On the wall screen an Asian held his end of the conversation in perfect English. Roarke stood, circling a holo-model of some sort of building. Every so often the structure changed, or opened into an interior view, as if he or the other man made some small adjustment.
Expanses of glass increased, openings that had been angled, arched.
Fascinated, she leaned on the doorjamb and watched him work.
He’d dressed for the day but hadn’t bothered, as yet, with a suit jacket or tie. That told her the man on screen was an employee rather than a business partner.
He studied the holo, shifted to pick up a mug of coffee from his desk. As he drank he listened to the other man talk of space and flow, ambient light.
Roarke interrupted with another spate of Chinese, indicated what looked to Eve to be the southeast corner of the building.
Moments later what had been solid became glass. The roof on that sector lifted, changed angles, then relaxed into a kind of soft curve.
And Roarke nodded.
She pushed off the jamb when the conversation ended. The screen went blank, and the holo poofed.
“Since when have you been fluent in Chinese? Or whatever that was.”
He turned toward her, surprise flickering over his face. “What are you doing up? You’ve barely had three hours down.”
“Pot, kettle. Was that Chinese?”
“It was. Mandarin. And I don’t speak above a handful of basic words. Comp translator, two-way.”
Her brow knit even as he crossed to the AutoChef. “I’ve never seen—heard—a translator that clear. It sounded like you, not comp-generated.”
“Something we’ve been working on for a while, and are selling in a few key markets.” He handed her the coffee he’d programmed for her. “It makes it easy to do business when it feels and sounds like a conversation rather than a translation.”
“What was the thing? The holo?”
“A complex we’re building outside of Beijing.” His eyes darkened as he studied her face. “You had a nightmare.”
“Sort of. It wasn’t bad. It’s okay.”
But she didn’t protest when he drew her in, held her. The warmth finally came back to her bones. “I’m sorry. I had to take care of this.”
“At five-thirty in the morning? Or earlier, since you looked to be way into it when I got here.”
“It’s twelve hours later in Beijing. I’d hoped to be done before you woke up.” He drew her back. “No point asking if you’d get a bit more sleep.”
“Pot, kettle,” she repeated. “I’m going to grab a swim. That and the coffee should set me up.”
“All right then. We’ll have breakfast when you’re done. I’ve got a few things I can see to.”
“It’s still shy of six in the morning.”
He smiled. “Not in London.”
“Huh. That always strikes me weird.” She stepped back. “How much of this stuff do you do when I’m conked?”
“It depends.”
“Strikes me weird,” she repeated, and used his elevator to ride down to the pool.
By seven, she was fueled, dressed, and ready for the briefing. It didn’t surprise her to find a buffet set up in her office. Roarke, she knew, insisted on feeding her and her cops as well. She wondered why, and decided to ask Mira one of these days.
She poked her head in Roarke’s office through the adjoining door. “I’m going to close this. You’re already up-to-date.”
He made some sound of agreement as he scanned his comp screen. “Tell Feeney I should be clear by two, and can give him some time.”
“All right.”
She shut the door as she heard Peabody, McNab, and Jamie chattering their way down the hall.
“Get what you’re going to get,” she ordered, “and don’t dawdle.”
“I smell meat of pig.” McNab shot to the buffet like a neon bullet with Jamie on his heels.
Peabody sighed. “I’m on a diet.”
“There’s a bulletin.”
“No, really. We’re going to try for the beach next day off. I hate bathing suits. I hate me in bathing suits. And yesterday, there was pizza. I think it’s still in my thighs.” She sighed. “I hope there’s fruit, maybe a few low-calorie twigs.”
Peabody shuffled toward temptation as Feeney came in. “Baxter and his boy are right behind me, so I better get over there first. McNab, stop hogging the hog.”
“Told you there’d be food,” Baxter said, and pointed. “Get your share and mine,” he told the young, slightly seasoned Trueheart. Then he crossed to Eve.
As was his habit, Baxter wore a very slick suit. But there was no smart-ass on his handsome face this morning.
“We’re up-to-date, or up-to-date on the last data you sent. I didn’t know the kid, but I know MacMasters. I worked out of the same squad with him when I was a rook and he was a detective on his way to LT. He’s as good as they come. If you hadn’t pulled us in, I’d have angled for it. If budget gets to be a problem, we’ll kick any OT off the books.”
“It won’t be a problem, but the offer’s noted and appreciated.”
“There’s not a man in the division who wouldn’t do the same. We’re going to get the fucker, Dallas.”
“That’s right. Stuff your faces,” she told the room in general, “but kill the chatter. We’re nearly twenty-four hours in. We don’t have time to waste.”
“Where’s your man?” Feeney asked her.
“He’s got work of his own. After two he’ll be your man. Okay, let’s round it up. Screen on.” She stopped as Whitney stepped into the room. “Sir.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt. I’d like to sit in on the morning briefing. And to tell you that Captain MacMasters will be available to you, here, at nine hundred. I felt meeting here would be less complicated for him than Central.”
“Yes, sir. Ah . . . if you’d like anything that hasn’t already been greedily consumed . . .”
“Coffee would do it, thanks. Please, go ahead.”
“You’re all aware of the case, and the early steps of the investigation. You’re all aware that this is a cop’s daughter, and that we believe she was target specific. We believe she knew her killer, and had been set up for the events of Saturday night and early Sunday morning. Other data and other lines of investigation have come to light, which I’ll brief you on shortly. Feeney, status on EDD.”
“Slow. I know that’s not what any of us want to hear. The virus used to wipe and corrupt the hard drive is effective. We’re piecing it back together one damn byte at a time, and half of those bytes are useless. None of the D and C units in the residence contain anything useful. As far as we can determine, he never contacted the vic and was never contacted by her on any of the house ’links. He never sent or received any e-mail from her from any of the house comps, including her bedroom comp. The bedroom unit was scanned and searched from twenty-fifteen to twenty-thirty-three. Nothing was deleted during that period.”
“He checked it out during one of his breaks,” Eve concluded, “and didn’t find anything to worry him.”
“There is nothing to worry him,” McNab commented. “There’s no mention of meeting anyone, no allusion to a boyfriend in any of her communications on that unit. Maybe they’re in some sort of girl code, but I can’t crack it.”
“She kept it to her pockets. More personal, more intimate, more secret.” Eve nodded. “Even her messages and conversations with her best friend about him, off the main comps and ’links. He had her snowed. Keep the focus on the security for now.”
She shifted her gaze to Jamie. “Jamie, I need you to leave the room at this time.”
“What for?” He boosted up in his chair. “I’m part of the team.”
“A civilian part of the team. I’ll tag you when I want you back.”
“You can’t shut me out. I’m doing the job.” He turned to appeal to Feeney. “I’m pulling my weight.”
“You don’t argue with your lieutenant. That’s th
e job, too.”
“I’m asking if the lieutenant has faith in me, believes I can handle myself.” He got to his feet. “If not, then I’m a drag not an asset. This is about Deena. So you tell me, Dallas, if I’m not pulling.”
“That’s for Feeney to say.”
“He holds his own,” Feeney said.
“And I can’t hold my own if I’m shut out of parts of the investigation, don’t have pieces of the data. If you’re going to say something you don’t think I can handle, you’re wrong.”
“It’s not what I’m going to say.” Was it wrong to want to protect him for what was coming? Maybe it was, maybe. But she could regret not doing so. “I located a music and video disc in the victim’s possession, which I believe was created by the killer. Certainly the last section was his work.”
She gave Jamie a last look. “Computer, run disc copy labeled H-23901 from cue.”
Acknowledged . . .
8
COPS SAW WHAT OTHER PEOPLE DIDN’T. WHAT other people shouldn’t. They walked through the worst of the worst, and Eve knew the team she’d assembled could make that walk without flinching.
And still no one spoke. It seemed to her no one breathed as the video played out on screen.
She saw, from where she stood, Jamie drop his gaze, watched his body shudder. And saw Peabody take his hand. The knuckles of his went white—he must have ground Peabody’s bone to bone—but she didn’t flinch.
And with that connection, the boy lifted his gaze again and watched the rest of his dead friend’s nightmare play out.
He’d make a cop, she thought. God help him, he’d make a cop.
Even when the screen went blank, and the vicious music silenced, no one spoke. Eve stepped to the front of the room.
“He’s going to pay for it.” Her tone was iced rage—she needed it; they needed it. “I’m going to say that first, and I want everyone in this room to believe it. To know it right down to the gut. He’s going to pay for Deena MacMasters.
“She was sixteen. She liked music. She was shy, did well in school and had a small, comfortable circle of friends. She had ideals and hopes, and wanted to help make a difference. She was a virgin, and he stole that from her viciously. He stole her life, her hopes and ideals viciously. Before he did he forced her to tell the father she loved that he was to blame, that she hated him for it. As of now there is no reason for the father to hear that, to see what we’ve just seen. The contents of this disc are not to be discussed beyond the members of this team until otherwise directed.
“Questions?”
Still the room remained silent.
“Feeney, you and your e-team will analyze the disc, and continue to work on piecing the hard drive back together. I want you to dig out any files, e-mails, notes, anything the victim put on her D and C unit in April. Any searches she made, anything she did around the time she met the UNSUB. She may have since deleted, or put any data pertaining to the meet in some cryptic file. We know the killer found nothing, so deleted nothing. Maybe we’ll be luckier.”
She picked up her coffee. “Baxter, you and Trueheart repeat the canvass of the neighborhood. It’s likely the killer scoped the house, the neighborhood, before Saturday, even before the initial meet. Find me somebody who saw a good-looking boy who could pass for nineteen on that block, frequenting a local cyber café, a twenty-four/seven. I have a list of the vic’s favorite haunts. Check them out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m working on MacMasters’s cases, have a few possibles. They don’t ring for me, but we’ll check them anyway. When you’ve finished the canvass, you’ll wade in there.”
She picked up a file with disc attached and handed it to him. “I’ll get you some help on that.”
“Why don’t you let us get started on it, LT. We can tap whoever’s got some room for it.”
“Fine. I’ll leave it to you. Meanwhile, Peabody and I will canvass the area of the park where the vic is reported to have met the killer. After which, we’ll meet with MacMasters here, and try to refine the search re his cases.
“Connections,” she said. “Connections between MacMasters and the killer, the killer and Deena, the killer and a wit, vic, perp, suspect, or person of interest in MacMasters’s files. If the killer isn’t in there, someone who matters or mattered to him is. We find the connection.”
“If it’s the killer,” Baxter put in, “it should be easy enough to narrow it by his age. Even if he’s got a baby face he’s got to be under twenty-six or -seven to pass for nineteen. It might be somebody who did some hard for illegals busts.”
Jamie shook his head. “It just doesn’t fit. If he’d been on any junk, or a real user, she’d have known and steered away. She knew what to look for there. She’d never hang with a chemi-head.”
“I agree with that.” Eve nodded at Jamie. “Added to it, someone who’s done the hard isn’t going to pass for a clean-cut nineteen to a cop’s daughter. Still, we check. We don’t skim over anything or anyone.”
She paused, then pushed the next button. “Jamie, I think you’ve seen him or met him.”
“What? Why? Where?”
“You know Darian Powders.”
“Dar, sure.” His puzzled face went straight to shock. “You don’t think Darian—”
“He’s clear,” Eve said quickly, “but I believe he’s one of the connections. His ID was stolen, most probably during a party in his dorm suite on New Year’s Eve. You were there.”
“I . . . yeah. Dar and Coby rock a party. I know them both, did some class time with them. They had a major bash for the Eve.” His face hardened, and it seemed to Eve the smudges of sleeplessness smeared under his eyes darkened. “He was there? You’re saying the guy who killed Deena was there?”
“Long enough, if I’m right, to steal the ID from Powders.”
“But Deena knew Dar—well, sort of. Enough to recognize him. If this guy used his ID and she saw it . . . Cloned it,” he said in disgust. “If he’s good and has access to the right equipment and programs, he could’ve cloned the ID, tweaked it just enough, input his own photo and data.”
“The basic footprints would need to coordinate.” McNab frowned over it. “To clone and counterfeit, you’d need to keep the tweaks minimal.”
“The same school, the same birthday,” Eve continued. “Probably the same height and build within a reasonable span. He has to know the campus, the routine, maybe he’d gone there, or worked there. The Columbia connection was a good ploy to gain Deena’s trust. You go there, Jamie, she’s planning to, and she knows Darian a little. His name anyway. He’d need ID to flash when he was with her, going to vids or clubs. You need to think, to go back in your head and start thinking about the party. Before the party, after it. See if you can remember someone who hung around on the fringes, blended, but didn’t do a lot of socializing. He doesn’t want to be noticed, doesn’t want to leave an impression.”
“It was a jam. I didn’t know half the people there. I—”
“He wouldn’t have stayed long—but I’m betting long enough to watch you, to see if you brought Deena along. This was business for him. It wasn’t a party, it was a purpose.”
“I’ll try. Okay, I’ll try.”
“He’d have been other places where you’d go. A club, the library, a cyber café, an eatery. Your eyes would pass right over him. He’s just one of the crowd. Think back to any time you were with Deena between January and April. Let it simmer in your head, and let me know if you think of anything. Doesn’t matter how small or vague.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s get to it,” Eve ordered.
As the room cleared, Whitney walked to Eve. “Unless you have objections I’d like to sit in when you talk to MacMasters.”
“No, sir, no objections.”
“I’ll meet you back here then. Meanwhile, give me an assignment.”
“Sir?”
“I’m still a cop. I still know how to do a run.” He snapped it out, then s
eemed to catch himself. He gestured the words away and spoke more calmly. “I can do legwork, knock on doors, run probabilities, chase down a lead. You’re primary, Lieutenant. Give me an assignment.”
“Ah . . .” The juxtaposition threw her off balance. Whitney gave the orders. But it was clear enough he needed to do more than that. He needed to participate. “I have a short list of possibles, gleaned from MacMasters’s threat file. To be honest, sir, I don’t think we’ll hit there.”
“But it needs to be followed up on. I’ll take it.”
“Most if not all can be done riding the desk. If any of them pop, then—”
“I do remember how it’s done. I’ll find somewhere nearby to work it.”
She hesitated, only an instant. “You’re welcome to use my office, and my desk here, Commander.”
The faintest glint of amusement lighted in his eyes. “I also know the sanctity of an office and desk. Maybe there’s another place in this house of yours I can set up.”
“Absolutely. I’ll see that Summerset takes care of that for you.” She took disc files from her desk. “This should be all you need. Peabody and I will be back before nine.”
“Good hunting,” he said, then turned back to study her murder board.
“We’ll split up,” Eve told Peabody. “Take it in zones, show the vic’s picture to every jogger, dog walker, nanny, flasher, kid, octogenarian, and sidewalk sleeper.”
“Somebody’s going to remember her because she was a regular. He’s another matter,” Peabody commented.
“Somebody saw him, and saw them together at the initial meet. He waited two months from then to the murder. People’s memories fade. We’ll push them back into focus.”
She stopped at the base of the stairs where Summerset, bony in black, skull face impassive, waited with the pudgy cat at his feet.
“Commander Whitney needs an office. He’ll be working out of here this morning.”
“I’ll see to it.”
That’s it? she thought. No smart remark, no sneer? She started to snark at his lack of snark, then realized he’d know what they were working on. The rape, torture, and murder of a young girl, as his young girl had been raped, tortured, and murdered.