“Why don’t we take this downstairs?”
“Yeah, let’s do that.”
She opted for the kitchen and the counter space.
“It’s probably expensive, but it’s still cheap and gaudy. It’s not new.”
“No, it’s got some travel on it, so something she likely took with her from place to place.”
“I don’t remember it,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “She wouldn’t keep anything that long. What’s inside’s more important.”
She opened it.
“Variety of illegals, cash, some IDs with credit cards.” She pulled out a dried rose, carefully sealed in a small bag. “But this is sentiment. See, she’s drawn a heart on the bag, S and I in the middle. Isaac gave her this. And here, she took a picture of him when he was sleeping.”
She held it up, studied him, sprawled on his back under a tangled sheet. “I bet he doesn’t know she did this. That’s the bed from his place. He’s blond here, tanned—like the South African ID. So he got a flash or gave himself some fake sun. But he looks really tired, a little drawn, doesn’t he? What’s that on the nightstand? Champagne? A celebration. Maybe his first night in. Yeah, maybe.”
“That’s Vie Nouveau. One of mine, and very exclusive. I wonder what vintage.”
“So, he—or she—buys a pricey bottle of bubbles.”
“More than that. You can’t get it just anywhere. That’s how you keep it exclusive and desirable. Hmm.” He took out his case again, opened it for a small magnifier.
“Handy.”
“Sometimes you need a closer look at things. I can just make it out . . . Yes, that’s a limited premiere ’fifty-six. Not easy to come by. We had a bottle on our anniversary.”
“Yeah? It was good.”
“Good? Darling Eve, it’s exquisite. He had some very nice wines at his apartment, but nothing at this level.”
“Maybe he took the top drawer with him.”
“Maybe he did. He’d need a top-drawer outlet to purchase this.”
“In Dallas,” Eve said. “How many top drawers are there in Dallas?”
“I’ll be checking on that.”
“He could go back for more. We can sit on the outlets once we have them. Jesus.” She lifted out a short stack of notes, postcards. “Mother lode. Here, a postcard from Dallas, but it’s stamped New York. Mail drop–box addy. Numbers. Code?”
He glanced at it. “Measurements. Inseam, sleeve, waist, so on from the looks of it. He’s ordering a suit.”
“The numbers and Baker and Hugh.”
“Men’s shop,” Roarke told her, “known for its excellent tailoring.” Roarke pulled out his PPC, did a quick run. “There’s only one in Dallas.”
“He wants clothes, good clothes. Doesn’t have time to fiddle with fittings and all that. So he has her take care of it. Has his suits waiting for him when he gets here. No.” She closed her eyes a moment, brought New York back. “He was wearing a suit, sharp-looking gray suit, flashy red tie, when I saw him in the crowd at the medals ceremony. He had her order the suits, and send at least one of them to New York. He wanted to look good when he let me catch a glimpse.”
“He went to a lot of trouble to impress you.”
“That’s his problem now, that’s his chink. He’s complicating things to take jabs at me. Engage, taunt, humiliate, instead of just moving in for the knockout.”
She opened the first note. “He’d kill her if he already hadn’t. She printed out some of their e-coms. ‘Miss you, too, baby doll,’ ” she read. “ ‘Countdown D-minus-30. Time to arrange my flight into your arms. Reserve private, Franklin J. Milo. I’ll need those docs, sweetheart, so you get that Cecil on the stick! I don’t want to get to the drop and find an empty box.
“ ‘The wait’s almost over. Milo needs his things waiting at the hotel so he can get cleaned up and changed before he flies to you. We’ll go back there one day, stay in the penthouse and drink a champagne toast to us.
“ ‘Keep an eye on our Melinda, and take good care of my baby doll. I’ll write next week with the next steps. Almost there!
“ ‘SWAK times two.’ ”
She frowned. “SWAK?”
“Sealed with a kiss—times two.”
“Eeww. He wrote it out. He actually wrote this shit down. Didn’t trust her to remember. Quick PS reminding her to wipe, but he got sloppy because he didn’t think she was smart enough to remember the details. Maybe she’d dropped the ball a time or two.”
She opened another. “They’re little love notes with instructions sprinkled through the mush. Here he’s telling her how to outfit what he calls the guest room. Sick fuck. Tells her to see Greek in Waco for the bracelets. Shackles. And Bruster B in Fort Worth for soundproofing.”
“Does any of this help you now? You’ve found his place.”
She looked up as pieces began to link together in her head. “He’s got another one. He’s got another place in Dallas, and he’d want some of the same there. Would he use the same people? Maybe not. But . . . We find them, we find out more.”
She pulled out her ’link, tagged Peabody.
“Franklin J. Milo—that’s the ID McQueen used to book his transpo—private shuttle—and a hotel room. A hotel with a penthouse. Find them.”
“Okay, but—”
“It’s just tying the ends, Peabody. It may not lead anywhere, but let’s tie it up tight. And find Baker and Hugh, men’s clothing in New York. See if he picked up any clothes there. And what transportation he used to get to the shuttle. I’ll pick it up from here.”
“Okay, got it. Listen. Tray Schuster came back in. They didn’t notice—pretty understandable—on the day they were attacked, but they’re missing a duffel, an old ’link they hadn’t gotten around to recycling, a new pair of navy blue skids, a shirt Julie had boxed up for her brother’s birthday. A bunch of little things. I’m going to send you an inventory.”
“Things that would be useful for checking in a hotel. When you find the hotel, see if he left anything behind in his room. I’ve got to get on this from here.”
“You look beat,” Peabody commented.
“Not yet, I’m not.” She clicked off. “Let’s take this to Ricchio, let him and the feds start working on tracking down the names. We’d better go by the hospital first. We can probably pass the box to somebody there.”
Peabody was right, Roarke thought as she resealed the door. She looked beat. Pale and strained.
“You need a couple hours down. You know you do.”
“I’ll take it when I can. I can’t stop yet.” She got in the car. “I’ll down a booster if I need it.”
“A booster isn’t what you need. I’m not going to press you, yet. Especially not if you agree once you’ve talked to Melinda and Darlie you’ll go back to the hotel if there’s nothing immediate. You’d rather work there anyway.”
Since she’d already planned to do just that, it wasn’t hard to go along. “If you agree to try not to tranq me.”
“That’s a tough bargain, a hard line. Agreed.”
“That was easy. Too easy.”
“I’ll let Mira tranq you.”
She managed a weak laugh. “I can take Mira.”
“I imagine she’s wily.”
So was he, he thought, as he pulled her directly to Vending at the hospital. “Pick something.”
“I’m not really—”
“You may not think you’re hungry, but you need food. I’ll pick. Veggie-and-cheese pocket. Some protein,” he said as it slid out of the tray.
“I’d rather have the—”
“Candy bar, yes. And so you shall. When you eat that.” He ordered up the bar, wishing he could offer her some rich Belgian chocolate.
She stuffed half the pocket in her mouth. “Why do I have to eat and you don’t?”
“I’m considering my choices, which are all equally unappetizing. Ah, well.” He ordered up a second pocket. “We’ll suffer together.”
“It?
??s not that bad.”
He took a bite. “Yes, it certainly is.” Not wanting to risk the coffee, he ordered them each a tube of Pepsi.
“Food snob.”
“This barely qualifies as food. Give me some of that candy.”
“Get your own candy.” But she pulled credits out of her pocket, plugged them in. “There.” She ordered it, offered it, and gave him a genuine smile. “You look like a really well-dressed pirate carting around an ugly treasure chest. Thanks for lunch.”
18
Annalyn started to step on the elevator as Eve and Roarke got off.
She moved back.
“I was just on my way in. I’ve been splitting time between Melinda and Darlie, Darlie’s parents, Bree, her parents, the doctors.” She rubbed her eyes. “You see it, you see it in this job. You never get used to it.”
“Good cops don’t,” Eve said, and had Annalyn dropping her hands.
“Well, I’m a damn good cop today.”
“Do they still want to talk to me?”
“Yeah. Melinda convinced Darlie she should. She’s made you out to be the monster slayer. It’s a good thing,” she added when Eve winced. “It’s helping the kid. The idea there are slayers, since she knows monsters are real. Melly’s ambulatory. They want her in bed, resting, but she’s in and out of the kid’s room. That helps, too. It’s helping them both.”
She raised her eyebrows at the box Roarke held. “If that’s a gift, it’s really sparkly.”
“It’s evidence. We found it at the duplex.”
“What? Where? I didn’t see anything like that on the evidence list. I’ve been keeping in touch.”
“She had a hide in the bedroom closet. I played a hunch,” Eve added. “And we got lucky.”
“We could use some luck. Missing that son of a bitch today, losing Malvie.” She looked back down the hall. “I keep reminding myself we got Melly and the girl back safe. But Malvie’s dead, and McQueen’s in the wind.”
“She’s got some correspondence from McQueen in here.”
“No shit?”
“None, and some names, some data. If you’re going in, you can start the runs. There’s a photo of him, too. She took it while he was sleeping. There’s a champagne bottle in it. My source here tells me it’s pretty special.”
“There’s only two outlets for that label and vintage in Dallas,” Roarke told her. “Vin Belle and Personal Sommelier.”
“And he may get a yen for more.” Annalyn reached for the box. “I’ll get this in. If we hit anything, you’ll be the first.”
“My people are working on some of the New York data in there. You can connect with Detective Peabody.”
“Will do.” She called for the elevator again, glanced back as she got on. “You’re a good cop,” she said to Eve. “So the kid’s going to break your heart.”
“I’m going to take Melinda first,” Eve told Roarke as she walked toward the nurses’ station. “She’ll be okay with you in there if you want to be. With the kid, it’s better if you stay out.”
“If you don’t need me, I’ll find a spot, see if Feeney and I can make any progress.”
“Better yet.” She offered her badge at the station. “Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Yes, you’re cleared. Melinda—Ms. Jones—would like you to see her first. She’s in six-twelve. We arranged for Darlie to be across the hall.”
“Thanks.”
She started down the corridor. She hated hospitals, hated the memory of being in one, in this city, broken and traumatized like the child across the hall from Melinda. And the cops asking questions she couldn’t answer, the sorrowful sympathy the medicals couldn’t hide when they worked on her.
She hesitated outside Melinda’s door. Should she knock? she wondered. Instead she shifted to look through the small window, saw both sisters in the narrow hospital bed. Oddly it was the cop who slept, an arm around her sister’s waist.
Eve eased the door open.
“Lieutenant Dallas.” Melinda spoke quietly, smiled. “She’s so tired. I don’t think she slept since . . . Our parents just went to get us both some fresh clothes, some things. They really want to see you again, to thank you again.”
“There are a lot of people to thank. I’m surprised Detective Price isn’t hovering.”
A pretty little light came into Melinda’s eyes. “I said something about pizza. My favorite place is over in our neighborhood. He went to get me some—wouldn’t take no.”
“It helps to have something to do.”
“I know. Just as I know Bree and Jayson will go back to work when they’re sure I’m all right. I’m all right, but they’re not sure.”
“I can come back later. No point waking her up.”
“I’m awake.” Bree’s eyes fluttered open. “Sorry, I went out for a minute.” She sat up, took her sister’s hand.
It was like looking at slightly altered dupes, Eve thought. Not exact, not identical, but damn near.
“It’s like a replay,” Bree began. “It’s not, not even close for the two of us. But you came in the hospital room before.”
“And the two of you were in the same bed. I remember. You were asleep that time,” Eve said to Melinda.
“It was weeks before I could sleep without Bree holding on to me. You look tired.”
“I guess we all are.”
“Would you sit? We can get you some coffee, something to eat.”
“I grabbed something.” But she sat on the side of the bed as Melinda indicated. “Do you want to go over it again?”
“Darlie needs to. I used you and Bree, over and over, to give her hope, to give her something to hold on to. He didn’t rape me. He only hit me once in anger, and that was almost an afterthought. They kept me drugged at first, but I stopped drinking the water. He killed his partner. I saw—”
“Yes.”
“Sarajo—well, that’s how I knew her. I keep asking myself why I didn’t see she was a liar, that she’d duped me.”
“She was a pro.”
“I wanted to help her, and thought I had. When she contacted me again, so shaky, so urgent, I didn’t think twice. I played right into it.”
“Do you need me to tell you it’s not your fault?”
“No. I had plenty of time to replay it, rethink it. You have to trust, or you’re only living half a life. You have to try to help or even that half is empty. I believed her. I was concerned because I suspected she was on something, but I thought it was because she was so frightened. I let her into my car, I drove away from the diner where we’d agreed to meet because she asked me to. I pulled over because she asked me to.
“I never saw it coming. I felt it.” Melinda lifted a hand to the side of her neck. “And still I didn’t understand. Not until he was there. Right there.”
She closed her eyes a minute, then laid a hand over Eve’s. “I thought of you. Of Bree, then of you when I woke up in that room. In the dark, like before. But it wasn’t like before. I was alone, an adult.”
She opened her eyes. “This time I was bait. He made that clear, let me know he wasn’t interested in me like before. I wasn’t . . . fresh enough. He had her bring me food most of the time. Once she stood there, ate it in front of me. She hated me. I think she hated me most of all because I’d tried to help her.”
“Sick, twisted bitch,” Bree stated, and Eve said nothing. Could say nothing.
“She hated everything about me, and you,” Melinda said to Eve. “She taunted me with you. How they were going to lock you in there, how they were going to hurt you, teach you a lesson for what you did. How they were going to make a fortune selling you—Are you all right?” she asked when Eve jerked.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“I should’ve said pretending to sell you. I think she wanted you dead as much as he did, maybe more. She was obsessed with him. And couldn’t see, just couldn’t see how he despised her. She couldn’t see his contempt. He let me see it, like it was our little private joke. Then they
brought Darlie.”
Tears shimmered now, and Bree brought Melinda’s hand to her cheek.
“He made sure I knew he was going after a girl—that’s a kind of torture. Sarajo threw her in after they’d finished with her. They left the lights on so I could see what they’d done to her.”
“Having you there helped her.”
“It’s a horrible thing, but having her helped me. Someone who needed me, someone I could comfort and counsel and tend to. When he came back for Darlie the next day, I did everything I could to distract him. She wasn’t there, the partner. I’d studied him, so I used that. I got him to talk to me—to converse. He enjoyed it, and sat there for a long time, showing off his knowledge of literature, art.”
“Did he tell you anything personal? Anything he planned, anything that could tell us where he’d go?”
“I don’t think so. It was all this lofty, cocktail-party sort of conversation. I kept it that way. I was afraid if I asked him anything, he’d remember Darlie.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Oh . . . ah.”
“Try to think back,” Eve prompted, “picture him there.”
“A crewneck with the sleeves pushed up. Very classic, and navy blue. Casual pants, but good ones. Buff colored, I think. Yes, with an embossed brown belt and silver buckle.” Her forehead creased as she concentrated. “Silver buckles on his shoes. They matched the belt. He had a leather sheath on the belt. Once I wondered if I could get him to come over, somehow get the knife out of the sheath.
“It had initials on it, the sheath. I’d forgotten that.”
“What initials?”
“His. I. M. I am,” she murmured. “He must love that.”
“On it,” Bree said before Eve could speak, and rolled out of bed, already pulling out her ’link.
“Did you notice anything else? Jewelry?”
“Silver wrist unit. It looked like a good one. A monogrammed leather sheath. You can trace that. I know that.” Frustration vibrating, Melinda pressed a hand to the side of her head. “I didn’t think before.”