Kindred in Death Read online

  “Cap, shades—harder to get a solid on his face. He’s smart there, but not smart to go with up-end shoes. Probably tried to impress her there. The sweatshirt’s his opening, his connection. He can’t expect somebody to spot them over on the East Side, like my wit did. And the meet’s more than two months before the murder. He’s going to figure we’d never put one with the other.

  “Sure maybe she’ll mention meeting this guy in the park, and helping him out. But after he goes to work on her, it’s all secret. He doesn’t know girls her age, how she’d have to talk about it with her friend. Now we’ve got a shadow instead of a ghost.”

  “About six feet, slim build, brown hair, white, young. Not much of a shadow yet, but more than we had an hour ago.”

  “Once Yancy’s worked them, we’ll have more.”

  She turned in the gates of home. “While I’m talking to MacMasters, start on the shoes. Tap someone in the division to help on that. Whoever’s not buried on an active. I’m betting they were pretty new, bought just for that meet. And we’ll start canvassing the area where Marta spotted them. See if you can find out what day the East Side Children’s Museum had a magic show, and we had a rainstorm. We can pinpoint the day the wit spotted them. Put someone on that, focus on music venues, vids, gaming parlors, places where teenagers might hang.”

  “On it.”

  “Tell Summerset to set you up somewhere.” She parked, pushed out of the car. “It’s not going to be his neighborhood either. He wouldn’t want someone to see him, stop, speak. Not when he was with her. Just the two of them.”

  She walked in, simply jerked her thumb at Peabody when Summerset appeared.

  “Captain MacMasters is waiting in your office. Commander Whitney is with him.”

  She said nothing, but started up.

  “Your gown is ready, and will be delivered today.”

  “My what?”

  “Your gown for Dr. Dimatto’s wedding. Leonardo would like to see it on you, in the event it requires any further fitting.”

  Eve opened her mouth, closed it, and made some growling sound. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine. Just put it wherever you put those things when it gets here.”

  Gowns, fittings, weddings. For God’s sake. Was she supposed to call Louise, report on the gown?

  For God’s sake, she thought again.

  It would have to wait. Right now she was about to talk to a grieving father about the investigation into his child’s murder.

  Everything else had to wait.

  9

  WHEN SHE STEPPED TO THE DOORWAY EVE SAW MacMasters standing by the windows. Did he see the green, the color, the bloom, the blue? She doubted it.

  He looked diminished, she decided. Worn and lessened by the burden of grief. Could he be a cop now? Think like one, stand like one?

  She wasn’t sure.

  She glanced at the commander, standing beside him. The stance was support, friendship, shared loss.

  She would need them both to step back from that loss, to erect a distance of objectivity to give her what she needed.

  Or to step away completely.

  She walked in. “Commander. Captain.”

  They both turned. On MacMasters’s face she saw that quick spark that was hope. Survivors, she knew, needed answers.

  “Is there any progress, Lieutenant?”

  “We’re pursuing some lines,” she told MacMasters. She moved toward her desk, around the murder board she’d deliberately left up. He had to face it, and she’d remembered what Roarke had said when she’d allowed Morris to see the board on Coltraine’s investigation.

  That he would see she was the center of it. She was the focus.

  “I brought the captain up-to-date, from this morning’s briefing,” Whitney said, his gaze latched onto her face. “It saves you time.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll go over some of that, but you should know we found two wits this morning who believe they saw Deena with the suspect. Both are willing to work with a police artist. I’ve arranged for Detective Yancy to meet with them.”

  “Two?” MacMasters’s voice jumped. “Two people saw him?”

  “Two independent witnesses believe they saw Deena with a young male. They both gave basic descriptions that match on coloring. Have a seat, Captain.”

  “I—”

  “Please.” He wasn’t a cop now, she decided. He was a father. She could only try to find the way to speak to both. “I’ll tell you what I know, and what we’re doing.”

  She ran through the interviews with the two women from the park. “The timing on Merrill’s sighting corresponds to what we believe was the first meet. The timing on Delroy’s indicates they continued to meet, and outside what we’ve established—through your statements, your wife’s, Deena’s friends—was her usual area. Do you know if she often traveled to the East Side?”

  “Not in general. She had her favorite shops and hangouts closer to home. And the locations I gave you near Columbia.”

  “We can speculate that they met outside those areas to keep their relationship secret. We’re working to pinpoint the day Delroy saw them, and I’m sending officers to the location she sighted them. They’ll show Deena’s photo to merchants, shop clerks, waiters.”

  She saw the struggle on MacMasters’s face, a battle between hope and despair.

  “We may find other witnesses to help us identify the suspect. If someone recognizes her,” Eve continued, “they may remember him. Merrill, who jogs regularly in that sector of the park, stated she hadn’t seen Deena for some time. You and your wife indicated Deena ran in the park regularly.”

  “Yes. She . . . several mornings a week. She . . .”

  “She may have moved to another sector, in order to meet with the suspect.”

  “Why didn’t I notice a change?” MacMasters murmured. “Carol did. But I never . . . If she’d told us. If she’d just . . .”

  “Captain, my belief is this man was very persuasive, and very deliberate.” Was that comfort? Eve wondered. “He’d studied her, he had a plan, and he played on her youth, her trust. He used the Columbia connection to lower her guard. I feel that’s a key. Her friend goes there. She planned to attend. She knew, casually, several other students who are friends of Jamie’s.”

  “Yes. Using Jamie, even a nebulous connection to him, would have engaged her trust. And being in need,” MacMasters continued. “Pretending to be hurt or in trouble. She’d instinctively offer help.”

  “We can see what he did, how he did it, and I’ll be meeting with Dr. Mira later today to discuss profile and pathology. But we don’t yet know why. We believe she was target specific for a reason. And that you, the work you do, is that reason.”

  “If you have evidence Deena’s murder is connected to one of my cases—”

  “I have reason to believe Deena’s murder is connected. I don’t, at this time, have any specific case or circumstance.”

  “What reason?” Pain vibrated in his voice, radiated from his eyes. “If this was payback, if this was due to my work, how do you expect me to live with that? How do you expect me to settle for speculation instead of answers?”

  Here was the line she had to walk, so she kept her voice flat and brisk. “I expect you to trust the primary investigator you specifically requested, and the team she’s handpicked, to do everything and anything necessary to find those answers. Inside twenty-four hours, we have two potential witnesses who may help identify this man. We have a solid connection to Columbia University, and potentially more witnesses there who may have seen this man. We have a time line of events, and the lack of trace and DNA on scene tell us this was well-planned, not a crime of the moment, of passion or opportunity. Every officer assigned to this case is working vigilantly.”

  “I don’t question that.”

  Shaky ground, Eve thought. How could the man stand on anything else at this point? “I need to know if you’re capable of working through your cases, your memory, your impressions, your gut to help this inves
tigation find a connection. I’ve been through your case files for the last three years,” she continued. “I have a short list, but I don’t get a buzz from any of them. You may.”

  “Give me the names.”

  “I will. He’s not going to be in your threat file.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “We’ll check out every name in there, believe me,” Eve assured him. “But I’m telling you we won’t find him there. Anyone who made a threat brings attention. He’s been very careful to stay off the chart. How many men between eighteen and twenty-six have threatened you in the last three years?”

  “I can weed those out for you quickly. Gang members, illegals dealers, chemi-heads—”

  “He’s not any of those. She’d have recognized the signs.”

  She waited, giving him time to deny or confirm.

  “Yes.” He rubbed the center of his forehead. “Yes. You’re right. She knew what to look for. She was careful. She was . . .”

  “He’s clean,” Eve continued, interrupting to give him time to compose himself. “He’s smart, and he can be charming. Both wits referred to him as a good-looking boy. Boy, Captain. He’s not in your threat file. Someone connected to him, possibly. You didn’t bust this kid. But you may have busted his father, his brother, his best friend, mother, sister. And for this kind of retribution, we’re talking serious bust, termination or long-term stretch.”

  He pushed his hands over his face. “Lieutenant, I’ve been a boss for some years, and rarely work the streets. Rarely work cases. I supervise them. That was a deliberate choice on my part. I assist, I advise, I coordinate. I’ve taken primary on an investigation no more than a dozen times in the last six years.”

  “You’re in charge and therefore responsible. That’s both reality and perception.”

  “You’re saying this could have come through any of the cases any of my men worked.”

  “Yes. I believe you had some active part, some visibility or gained some credit. He has not, as far as we know, sought revenge against any of your men. But on you. And the revenge was enacted shortly after your promotion was announced.”

  Now his face was stricken. “He killed her because I got bars?”

  She took the shot, dead-on, unsure if it would shock or revive. “Captain, he was always going to kill her. I’m sorry for it, but that’s the reality.”

  He pushed up, lurched toward the windows to stare out.

  “Go on, Lieutenant,” Whitney ordered.

  “The timing may be important. You were promoted, Captain, and Deena was alone in the house for a period of time. In that part, I do believe he seized an opportunity. I think Dr. Mira’s opinions and theories will be valuable, but until I confer with her, we’ll approach it this way. We’ll go back ten years to start, and begin with terminations and/or arrests and imprisonments resulting in death. Next, arrests or imprisonments resulting in grievous injuries. Then life stretches.”

  She paused as MacMasters stayed where he was, said nothing. Whitney signaled for her to continue.

  “This was no small deal. To murder, to plan, to risk, it had to matter a great deal. We look for a connection to the perpetrator who corresponds with the age zone of our suspect.

  “You get me the names,” she added, “I’ll run them down. Right now, give me the gut. Who pops out?”

  With his back to the room, MacMasters took a breath that shuddered. “Leonard and Gia Wentz. They ran a cookshop, used primarily minors for dealers, to drum up trade around schools and vid dens. I had four detectives on that. We ran an op that busted them in January. Leonard drew down, and there was a brief firefight. Two of my men were injured. He’s doing a hard twenty-five, and she’s in for fifteen.”

  “I remember that. Mid-January. It’s too close. Nothing this year. He stole the ID New Year’s Eve. He was already planning. Go back more.”

  MacMasters turned from the window to pace. “My men do good work. It’s like trying to hold back the tide, but we do good work. We have a solid arrest and conviction rate. Low termination percentage.”

  “Don’t overthink it, Captain. Don’t justify it. I’ll get us some coffee.”

  Eve moved into the kitchen. It wasn’t going to work, she thought. Not yet in any case. He couldn’t pull himself out and think cop. Why should he? How could he?

  But she got coffee together, took it out.

  “We ruin lives,” she said. “If you look at it from the other end, some guy’s doing what he does—raping, killing, stealing, dealing, whatever. It’s what he does, or what he did this time for whatever reason. We come along and we stop him. More, we do whatever we can to put him in a cage for it. He loses his freedom, his scratch. Could lose his home or family if he’s got one. Sometimes if things go south, he loses his life.”

  She drank coffee, hoping she was getting through. “We ruined it. We’re responsible. You’re responsible. Think about the lives you’ve ruined. Think about it that way, not about doing the job, but the results. From the other side.”

  “Okay.” He took the coffee, met her eyes. “Okay. Nattie Simpson. She’s an accountant, nice little place on the Upper East, decent income, husband, one kid. On the side Nattie was dealing illegals and cooking the books for a mid-level operation. When we took it down, we took her down with it. She’s in Rikers doing the last year of five. They lost the nice little place on the Upper East. The husband divorced her two years ago, got full custody of the kid.”

  “How old’s the kid?”

  “He’d be about ten, twelve.”

  “Too young. Maybe she has a brother, a lover. We’ll look at her.”

  MacMasters dragged a hand over his hair. She could see him grasping, reaching, trying to come back. “Maybe this was a hired hit.”

  “I don’t think so. Give me one more name, off the top.”

  “Cecil Banks. Bad guy. Dealt Zeus, hunted runaways and kids who ran the streets, got them hooked, pimped them out. Ran an underage sex business. We worked with SVU on that. When we busted the main operation he tried to rabbit. He went out a window, missed the fire escape, and took a header down four stories. A lot of people lost heavy income and access when we took him and his operations out.”

  “When?”

  “Two years ago last September.”

  “Family?”

  “Ah, yeah. Yeah. He had a couple of women, addicts. Both claimed to be his wife. Neither were, legally. He had a brother, younger brother. He did some running for Cecil, but copped a plea down to rehab and community service. Risso. Risso Banks. He’d be about twenty-two, twenty-three.”

  “They’re not in your threat file.”

  “I was in on the busts, but not as primary. The women made a lot of noise, but nothing that worried me. The kid, the brother? Cried like a baby, which helped him with the plea.”

  “Good. We’ll check it out. That’s what I want you to do. Whatever springs, write it down, note the dates, the basic circumstances. We’ll take it from there.”

  “Lieutenant, what is the probability Deena’s murder is connected to me, to the job? You’d have run that.”

  No way to soften it. And to do so insulted him and his child. “At this time, with the data gathered, the probability is ninety-eight point eight.”

  He sat again, and the mug in his hand trembled slightly. “It’s better to know. Better to know. Do I tell her mother? I have to, but how? How do I tell her mother? We’re planning her memorial. Thursday. It seems too fast, too soon. Thursday. We just couldn’t . . . I’ll write it down. But how do I stand it?”

  He broke. And watching him shatter twisted her heart, her guts. She stood where she was as Whitney went to him, as her commander gently took the mug of coffee, set it aside, and put his arms around MacMasters.

  Whitney looked at her, signaled for her to go.

  She left, headed downstairs. She wanted out, just for a moment, just for a breath of air. When Summerset paused on the bottom landing, some of the anger, some of the pity must have sh
own on her face before she schooled it away.

  “The loss of a child goes deeper than any,” he said. “It doesn’t pass the way other losses may. However the loss came, a parent looks inward. What could I have done, what didn’t I do? When the loss comes from violence, there are more questions. Every answer you give him is both pain and comfort, but there can’t be any comfort without the pain.”

  “None of the answers I gave him today lead to comfort.”

  “Not yet.”

  When he continued on, Eve simply sat on the steps. She’d take her moment there.

  Before she could take the moment, her ’link beeped. “Dallas.”

  “Lieutenant Dallas, this is Dr. Lapkoff of Columbia University. I spoke with you and your husband last night.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’d appreciate a few moments of your time today, regarding this matter.”

  “This matter is a homicide investigation.”

  “I’m aware.” Lapkoff’s face remained cool and set. “As portions of that investigation cross my milieu, I’d like to discuss it. This institution will cooperate with you as much as possible. I would appreciate the same from you and your department.”

  “Are you on campus now?”

  “I am.”

  “Twenty minutes,” Eve said and clicked off.

  She took out her communicator to contact Peabody. “Status?”

  “More of those shoes have been sold in the past six months than you’d think. I’m concentrating on New York venues and online sources.”

  “Keep at it then. I’m going to meet with the president of Columbia, then with Mira. After, we’re going to check out a couple of possibles. I’ll swing back and get you, or tell you where to meet me.”

  She clicked off, contacted Mira’s admin. “I need the doctor to meet me rather than come into her office. I’m going to be in the field.”

  “Dr. Mira is—”

  “An essential member of this investigative team. The commander has given this investigation top priority. I need her to meet me at the building housing the offices of the president of Columbia University in an hour.”