“Reineke, Jenkinson, you’ll follow up with the other properties, knock on doors, show the photo. Peabody,” she repeated.
“EDD has all the electronics from her home and her work space, as well as those from the crime scene. With a grief counselor I notified the victim’s parents.” She let out a breath. “Um. When questioned, Jaynie Robins did not immediately recall Irene Schultz or the case. She agreed to come into Central today to speak with the lieutenant, and stated she would look through her archive of case notes and files to try to refresh herself on the matter. The fact is, she was pretty shaken up, and I’m not sure she was taking in any of the details on this old case. I left them with the grief counselor, and they’ll be escorted in shortly.”
“Okay. Good work. Feeney, progress?”
“I’m going to pass this to the civilian.”
When Eve looked toward Roarke, Feeney shook his head. “Wrong civilian. Brief the lieutenant, Jamie.”
“McNab and I have been putting in some long hours on this, and back with Feeney and Roarke and a couple of the others upstairs. But we just couldn’t figure any way to speed the cleaning process. Not with the extent of the corruption. Then Roarke said something about trying to split another matrix clone on a second JPL and merge texels with the corrupted pixels and stir up the ppi to defuck the bitmapping.”
“Did you say defuck?” Eve asked. “Is that a technical term?”
“Ah, it just sort of expresses the procedure. See, for this particular application, the regions are made up of supixels, and when infected the standard triad—”
“Stop the madness.” She resisted, barely, just slapping her hands over her ears. “I’m begging you.”
“Well, it’s frosty max if you get how it works and why. When Roarke talked about the clone and merge, I started thinking maybe we could go rad and do a merge and ramp, input an HIP to counteract, then extrapolate, do the clone, and restart the defuck from that point.”
“Makes me proud,” Feeney said as Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes.
“Will somebody just give me the progress. In English?”
“Picture’s worth a thousand. Put it up, Jamie,” Feeney ordered.
“Roger that.” Using a remote, Jamie displayed an image on screen.
Eve shifted, stepped back. There, on screen, Darrin Pauley was captured in midstep as he climbed the stairs to the victim’s front door. He wore a cap, which she identified as from Columbia, shades, and a shy smile. Deena, young, pretty, beaming, stood in the open doorway, her hand held out for his.
“Excellent,” Eve murmured.
“Bloody brilliant,” Roarke stated.
“I wouldn’t’ve thought of it if you hadn’t started the ball.” Jamie nodded toward Roarke. “And you were the one who actually did the conversion and—”
Roarke shot a finger at Jamie. “Bloody brilliant.”
“Well.” Though he shrugged, pleasure shone on Jamie’s face. “Yeah.”
“The PA will have to be a complete screwup not to cage this bastard for First Degree. But we have to catch him first. Can you do the same with the SoHo security?”
“Now that we’ve identified the virus, have the process?” Feeney bared his teeth in a smile. “We’ll have all of the MacMasters and the SoHo vids for you before end of shift.”
“Nice work, all of you. Damn nice work. He’s wearing a backpack, handy for holding his supplies. The same shoes the wit ID’d from the park.”
“That brings me to retail,” Peabody put in. “I’ve got a strong lead on the shoes, and the rest. An outlet right on campus, which unfortunately screwed my downtown hunch. The shoes, the sweatshirt, sweatpants, cap, shades, backpack, airboard, several T-shirts, and a windbreaker were purchased there by a Donald Petrie, on March thirty-first.”
“Address?”
“The address that came up is in Ohio, and actually is the home of one Donal Petri, age sixty-eight, who was pretty steamed when he got the charges for a bunch of stuff from a college outlet in New York. He reported the fraud in mid-April upon getting the bill. I’ve got the name of the clerk whose ID number was on the sale. I haven’t yet been able to contact. She’s a student at the university.”
“We’ll run it down. Tomorrow’s memorial,” Eve continued and outlined the plan.
Toward the end of the briefing, Eve received word the Robinses were being escorted into Central. Because she wanted privacy, she directed them to be taken to Interview A. She gathered the case file on Irene Schultz and the mug shot.
She found them sitting together at the table, hands linked. She supposed the best term for the way they looked would be shell-shocked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Robins, I’m Lieutenant Dallas. You remember Detective Peabody. We want to thank you for coming in like this, and to offer our sincere sympathy for your loss.”
“I talked to her yesterday morning.” Jaynie’s voice quavered. “When she was on her way to . . . that appointment. I wanted to tell her my sister and her family were getting in this morning. My niece, her cousin, is one of the bridesmaids. We were going to have a get-together tonight. She was so excited. About the wedding, and she was so confident she’d make this sale. She was so happy.”
“She talked to you about this man?”
“Not really. She just said it was the perfect client for the perfect property, and the sale would be the perfect wedding gift. I have her dress, her wedding dress.” Disbelief swirled with the grief in Jaynie’s eyes. “I’m keeping it because she doesn’t want Tony to see it. It’s in the closet in her bedroom at home.”
Peabody put a cup of water on the table, laid a hand on Jaynie’s shoulder before taking her seat across the table.
“He didn’t care about her, Mrs. Robins. But I do.” Eve waited until the woman looked at her again, focused on her. “I care about Karlene, and with your help I’m going to find the person responsible and see that he pays for what he did to her.”
“She didn’t do anything to him.” Owen Robins stared out of shattered eyes. “She never hurt anyone.”
“He doesn’t care,” Eve repeated. “Not about Karlene, not about sixteen-year-old Deena MacMasters. He cares about what he sees as payback. He cares about hurting everyone he believes took something from him. Irene Schultz. That’s all he cares about.”
Eve took the photo from the file, laid it on the table. “I need you to try to remember her.”
“I looked back at my archives. It was so long ago. I believed in the work, believed in putting the welfare and best interest of the child above all. Still, it was never easy to remove a child from the home, even when it was best. I lasted almost ten years. A long time. Then we moved to Brooklyn, and I counsel families. I try to help. I always did.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t really remember her, this woman. Not clearly, I’m sorry. There were so many. Too many. My notes, I brought them. You can have them. I made note that the living conditions seemed very good, and the child well-cared for. Temporary removal was based on the mother’s arrest, and the suspicion that the father was complicit. There were no friends or relatives, so the boy was placed with a foster family. And he was returned to the father within forty-eight hours. I don’t understand how he could take my child’s life because I put him in a safe place for two days. He wasn’t harmed.”
“Do you remember anything about the father?”
“I have in my notes he was upset, but polite. That he appeared to relate well to the child, showed concern for him. He packed toys and clothes for the child himself, and soothed the boy when he said good-bye. I would have testified to that in court, had it become necessary.”
Her lips trembled until she had to press them hard together to still them. “It’s important to make note of the relationship, the environment. I have in my notes that in the initial observation he appeared to be a good parent. As he was cleared of any knowledge of his wife’s illegal activities, the child was returned to him. There were no follow-ups, and the case was
closed.”
“All right. Thank you.”
“It’s no help. None of it helps Karlene.”
“I think your notes and impressions will be a great help. I’m going to have you taken back home. I have to ask you not to speak to the media. They’ll come, they’ll push. For the sake of other children he may have targeted, I’m going to ask you to say nothing to anyone about this conversation. For the best interest of the child, Mrs. Robins.”
“You’ll keep us informed about . . . you’ll tell us?”
“You have my word.” Rising, she went to the door, signaled the uniforms waiting. “These officers will take you back home.”
“We need to go to Tony.”
“They’ll take you there. They’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Peabody watched them go. “It was good of you to tell them they helped. They really didn’t.”
“We can’t know what might help.”
“It breaks my heart, Dallas. Instead of going to their daughter’s wedding, they’ll go to her funeral.”
“Then let’s make damn sure it’s the last funeral he’s responsible for.”
18
WHEN EVE FOUND ROARKE IN HER OFFICE again, she frowned. “Why are you still here?”
“They don’t need me in EDD at this point. I can deal with some of my own work as easily from here as anywhere, with the benefit of being with my wife.”
“I’m going back in the field. I have to go by the morgue, then track down the student who sold the suspect his gear.”
“I’ve nothing more interesting to do.”
She considered it. She could leave Peabody to write and file the reports, nag the lab, run the probabilities on which target might be next.
“Fine. You’re with me.”
“My favorite place.”
With the work dumped on Peabody, Eve took the morgue first.
“You don’t need to go in. I don’t expect any surprises here, no revelations. It’s just procedure.”
“In any case.” He continued down the white tunnel with her. “I remember when we brought Nixie here,” he said, speaking of the little girl whose family had been slaughtered in a home invasion. “Brutal. But then, I suppose, it always is. She’s doing well with Elizabeth and Richard, and young Kevin. They’re making a family. I think she’s able to do that because you gave her resolution.”
“She’s tough. She’ll make it okay.” She paused outside the doors to Morris’s suite. “The one who’s responsible for what’s in there? He didn’t have to crawl through his mother’s blood like Nixie did, he didn’t have his entire family slaughtered in their own beds. He doesn’t have half Nixie’s spine. He’s weak, and I’m going to give him one hell of a resolution.”
There, Roarke thought, there she was. She could feel the blame, and the pain—perhaps she needed to—but she could and would always come back to purpose.
Morris wore mourning black today, with a shirt of deep red. Music wove quietly through the air as he closed the Y-cut on Karlene with sure strokes.
“You’re done with her?”
“I started on her immediately. Hello, Roarke.”
“Morris. How are you?”
“Better than I was. I hoped I wouldn’t see either of you until the wedding, and under much happier circumstances. I pushed the tox screen,” he told Eve. “And found the same combination, though I might have missed it if I hadn’t been specifically looking. She’d been dosed approximately six and a half hours prior to death, and in a lesser amount than our first.”
“He realized he didn’t need her to be out as long,” Eve concluded. “And he didn’t have as much time to work on her. Or didn’t want to take as much time.”
“Other than that, and the use of elasticized cord rather than police restraints, his method remains the same. Bound, ankles and wrists. Ankle restraints removed and reapplied. Multiple rapes, vaginal and anal, an almost casual beating considering the violence of the rapes. Sporadic smothering and choking. COD manual strangulation. She fought. As evidenced by the abrasions, lacerations, contusions on her wrists and ankles.”
“He varies in small ways to suit the circumstances, but sticks with the overall method.”
“There’s one other variation,” Morris said. “She was pregnant.”
“Shit.” It punched straight through her. “Goddamn it.”
“Under a week along. She may not have known.”
Eve shoved at her hair. She didn’t bother to curse again. “Her people are going to come in. Her parents, her cohab. They were getting married Saturday.”
Morris released a long sigh. “Fate’s a cruel bastard.”
“Fuck fate, people are cruel bastards. There’s no need to tell her people about the pregnancy, unless they ask. Not yet anyway.”
“No, there’s not.” He stepped back. “First the virgin, now the bride.”
“What?” Eve’s head came up, her eyes sharpened. “Wait. What comes after?”
“After?”
“Virgin, bride—what’s next? If it’s a kind of progression. Logical, organized. What’s after bride?”
“Newlywed,” Morris suggested.
“Wife. For some . . .” Roarke looked down at Karlene with pity. “Pregnancy, motherhood. A cynic might say divorce often fits in there at some point.”
“It might be a way of selecting the order, even the specific vic. You drive. I want to work it. Thanks, Morris.”
She had her PPC out even as she strode back down the tunnel.
“It would be monumentally fortunate from his point of view,” Roarke said, “for him to be able to find the proper victims for the sort of progression you’re proposing.”
“I don’t think so. They don’t have to be female—though I imagine he prefers. Newlywed—either sex. Then you could say husband instead of wife, expectant father, and so on. He’s got kids, grandkids, siblings, parents—maybe extended family—to choose from.”
She slid into the car. “I told Peabody to work probability on stage of contact. MacMasters, then the CS supervisor, the CS rep, the PD. Maybe he’s picking them in order of appearance. Or maybe this way. But there has to be some sort of selection process. A timetable, for trolling them, researching them, arranging the meet, developing the relationship. And there’s overlap. He contacted Karlene while he was working Deena. Started the second round before finishing the first.”
“So, by that criteria, he’s started round three.”
“Yeah, and maybe beyond that. I figured the PD most likely, and we’re on her, but she doesn’t have anyone who fits this other progression.” Eve shook her head as she scanned the data. “She’s been divorced six years, no kids. She has a sister, married over twenty-five years—that’s no newlywed. A niece and a nephew, neither married.”
“You don’t have to be married to be pregnant, or to have a relationship that results in a pregnancy.”
“Good point. Could be one of them for that stage if so, could be the sister for the wife—the long-term kind. We’ll keep them covered, but I don’t think they’re next.”
“Speaking of next, where am I going?”
“Hmm? Columbia. I need to find the clerk. She lists a dorm as her address, and the retail place as her employment. She hasn’t answered her ’link and hasn’t returned any of Peabody’s requests for contact. I just want to tie that one up.”
“Then why not go to the orchard?”
“Trees?”
“And pick a Peach.” He used the in-dash ’link to do it himself.
Dressed in a power-red suit and shoes that emphasized her height— and made Eve’s ankles throb when she noted them—Peach Lapkoff waited outside the administration building. Those razor-sharp eyes took on a sultry hue as she held out both hands to Roarke.
“It’s wonderful to see you.”
Eve stood by, brows raised as they bussed cheeks. “And you,” Roarke said. “You look brilliant.”
“I’m off to reach into the deep pockets of
some alumni shortly. It’s best to look the part. Lieutenant.” She offered Eve her hand. “I’ve found Fiona. She’s been in a two-day retreat. No communication devices allowed. I’ve had her pulled out, as it seemed important enough to interrupt. She’ll be brought here. I wasn’t sure if you’d require my office, or some other area.”
“It’s not necessary. It shouldn’t take long.”
“I heard the reports that there’d been another murder. Another young woman raped and murdered.”
“We can’t confirm the cases are connected.”
“The media doesn’t have a problem throwing out speculations about a serial killer, targeting young women. We have a lot of young women on campus. There’s serious concern.”
“I’d advise your students and staff to take sensible precautions. But the media’s claims or speculations have no confirmation from the NYPSD.”
Peach continued to stare at Eve as if trying to X-ray her brain. “I was worried when you requested Fiona Wallace be located. That you might have reason to believe she’s in some danger.”
“Absolutely not. It pertains to a sale she made last March in Sports Center that may connect to the investigation.”
“I’m relieved.” Peach’s gaze shifted over Eve’s head. “Here she comes.”
“Do you recognize all your students on sight, Dr. Lapkoff?”
“Peach,” she said. “No, I don’t, but I looked her up when you requested I locate her. Miss Wallace.”
“Dr. Lapkoff.” The girl was no more than twenty with skin pale as the moon and what looked to be several pounds of red hair piled on top of her head. She was slightly out of breath from, Eve concluded, the trip across campus and fear at being summoned by the president.
“You’re not in any trouble.” The power female took on a faint maternal tone. “And you won’t be penalized for the time out of the retreat. This is Lieutenant Dallas, with the NYPSD. She hopes you can help her.”
“Help?”
“Yes. Would you like me to step away, Lieutenant?”
“It’s not necessary. You work at Sports Center.”