She came out of it on a muffled cry to find herself wrapped in Roarke’s arms.
“Dreaming, that’s all. You’re all right. I’m here.”
“It’s okay.” She drew in his scent to steady herself. “I’m okay. It wasn’t bad.”
“You’re shaking.” He ordered the lights on low, and the fire on so the room glowed softly, and the flames burst into life in the hearth.
“It was just mostly weird. Weird and creepy.”
“Dancing numbers?” He kept his voice light, but held her close and tight. “Flying babies?”
“Not this time.” She ordered herself to relax, just relax against him. “Tangling up my cases,” she said after she told him of the dream. “And ended with the big finish. Bastard always manages to get in there.”
“Lie back down now. Let it go.”
She let him draw her back, let herself curl in. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, or to let it go. “There was this sense of urgency. I had to find Tandy, but even when I did, I couldn’t get to her. And there was Natalie Copperfield, and all I could think was that she deserved better from me. She’s trapped there, with those damn numbers, until I can fix it. Add it up. Make it come out right.”
“No point in telling you you’re spread too thin.”
“No, no point. Sorry.”
“Then let me remind you that you’re not alone in that white room, that white tunnel, or even in that goddamned room in Dallas. Not anymore.”
She tilted her head so she could see his face, lifted her hand so she could touch it. “Thank God.”
He kissed her forehead. “Well now, you managed a rousing three hours of sleep. Back on the clock, are we?”
She didn’t argue about eating a decent breakfast first. Instead she programmed a couple of whoppers herself while he dressed.
“And here’s my lovely wife, serving me breakfast on a Sunday morning.”
“You earned it.” She gave the cat a baleful stare as he meandered over from the spot of sunlight where he’d been curled. “You haven’t.” But Galahad sent her such a mournful look, she rolled her eyes, went back to the AutoChef and ordered him up some breakfast kibble and a small side of tuna.
“Played you,” Roarke said as he dug into his eggs.
“Maybe, but it’ll keep him from begging and sneaking while we eat. I’m thinking,” she began.
“As ever.”
“The Italian case, too close to mine for comfort. If they connect, it most likely puts this Applebee in the clear. And it points to someone who targets women in this situation.”
“Pregnant, no family to speak of, new city—toward the end of their term.”
“Right. And while I don’t pop out others that match just so, who’s to say there haven’t been others—women who weren’t reported missing. Or others that came through IRCCA that didn’t play out exactly the same way as these two. And if so, it could lean several ways.”
Considering, he cut into the short stack of pancakes he’d drizzled with syrup. “A long way from Rome to New York if you’re talking about someone who stalks women in this situation, abducts them. And Sophia Belego has never been found, leading to the assumption that the abductor then disposes of them.”
“Or disposes of the woman. Babies are a commodity.”
“Black market sales, slavery, illegal adoptions. Yes, a commodity they are.”
She forked up some pancakes, and though they were already swimming in syrup, dunked them in more. Across from her, Roarke actually winced.
“It should make your teeth hurt,” he commented.
“What? Oh, no it’s good.” She popped them into her mouth. “I like the sugar rush. Anyway, could be a psycho, who likes to travel, likes variety. Could be with enough digging I’ll find some strange connection between Tandy and Belego. Could be a business. Both had to be planned out. Women snatched off the street—in Belego’s case, in broad daylight. But there’s another connection. Both women started their terms in Europe.”
He watched, somewhat fascinated as she swished a slice of bacon through the pool of syrup. His steely-minded cop had the appetite of a five-year-old. “You think the root of it may be there rather than here.”
“It’s a thought. I’m going to let it circle around some while I write it up for Smith in MPU. Maybe she’ll have some thoughts on it. It’s more her area than mine.”
“Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll bring you up to date on my little project.”
“Run it by me now.”
“There’s one of the files that appears to add up, but doesn’t. Not when you peel it apart, shake it out. An outlay and an income that double back on each other, and a separate expense that pulls out of that same income again and gets funneled through yet another account—a nontaxable one, where it shouldn’t be. Not as far as I can tell, blindfolded as I am.”
“Your call.”
“So it was. There are repetitions of that, and subtle variations on it. Could be someone trying to tuck away a bit of the ready, someone hoping to avoid a bit of tax, or a little laundry.”
“How little?”
“I’m not sure yet. Thanks,” he added when she topped off his coffee, then her own. “It’s cleverly done, and I’ll need to peek under a few more covers. But it’s considerable.”
“Ballpark?”
“So far, mid–seven figures, for the time frame I’m working with.”
“Millions then?”
“So it seems.” He brushed a hand over her hair. “Motive enough, I’d think, for two murders.”
“A handful of credits dropped in the gutter’s enough motive for some. But yeah, for this type of thing, motive enough. Why don’t you let me have a look so I can match it with the client?”
“Why don’t you let me finish first?”
“You’re working blind, so I work blind, too?”
“Now, would I be that small and petty?” He considered a moment. “I might be, but in this case, I’d just rather put it all together first. Not as if you’ve nothing to do in the meanwhile.”
True enough, she thought. “I’m calling some more hands and eyes.”
“We work on Sunday, so everyone does?”
“Would I be that small and petty?”
He grinned, and this time patted her hand. “Peas and pods. If you’re pulling in troops, Lieutenant, I could make use of McNab.”
“You’ll have him,” she said, and sitting back laid a hand on her stomach. “I think I feel a little sick.”
“Small wonder after you sucked down a liter of maple syrup.”
“Couldn’t have been that much.” But she thought she could almost hear it swish inside her as she turned to her ’link.
She had a message from the garage manager on Fifty-eighth. The discs were wiped—that was a dead end.
She’d barely finished waking up cops and moving into her office when Mavis walked in with Leonardo.
“I knew you’d be working.” With shadows dogging her eyes, Mavis gripped Leonardo’s hand. “See, I told you she’d be working. Have you found anything?”
“I’m talking to people. I told you I’d let you know as soon as something broke.”
“I know. But…”
“She barely slept all night,” Leonardo put in. “She wouldn’t eat this morning.”
“I’m standing right here,” Mavis said irritably. “Don’t talk like I’m stupid.” She pulled away from him. “I can’t think about anything else. How could I? I should be able to help. There has to be something I can do.”
“You can go home and let me do my job.”
“Don’t you talk to me that way either,” Mavis snapped. “Like I’m defective or whatever just because I’m pregnant. Tandy’s my friend, and she’s in trouble. I’m not going to sit home and do nothing.”
“Why don’t you sit here then,” Roarke began, and she rounded on him.
“I don’t need to sit. Do you see these?” She pointed down at purple gel-sole boots. ??
?They call them feet, and I can stand on them. The next person, the next who says I should sit down, or lie down, or eat is going to get bloody.”
There was absolute silence as three people eyed Mavis as if she were a homemade boomer with a questionable fuse.
“I’m strong and I’m healthy.” She took an audible breath. “And I’m not sitting home on my fat, knocked-up ass while Tandy’s missing. Look at you.” She jabbed her finger at Eve now. “You think I can’t look at you and see you haven’t slept either? You think I don’t know I asked you for a major? If you were in my place, you wouldn’t be brushed off either.”
“I can’t be in your place as I don’t have a fat, knocked-up ass to sit on. Yeah, you asked me for a major, and if you want me to come through on it, you’ll sit down, shut up, and let me work. Bitch.”
There was a second moment of humming silence as color flooded into Mavis’s face. Then she jerked up her chin. “That’s über bitch to you.” Now she sat, and the room seemed to sigh in relief. “I’m sorry.” Mavis pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I’m sorry. Multiple apologies all around. Don’t make me go home. Please.” She dropped her hands. “Please give me something to do.”
“You can write up the time line from my notes for my report. And you can make coffee.”
“Okay. Okay.”
“I could make the coffee.” Leonardo glanced at Mavis. “I’d like something to do, too.”
Mavis reached for his hand, then pressed it to her cheek. “Maybe you could make me one of your special breakfast frappés.” When he leaned down to kiss her, she took his wide face in her hands. “You’re the best thing that ever was, and I’m so sorry.”
“Now that we’ve all kissed and made up…” Eve began.
“I haven’t kissed you yet. Or you,” Mavis added with a flirty smile for Roarke.
He responded by crossing to her and brushing his lips over hers.
“Maybe we could all get something done,” Eve finished. “Roarke, I’ll pass McNab on to you as soon as they get here. Leonardo, make the coffee strong and black.” Eve rose as the men moved in opposite directions, then rolled her auxiliary computer to where Mavis sat.
“Thanks for calling me a bitch. I needed it.”
“Anytime.”
“Dallas, would you tell me what you know?”
Eve ran through it briefly while she set up the comp so Mavis could work.
“You found out so much already, so much I didn’t know. I guess Tandy and I were always talking about now, and tomorrow. She didn’t go into yesterday. Do you think…maybe do you think she and the baby’s father got together? Maybe they’re just taking a couple days alone?”
“I’m going to try to contact him again. We’ll find out.”
“Dallas? Whatever happens with this, I want you to know I’m really grateful. And I love you.”
Eve laid a hand briefly on Mavis’s shoulder. “No mushy stuff while I’m doing cop work. Timeline.”
“I’m all over it.”
Eve went back to her desk to try Aaron Applebee again. With a glance toward Mavis, she put the transmission on privacy mode.
And this time he answered.
“Applebee here.”
“Lieutenant Dallas, New York Police and Security. You’ve been tough to track down, Mr. Applebee.”
“I’ve been on assignment in Glasgow. Just got in.” He rubbed a hand over a face that was shadowed by several days’ worth of light brown beard. “Who did you say you were?”
“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. NYPSD.”
“Well, good morning, and I’m baffled. What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me the last time you had contact with Tandy Willowby.”
“Tandy?” His face changed in a fingersnap. Eve would have said what came into it was a burst of hope. “You’ve seen Tandy. Is she there? In New York. I never would have thought…She’s had the baby. She’s all right? They’re all right? Oh, God, I can get a shuttle and be there in a few hours.”
“Mr. Applebee, you’re the father of the child Ms. Willowby’s carrying?”
“Yes, yes. Of course. Carrying? You said carrying?” Another flash of hope lit his face even as his voice trembled. “I’m not too late.”
“You claim you didn’t know she was living in New York.”
“No, she—we—It’s complicated. What do you mean ‘was’?”
“Ms. Willowby’s been missing since Thursday evening.”
“Missing? I don’t understand what you mean by missing. Wait, wait a bloody minute.”
She could see him shift, sit down, struggle to orient himself. “How do you know she’s been missing since Thursday?”
“She left work at six P.M. on that evening. She did not return to her residence. She didn’t keep appointments. She hasn’t contacted her midwife, her employer, or her friends. I’m investigating.”
“She’s pregnant. She’s due any time now. Have you checked the birthing centers? Of course, you have,” he said before Eve could answer. “All right, let’s just keep calm. Let’s not lose our heads.” But he gripped the back of his neck with his hand as if to hold his own head in place. “Maybe she came home. She came home and I wasn’t here.”
“There’s no record of her boarding any transportation out of New York. Mr. Applebee, what was your relationship with Ms. Willowby when she left London?”
“Strained, maybe shattered. Stupid, stupid. I was such a bloody berk about it all. I was just panicked, or God knows. We hadn’t planned…it just happened. The pregnancy, and I bungled it. I buggered it up, that’s what I did. I suggested she terminate, and she got upset. Of course, she got upset.”
He pressed his fingers to his eyes now. “God. God. What an idiot I am. We quarreled, and she said she’d have the baby, and give it up for adoption. That I wouldn’t have to be bothered. She went to an agency, I think. She was barely speaking to me and I was so bloody righteous.”
“What agency?”
“I don’t know. We weren’t talking so much as sniping at each other. But she changed her mind. At least she left me a message that she had, and that she was going away. She quit her job, and left her flat. I was sure she’d get in touch with me, that she’d come back. I’ve been trying to find her, but I never thought to try the States. She didn’t take a shuttle from here, or from Paris. That’s where, after I’d begged and groveled, one of her coworkers said she’d gone, at least for a bit.”
“Let’s just get this out of the way. Give me your whereabouts on Thursday.”
“I was here, at my office through Thursday until about eight. I left for Glasgow that night, straight from there. I work for The Times, the London Times. I’ll give you my editor’s name and number, and the hotel where I stayed in Glasgow, so you can verify. Whatever you need. I can make some calls from here—friends of hers, coworkers, the OB she saw when she found out she was pregnant. Maybe someone knows…she might have contacted someone.”
“Why don’t you give me a list of names and contact numbers?”
“Yes, all right. Better from you than the git who mucked the whole business up. I’m coming to New York. I’ll be there this afternoon. I’ll give you my pocket ’link number, in case…”
By the time Eve had taken all the data, she had a cup of coffee on her desk along with her time line, in hard copy and disc.
“We can make calls,” Leonardo began. “Mavis and I can contact the birthing centers and the hospitals again, on the chance Tandy checked in this morning.”
“Call the midwife,” Eve told him. “Have her do it. They’ll talk to her quicker than either of you. Mavis, did Tandy ever mention she’d considered putting the baby up for adoption?”
“She did.” At her station, Mavis sat very still, her hands crossed over her belly. “She told me once she’d considered all the options. And she’d even gone to an agency, taken the first steps toward that one. But she’d changed her mind.”
Reading Eve’s expression, Mavis shook her hea
d. “You think she changed it again, and went into a shelter or agency. She didn’t. She wouldn’t have. She was committed, Dallas, to making a family.”
“It’s worth looking into. Do you remember the name of the agency?”
“I think maybe she said the name.” Mavis pressed her fingers to her temples as if to push the name out of her head. “God, I can’t remember. It was just one of those nights we were sitting around, talking about stuff.”
“If you remember, tell me.” Eve looked over as Peabody and McNab came in. “McNab, you’re with Roarke next door. E-work on the Copperfield/Byson case. Peabody, I’ve got a list of names and contacts in London regarding Tandy Willowby. You take those. Mavis, you and Leonardo can do a search on adoption agencies with London offices. Go through and see if one rings for you. Peabody’s going to need that unit, so you’ll have to take it into another room.”
“We’ll start right now.” Mavis levered herself up. “I feel better doing something. I feel like it’s going to be okay now.”
Peabody waited until Leonardo led Mavis out. “And now that you’ve got her out of the way?”
“Look over the file I got from Italy. Like crime. Woman poofed at thirty-six weeks. No trace of her or the baby. He’s got names from Florence, where she lived before she moved to Rome and vanished. Do followups.”
“I don’t speak Italian. Except for, like, manicotti, linguini, and the occasional caio.”
“Me, either. Improvise. Try this new angle, see if anyone knows if she explored other options. Termination or adoption.”
For herself, Eve went back to Peabody’s IRCCA data and took a harder look at the other cases. Possible, she thought, possible one or more of the other open cases was a bungled abduction, resulting in death. Cover up the mistake with rape or assault or theft. Ditch the body.
She picked through the details, pored over the autopsy reports. Then narrowed her eyes at the data on a twenty-one-year-old victim in Middlesex. The mutilated body and fetus had been found in the woods, which the local police had determined was a dump site rather than the murder scene. Mutilation postmortem. COD: head trauma.
Following through, Eve contacted the primary investigator. Fifteen minutes later, she sat back, frowned over at her murder board.