Imitation in Death

  At midnight, she hauled a stool into the closet. She kept the door open to an angle that gave her a view of the bed, and Peabody’s upper half.

  The apartment was full dark, and silent.

  “Peabody, check your communicator every fifteen, until I order radio silence. I don’t want you nodding off in there.”

  “Lieutenant, I couldn’t fall asleep if you gave me a high-powered soother. I’m revved.”

  “Do the checks. Stay icy.”

  What if I’m wrong? she asked herself. If he changed targets, changed methods, got a whiff of me? If he doesn’t come tonight, will he kill randomly or just rabbit? Does he have a back door? An emergency route, emergency funds, and ID?

  He’ll come, she assured herself. And if he doesn’t, I’ll track him.

  She ran through her own checks, got the all-quiet from the street teams, the house teams. After an hour, she stood up to stretch and keep herself limber.

  After two, she felt her blood begin to pump. He was coming. She knew he was coming seconds before her communicator hissed in her ear.

  “Possible sighting. Lone male, proceeding south toward building. Six-two, a hundred and ninety. Light-colored suit and dark tie. He’s carrying a briefcase.”

  “Observe only. Don’t approach. Feeney, you copy?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “McNab?”

  “We’re on it.”

  “Looks like a false alarm. He’s moving past the building, continuing south. Wait . . . He’s watching, that’s what he’s doing. Scoping things out, checking the street. He’s turning back, approaching the building again. Something in his hand. Might be a security jammer. Turning in. He’s heading in, Lieutenant.”

  “Stay in the vehicle. Wait for my command. Peabody?”

  “I’m ready.”

  Eve saw the slight movement in the bed, and knew Peabody had her stunner in her hand. “Feeney, you and the civilian stay behind those doors until I clear it. I want him all the way in. McNab, I want that elevator shut down the minute he’s through the door, and your team out and blocking the hall a second after that. Copy?”

  “You’ve got it. How’s my sex queen?”

  “I beg your pardon, Detective?”

  “Um . . . Question directed at Officer Peabody, Lieutenant.”

  “No personal communications or stupid-ass remarks, for sweet Christ’s sake. Give me a twenty on the suspect.”

  “He’s using the stairs, sir. Moving between second and third floor. I’ve got a good clear view of his face, Dallas. Positive ID for Niles Renquist. Moving to your door now. Taking out a keycode. He’s through, and in.”

  “Move now,” Eve said in a whisper. “All units close in now, and hold.”

  She couldn’t hear him. Not yet. So she brought him into her head. Marsonini always removed his shoes before entering the bedroom. Shoes and socks. He would leave them neatly beside the entrance door, then take off the shades, put on the night-vision goggles. With them, he could move through the dark like a cat. Then he could stand over the victim, watching her sleep before he pounced.

  Eve drew her weapon. Waited.

  She heard the faintest creak of the floorboard, and willed him to come on, come on, you son of a bitch.

  Then with her eyes long adjusted to the dark, she saw the shape of him, saw him stroke a hand gently over Peabody’s back.

  She kicked the door open. “Lights!” She shouted.

  He whirled, with the goggles blinding him now. The bat was in his hand, and he swung out with it, toward the sound of her voice even as he ripped the goggles away.

  “Police. Drop the weapon! Drop your weapon and freeze or I will drop you.”

  His eyes were huge, blinking madly. But she saw the instant he recognized her and understood. She saw all his plans, his victories, drain out of his head. “Filthy cunt.”

  “Come on then.” She lowered her weapon, then stabbed a warning finger toward the doorway when Roarke shoved in with Feeney behind him. “Don’t do it,” she snapped at them.

  Renquist howled, threw the bat at her, then leaped.

  She shifted, let the metal glance off her shoulder. Because it was more satisfying than a stun, she used her body, tucking to drive that same shoulder into his gut, her knee to his groin. And when he started to fold, her fist found its way to the underside of his jaw.

  “That last one was for Marlene Cox,” Eve muttered.

  She planted her foot on the small of his back as she pulled out her restraints. “Hands behind you, you bucket of puke.”

  “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill all of you.” Blood trickled out of his mouth as he struggled. His eyes went wide and wild when Eve yanked the wig away.

  “Keep your hands off me, you revolting bitch. Do you know who I am?”

  “Yeah, I know just who you are.” She flipped him over because she wanted him to see her. She wanted him to look at her face. The hate was there, the sort she’d seen before. The kind of bone-deep loathing she’d seen in the eyes of her own mother.

  But seeing it now brought her only satisfaction.

  “Do you know who I am, Niles? I’m the woman, the revolting bitch, the filthy cunt who’s kicked your sorry ass. I’m the one who’s going to lock the cage on you.”

  “You’ll never put me away.” Tears began to shimmer in his eyes. “You won’t lock me in the dark again.”

  “You’re already gone. And when Breen writes about this one, he’ll make careful note that it was a woman who beat you.”

  He began to wail and to weep. She would’ve said like a woman, but it would’ve been an insult to her entire sex.

  “Read him his rights,” she told Peabody, who’d emerged from the bed in full uniform. “Have him transported to Central and booked. You know the drill.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you wish to accompany the prisoner?”

  “I’ll settle things here and follow you in. I think you should be able to handle him, Detective.”

  “I think a ten-year-old boy could handle him in this shape, sir.” She shook her head as Renquist continued to sob and drum his feet like a child in the throes of a tantrum. Then her head snapped up. “What? What did you say?”

  “Do I have to repeat a standard order for prisoner procedure?”

  “No. No, sir. Did you . . . did you say ‘detective’?”

  “Something wrong with your ears? Oh, by the way, congratulations. Suspect is contained and in custody,” she said into her communicator as she walked from the room. She paused only long enough to wink at Roarke. “All units, stand down. Nice job.”

  “Go ahead,” Feeney said to Peabody as she stood shell-shocked with McNab’s kissing noises and applause ringing in her earpiece. “I’ve got this bag of shit.”

  With a little whoop, Peabody leaped over Renquist. “Dallas! Are you sure? Really, really sure? The results aren’t posted until tomorrow.”

  “Why aren’t you following my direct order re the prisoner?”

  “Please.”

  “Jesus, what a baby.” But it took every ounce of will to hold back the grin. “I’ve got some pull. I used it. Results will be posted at oh eight hundred. You placed twenty-sixth, which isn’t shabby. They’re taking a full hundred, so you’re in. You could’ve done better on the sims.”

  “I knew it.”

  “But you did good. All in all you did good. The standard ceremony will be at noon, day after tomorrow. You will not cry during the cleanup of an operation,” she said when Peabody’s eyes teared up.

  “I won’t. Okay.” Peabody threw open her arms, lurched forward.

  Eve backpedaled. “No kissing! Mother of God. You get a handshake. A handshake.” She stuck out her hand in defense. “That’s it.”

  “Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” She took Eve’s hand, pumped it. “Oh screw it,” she said, and wrapped her arms tightly enough around Eve to crack ribs.

  “Get off me, you maniac.” But now it was touch and go whether she could hold back the laugh. “Go jump McNab. I’ll
transport the damn prisoner.”

  “Thanks. Oh man, oh boy, thanks!” She started to run for the door when it flew open. McNab caught her—and Eve had to give him credit for keeping his feet—in mid-air.

  Rolling her eyes for form, she walked back into the bedroom.

  “I’ll load him up,” Feeney told her. “Let the girl have time to do her victory dance.”

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You’ll be sorry.” Renquist’s eyes were still streaming, but the fury was in them again, lighting the tears. “Very sorry.”

  She stepped up, into his face, let the silence hang until she saw fear eat away at the anger. “I knew it was you, the first time I saw you. I saw what you were. Do you know what you are, Niles? Pitiful and weak, a coward who hid behind other cowards because he didn’t even have the balls to be himself when he killed innocents. Do you know why I ordered my detective to take you in? Because you’re not worth another minute of my time. You’re over.”

  She turned away when he began to weep again. “Give me a lift, sailor,” she said to Roarke.

  “It would be my pleasure.” He took her hand when they reached the door, and tightened his grip when she hissed and tried to shake him off.

  “Too late to worry about such things now. You winked at me during an operation.”

  “I certainly did nothing of the kind.” She folded her lips, primly. “Maybe I had something in my eye.”

  “Let’s have a look.” He backed her up against the wall of the hallway, and laughed when she swore at him. “No, I don’t see a thing, except those big, gorgeous cop’s eyes.” He kissed her between them. “Peabody’s not the only one who did good today.”

  “I did the job. That’s good enough for me.”

  Two days later, she read Mira’s preliminary psych report on Niles Renquist. Then she leaned back, stared at the ceiling. It was an interesting ploy, she mused. If his defense team was good enough, he might just pull it off.

  She looked to the vase of flowers on her desk—sent that morning by Marlene Cox, via her mother. Instead of embarrassing her as they might have done, they pleased her.

  Whatever the ploy, justice would be served. Niles Renquist would never see freedom again. And she had a decent shot at nailing his wife as accessory after the fact.

  At least the PA had agreed to press for it, and that would have to be enough.

  If she succeeded there, she was orphaning a young girl, deliberately seeing to it that a five-year-old child was without mother or father. Rising, she walked to the window. But some children were better off, weren’t they, without a certain type of parent?

  How the hell did she know. She dragged a hand through her hair, scrubbed them both over her face. She could only do the job and hope when the dust settled, it was right.

  It felt right.

  She heard her knob turn, then the knock. She’d locked it, pointedly, and now checked the time. Rolling her shoulders, she picked up her cap, set it in place.

  When she opened the door she saw the rare jolt of shock on Roarke’s face, then the interest, then the gleam that had color rising up on her neck.

  “What are you staring at?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.” He stepped in before she could step out, then closed the door behind him.

  “We’ve got to go. The ceremony starts in fifteen.”

  “And it’s a five-minute walk. Turn around once.”

  “I will not.” Another few seconds, she figured, and that damn flush would hit her cheeks. Mortifying her. “You’ve seen a cop in uniform before.”

  “I’ve never seen my cop in uniform before. I didn’t know you had one.”

  “Of course I’ve got one. We’ve all got one. I just never wear it. But this is . . . important, that’s all.”

  “You look . . .” He traced one of her shiny brass buttons. “. . . amazing. Very sexy.”

  “Oh, get out.”

  “Seriously.” He leaned back to take it in. That long, lanky form did wonders, he thought, for the spit and polish, the crisp formal blues.

  Medals, earned in the line of duty, glinted against the stiff jacket. She’d shined her black cop shoes—which he now imagined she’d kept buried in her locker—to mirror gleams. She wore her weapon at her hip, and her cap squared off on her short hair.

  “Lieutenant,” he said with a purr in his voice. “You’ve got to wear that home.”

  “Why?”

  He grinned. “Guess.”

  “You’re a sick, sick man.”

  “We’ll play cops and robbers.”

  “Out of my way, pervert.”

  “One thing.” He had fast hands, and had dipped one down her starched collar before she could move. And pulled out, to his delight, the chain that carried the diamond he’d once given her. “That’s perfect, then,” he murmured, and tucked it away again.

  “We’re not holding hands. I’m absolutely firm on that.”

  “Actually, I was planning to walk a couple steps behind you, so I could see how your ass moves in that thing.”

  She laughed, but pulled him out with her. “Update on Renquist if you’re interested.”

  “I am.”

  “He’s trying for insanity—not unexpected. But he’s giving it a good shot. Using multiple personality disorder. One minute he’s Jack the Ripper, next he’s Son of Sam or John Wayne Gacy. Trips from that to DeSalvo or back to Jack.”

  “Do you think it’s genuine?”

  “Not for a minute, and Mira doesn’t buy it. He could pull it off though. His defense will hire plenty of shrinks that go along, and he’s good at the game. It may keep him from a cement cage and put him in a padded cell, on the mentally defective floor.”

  “How would you feel about that?”

  “I want the cage, but you don’t always get what you want. I’m going by the hospital after shift so I can tell Marlene Cox and her family what may happen.”

  “I think they’ll be fine with it. They’re not soldiers, Eve,” he said when she looked at him. “They only want him put away, and you’ve done that. It’s payment enough for them, if not for you.”

  “It has to be enough for me because it’s over. And there’ll be another to take his place. Knowing that drags some cops under.”

  “Not my cop.”

  “No.” What the hell, she took his hand anyway as they walked into the meeting room for the ceremony. “It pushes me over. You just find a seat, wherever. I have to be up on the stupid stage.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips. “Congratulations, Lieutenant, on a job well done.”

  She glanced over, as he did, to where Peabody stood with McNab in the front of the room. “She did it herself” was all Eve said.

  It pleased her to see that Commander Whitney had made time to officiate. She stepped onto the stage with him, took the hand he offered.

  “Congratulations, Lieutenant, on your aide’s promotion.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “We’re going to start right away. We have twenty-seven promotions this session out of Central. Sixteen detective third grades, eight second grades, and three detective sergeants.” He smiled a little. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in uniform since you made lieutenant.”

  “No, sir.”

  She stepped back with the other trainers, stood next to Feeney.

  “One of my boys made second grade,” he told her. “Thought we’d have a celebration drink across the street after shift. Suit you?”

  “Yeah, but the civilian’s going to want in. He’s soft on Peabody.”

  “Fair enough. Here we go. Jack’ll give his standard speech. Thank God it’s him and not that putz Leroy who stands in for him when he can’t make it. Leroy’s got the trots of the tongue. Can’t stop it running.”

  In her assigned seat, Peabody sat with her spine straight and her stomach doing cartwheels. She was terrified she’d burst into tears, as she had when she’d called home to tell her parents. It would be mortifying to cr
y now, but everything was so welled up, flooding her throat, that she was afraid when she opened her mouth to speak, it would all pour out.

  Her ears were buzzing, so now she was afraid she wouldn’t hear her name called and would just sit there like an idiot. She concentrated on Eve, and how she stood cool and perfect at parade rest in her uniform.

  When she’d seen her lieutenant walk in, in uniform, she’d nearly bawled then and there. She hadn’t been able to speak to her.

  But buzzing or not, she heard her name in the commander’s big voice. Detective Third Grade Delia Peabody. And got to her feet. She couldn’t feel her knees, but somehow she was walking to the stage, up the side steps, and across it.

  “Congratulations, Detective,” he said, and took her hand in his enormous one before he stepped back.

  And there was Dallas, stepping forward. “Congratulations, Detective. Well done.” She held out the shield, and for a moment, just a flicker, there was a smile.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  Then Eve stepped back, and it was done.

  All Peabody could think when she resumed her seat was that she hadn’t cried. She hadn’t cried and there was a detective’s shield in her hand.

  She was still moving through a daze when the ceremony was done, and McNab rushed forward to lift her off her feet. And Roarke leaned over and—oh my God!—kissed her right on the mouth.

  But she couldn’t find Eve. Through the congratulations and pats on the back, the ribbing and the noise, she didn’t see Eve anywhere. Finally, still clutching her badge, she broke away.

  When she tracked Eve down in her office, her lieutenant was back in street clothes, at her desk, hunched over paperwork.

  “Sir. You got out of there so fast.”

  “I had things to do.”

  “You were wearing your uniform.”

  “Why does everybody say that like it’s cause for a national holiday? Listen, congratulations. I mean it. I’m proud of you, and glad for you. But fun time’s over, and I’ve got a shit-pile of paperwork.”

  “Well, I’m going to take time to thank you, and that’s that. I wouldn’t have this if it wasn’t for you.” She kept the shield cupped in her hand as if it were the finest crystal. “Because you believed in me, you pushed me, and you taught me, I’ve got it.”