It made me happy, really happy. But that was a lie, too. There’s only one way to make it right. When we die together we’ll finally be partners, be family. Be a unit.”

  “Like your mother and your sister.”

  Lottie’s face went rigid. “Don’t talk about them! They’re dead.”

  “It’s hard, losing family.”

  “They never cared about me. I was nothing. They only cared about each other. They died together so they’ll always be together. I’ll never be. But with you I could be somebody. I could be part of something important. It’ll be fast. I don’t want to hurt you. Even though you hurt me.”

  “I need to know some things first. That’s fair.” Sweat ran down Eve’s back. She wasn’t going to talk this one down, she could see that. Stall. Just stall a little longer. “Justice and respect, Lottie. We owe each other that.”

  Roarke bulled his way through Central as he’d bulled his way through downtown traffic, carving away the distance to Eve with single-minded focus.

  He didn’t think his heart had beat since Eve’s face blinked off his ’link screen.

  Barricades blocked the corridor outside Homicide, and inside those barricades cops swarmed. He’d have cut through them, every one of them, like a honed blade, but at Whitney’s command, they let him through.