Kindred in Death

  “But it’s going to help slam-dunk your case down the road if you take him inside, and after he tries to drug me. I’ve got a judge for a daughter, and plenty of lawyers in the family. Cops, too. I know what’s what.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what I want, honey? I want you to take that little fucker down, and take him hard, and I want a piece of it.”

  Eve’s lips twitched at the sound of the expletive in the pretty suburban kitchen.

  “That’s what we’ll do.”

  “Good. How about another muffin?”

  “No, really.” Eve pushed back from the table just as MacMasters came in.

  “Sorry to interrupt. Mrs. Mimoto, your husband wondered if you could give him a hand with something when you had a minute.”

  “Can’t find his lucky socks.” She shook her head as she got to her feet. “Seventy years, and he can never put his hand on them. You help yourself to that coffee.” As she walked by MacMasters, she patted a hand on his arm. “We’ll get him today, and your girl can rest easy.”

  MacMasters’s face tightened as he stared at the floor.

  “That’s part of it,” Eve said as she crossed to him. “It’s what we do. The best we can do. I need to ask you something, Jonah, and I need to hear the truth. Is getting him going to be enough?”

  MacMasters brought his gaze back to Eve’s. “You need to know if you can trust me.”

  “I need to know if I can trust you. I’m not in your position, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the conflict.”

  “I’ve thought about killing him, how easy it would be. You know I’ve thought of it.”

  “If you said you hadn’t I wouldn’t believe you.” She couldn’t read his face, his eyes. He was too good a cop to show what was in his mind. “I like to think you’d have weighed the satisfaction of it against the consequences. Leaving your wife alone when she needs you most. There are plenty of other consequences, but they’re not going to weigh real heavy for you right now.”

  “I want to kill him. I want him to suffer. I wish I could say the badge, what it stands for, what it is to me would stop me from killing him. I wish I could say knowing you’d take me down for it, and I’d leave Carol alone would stop me.”

  “What will?”

  “I want him to suffer. I think I’ll wake up every morning of my life, and my first thought will be my girl’s gone.” He took a breath, slow in, slow out. “I want to wake up every morning for the rest of my life with the second thought of knowing he’s still paying for it. Every day, every hour for the rest of my life I’ll know that. So will my wife. I need to be here when that suffering begins. You can trust me. And if that’s not enough—”

  He reached for the weapon on his hip, offered it.

  “You gave me the answer,” she told him.

  Nodding, he holstered his weapon.

  Eve went upstairs as the Mimoto men loaded up a pair of ATs for their camping trip. She, along with Feeney, watched the outside activity from the EDD setup in Deke Mimoto’s den. Photographs and sports paraphernalia crowded the room. An enormous recliner faced an entertainment screen flanked by shelves jammed with more photographs and countless trophies.

  “The old man played baseball back in high school, through college and into Double A. Got picked up by the Yankees, played a season—hit three-fifty-two.”

  Intrigued, Eve gave the memorabilia a closer study. “What position?”

  “Catcher. Then he bunged up his knee, and that was that. Went into teaching, and coached high school ball. Moved up to principal, then to county administrator, some politicking. Worked construction most summers. Hell of a guy,” Feeney added with obvious admiration. “He was up here quizzing me on the equipment. Hope I’m half as sharp at his age.”

  She turned from the shelves. “Am I doing the right thing, Feeney? Letting MacMasters in on this?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Does it feel like the right thing?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

  “Then you’ve got to go with it.”

  Moving back to the screen, Eve watched the Mimotos. Charity stood, hands on her hips, giving orders while her men loaded. Just another morning, from the looks of it, Eve thought. Another summer morning in the suburbs. Family calling out to one another, laughing, ribbing each other.

  She watched Mr. Mimoto give his wife an enthusiastic hug, saw his lips move as he whispered in her ear.

  “Is he worried?”

  Feeney shook his head. “You’d think he would be. I asked, thinking I’d give him the pep talk. But he said his Charry can handle herself. He was proud of it. I have to say, I’m half inclined to think she’d take this bastard down without us.”

  “Maybe so.” Eve laid a hand on Feeney’s shoulder. “But let’s do it for her. There they go,” she mumbled, as the last of the men piled in an AT.

  Charity stood, blithely waving good-bye. Then turned, strolled back toward the house, pausing to stoop and pull a few weeds out of a flower bed on the way.

  In moments, Eve heard the sound of piano music drifting up the stairs.

  “Nice,” Feeney commented after a few bars. “Nice to hear a classic, and hear it played with some style.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Eve stepped to the privacy-screened window to scan the street from another viewpoint. “What is it, Beethoven or something?”

  “Kid.” Feeney let out a windy sigh. “I don’t know where I went wrong with you. You got no culture. That’s Springsteen. That’s The Boss.”

  “Boss of who?”

  Feeney shook his head in disgust. “Hopeless. Get out of here and send Jamie in. We’re on the clock now. And besides, he can be educated about classic music.”

  “Fine. Check the eyes and ears one more time,” she told him as she walked out. “Let’s make sure they’re a go everywhere we need them.”

  She did another walk-through of the house, checking on the position of her men, running checks on all coms. No mistakes, she thought, not this time.

  She joined Peabody in what Charity called her sitting room just off the living area.

  “The music’s nice,” Peabody commented.

  “Yeah, so I’m told. He’ll tag her first, on her pocket ’link, so she’ll be ready for him, quick to open the door. And it’s a way of making sure she’s alone, that the house is empty. It’s the same pattern as Deena. Good neighborhood, most of the residents at work. She’s set out something to drink, to eat. That’s her habit, her way. He knows it.”

  “It’s nearly time,” Peabody added. “And she just keeps playing the piano.”

  “She’d make a good cop.” Eve glanced at the miniscreen that gave her a full view of the living area.

  She had men posted inside and out, some of them—like herself and Peabody—literally steps away from Charity Mimoto.

  No, Eve wouldn’t let him hurt her.

  But she needed him inside. He wouldn’t hear the cage door slam down, she thought. Wouldn’t know he’d walked into the trap.

  “We got him,” Jenkinson said in her ear. “Heading east on foot, two blocks. Navy shirt, brown pants, ball cap, black shades. He’s wearing a black backpack and carrying some flowers.”

  Eve thought of the flowers he’d brought to Deena. “Roger that. Hold your position. All positions hold. Teams A and B, wait until he’s in the box, inside the box, then move to secondary position. Sound it off.”

  She waited until she’d received an acknowledgment from each team leader. “Mrs. Mimoto?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “He’s on his way. Just a couple blocks away. Are you okay?”

  “I’m just fine. How are you?”

  Eve shook her head at the woman’s unshakable aplomb. “We’re good. He’s bringing you flowers. I want you to do everything we rehearsed, but then you’re going to want to put those flowers in water. You excuse yourself, and go to the kitchen.”

  “That’s when he’ll drug my lemonade, won’t he?”

  “That’s likely. You st
ay in the kitchen. We’ve got you, Mrs. Mimoto.”

  “I’m sure you do, but let’s get him.” Her pocket ’link beeped. “I bet we know who that is. Don’t worry. Hello?”

  On screen, Eve watched Charity smile at the ’link. She angled it, just as she’d been instructed, so Eve could see his face on the ’link display from her screen.

  There you are, you bastard, she thought. Keep coming. Just keep on coming.

  “Hello, Denny. I was just thinking about you!”

  “Hi, Mrs. M. I’m running a couple minutes late, just wanted you to know, and to make sure we’re still on, that your husband and all got off okay.”

  “Of course we’re still on. I’ve got us a nice pitcher of lemonade and some muffins. My men are on their way to the wilds!” She laughed, easily. “It’ll be nice to have a little company before I settle into my solitude.”

  “Aw, you didn’t have to go to all that trouble, Mrs. M. But if those are your muffins, I’m walking faster! I’ll be there in one minute.”

  Yeah, come on, Eve thought as various teams relayed his progress through her earpiece. Come right on in, you son of a bitch.

  “Well, I’ll pour that lemonade,” Charity said cheerfully. “See you in a minute.”

  Charity shut down the ’link, set it on top of the piano. “How’d I do?”

  “Perfect,” Eve said.

  “I believe I might’ve missed my calling,” she said as she rose to pour the drinks. “I could’ve been a screen star.”

  Eve watched her eyes go fierce, saw her take a long, deep breath before her face turned harmlessly pleasant again.

  “Here we go,” Charity murmured and started toward the door.

  “Turning up the walk,” Feeney told her.

  “Hold positions. We do this by the numbers. No chatter. Wait for my go.”

  She watched Charity open the front door, and the quick, charming grin on Darrin Pauley’s face.

  “You look real nice today, Mrs. M.”

  “Oh, listen to you. Come on in here! Oh, look at those daisies. Aren’t they pretty?”

  “I just wanted to thank you for letting me take my lesson today.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing.” Charity sniffed at the flowers. “Take a minute to sit down, have some lemonade. I bet the walk made you thirsty.”

  “I guess it did.”

  “A young man like you’s always hungry. You have a muffin.”

  “Thanks.” He shrugged off his backpack, set it beside a chair before removing his cap, his shades.

  Charity stood where she was, smiling at him. “How’s your mama doing?”

  “Oh, she’s fine. I wish she didn’t work so hard. Wish I could do more for her.”

  “I bet you’re doing more than she’d ever think to ask,” Charity said, and Eve hoped she was the only one who heard the underlying ice in the tone. “And won’t she be surprised when you play for her? I don’t know another boy your age who’d go to so much trouble to please his mama.”

  “I owe her everything. I bet your family feels the same about you. Especially your kids. Are you sure you’re going to be all right here on your own? Alone until Sunday, didn’t you say?”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine, and happy to have the place to myself until Deke and the boys get back Sunday. Now you have a muffin while I go put these pretty daisies in water. I won’t be a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  Charity strolled out of the room, didn’t break stride even when she sent one fiercely satisfied glance in Eve’s direction.

  As her footsteps echoed away, Darrin took a small vial out of his pocket, tipped the contents into her glass.

  “Go. All positions, go.”

  Weapon drawn, Eve rushed the room only seconds before a half-dozen cops did the same.

  “Hello, Darrin,” Eve said. She smiled as he stared at her. “Hands behind your head. Now. On your knees.”

  “What’s this about?” He obeyed, but turned his head side-to-side, with the perfect mix of fear and confusion on his face. “My-my name’s Denny, Denny Plimpton. I have identification.”

  “I bet you do. Darrin Pauley, aka Denny Plimpton, among others, you’re under arrest for murder, two counts.” Eve gripped his wrist, yanked his arm behind his back.

  She looked up and into MacMasters’s eyes. “Captain, would you read this son of a bitch his rights?”

  “I . . .” MacMasters cleared the rust from his voice. He looked down at the weapon in his hand, then slowly holstered it. “You have the right to remain silent,” he began as she secured Darrin’s wrists in restraints.

  “Thought you were playing her, didn’t you, Darrin?” Eve hauled him to his feet. “Playing an old woman. But she played you. She played you like a piano. This time? You’re the mark.”

  The frightened boy fell away, and he smiled. And when he smiled, turning his face toward MacMasters, the shadow of the monster slouched behind his eyes. “Maybe you’ll get intent to rob, but that’s all you’ll get.”

  Eve jerked him around so he faced her. “Keep telling yourself that, Darrin.”

  “Look what I found.” Baxter held up a pair of the cutaway restraints bailiffs carried in courtrooms. “There’s a recorder here, too, a can of Seal-It, and hmmm.” He held up another vial and a small package of pills. “I bet these contain illegal substances.”

  “Bag it, log it, bring it. And the contents of Mrs. Mimoto’s glass. Transport this thing into Central, book him. I’ll be in real soon, we’ll chat.

  “Get him out.” She shoved Darrin toward Jenkinson, then walked up to MacMasters. “You did the job. You maintained. We’ve got him now. You should go home, tell your wife we’ve got him now. Be with her.”

  “I’d like to observe your interview.” His face was like stone, pale and sharply carved.

  “We’ll let him sweat a while. You’ve got time to go home, tell your wife. She needs to hear this from you.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” He held out his hand. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “Captain.”

  He started for the door, stopped, turned. “I thought about it, even after what we talked about. I could have taken him out. Clean line, one stream. I could have done it. Now I have to think about that.”

  “Bastard did his job there,” Eve murmured. “Cracked the foundation of a damn good cop.”

  “I think, with some time, the foundation’s going to prove solid. He did the job, like you said,” Peabody pointed out. “It was good, you having him read the bastard his rights.”

  “Yeah. Contact the judge, assure her that her mother’s safe, and it’s done. We can contact her father, but I assume she’ll want to do that herself.”

  She turned away. “All right, boys and girls, good work. Let’s close it down.”

  At Central, Eve formally notified her commander, the PA’s office, contacted Mira with a request she observe. She wrote her report.

  She sat, her boots on her desk, and drank a cup of coffee.

  Peabody tapped on the doorjamb. “He’s been booked and processed, and he’s been sitting in Interview for an hour.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Reo and the commander are here, MacMasters just came in, and Mira’s on her way.”

  “I’m up on that.”

  “Don’t you think we ought to start working him?”

  “Feeling twitchy?”

  “No. Yes. Well, Nadine’s chomping to break the story.”

  “Not yet. Nothing yet.”

  “Well . . . we’re supposed to be back, you know, with the rehearsal. I know they’re using stand-ins, but if we wrapped this, we could still . . .”

  Eve merely turned her head, stared.

  “And ah . . . We should talk about how we’re going at him,” Peabody decided on the spot. “And if we leave him sitting too long, he might start thinking lawyer.”

  “He’s not going to lawyer. What name is he going to use? What address? His ID’s bogus. Besides, what good did a lawyer do his mother?
That’s what he’s thinking. Fuck lawyers, fuck all of us. He’s too smart to go down. Or, if we get lucky, he’ll go down a hero in his own mind.”

  “Well, how do we work him? Oh, let me guess.” Peabody rolled her eyes. “I’m good cop.”

  “No good cop.”

  A quick, almost childish delight bloomed on Peabody’s face. “I don’t have to be good? I can be bad?”

  “We hit, hit hard. Getting the confession isn’t the tricky part.”

  “It’s not?”

  “He’ll want to confess after he understands we’ve got him cold. He’ll want the hero badge. The tricky part? Getting him to flip on his father.” She dropped her feet to the floor. “Let’s do it.”

  Eve walked into Interview, dropped her file on the table, took a seat. Peabody took the chair beside her.

  “Record on,” she said and read in all the data, including every known alias she’d discovered.

  She noted the quick jump of a muscle in Darrin’s jaw, and knew the depth of her knowledge caught him off guard.

  “Legally, I’m covered using the name on your birth records,” she said conversationally, “but I like to be thorough, seeing as you’ve used so many names, including the two used when you murdered Deena MacMasters and Karlene Robins. So, which name do you want me to use in this interview? Your choice.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “For the record, would fuck be your first name or your last? Never mind. The courts frown on my using that sort of profanity to address interview subjects. Though, personally, I think it fits.”

  “To the ground,” Peabody agreed.

  “I’ll stick with Darrin. We’ve got you cold, Darrin. You’re a smart guy, so you know this. Well, maybe not so smart as you were set up and knocked down by a ninety-year-old woman. One you intended to incapacitate with an illegal substance, bind, beat, rape, sodomize, and murder.”

  “Give me a break.” His sneer struck her as both young and arrogant. “She’s old. I couldn’t even get wood up to do some dried-up old woman. Makes me want to puke to think about it.”