Kindred in Death Page 15

  “She can’t make it in an hour. Ninety minutes.”

  “Ninety minutes,” Eve confirmed.

  She drove to Morningside Heights, and to the beauty and the age, the dignity of Columbia. She parked as close as she could manage to Administration, ordered her On Duty light and security on.

  Any campus dick who tried to cite it or move it would be shut down, quick and fast.

  Summer students lolled on the greens, sat near the fountains or strolled along the paths from building to building. Ages ranged from shy of twenty to nearing the century mark. Some of those older were staff, she assumed, but some would be students as well. Furthering their education, going for advanced degrees, taking a short course like a hobby.

  Dress also ranged, she noted, from slick suits to maxicargos, jeans to microskirts. Plenty of ball caps, plenty of University tees and sweats.

  The UNSUB could have blended here so easily, on a campus that sprawled and spread with dignified greens and stately old buildings. Like Central Park, she thought, it was a world within a world where a strange face wouldn’t cause a single lifted eyebrow. Particularly if he looked as if he belonged.

  Know where you’re going and go there. Sit on the grass or a bench and take in the air, or do a little outdoor studying.

  Observing. He’d have observed, even as she was now. The look, the rhythm, the feel.

  She made her way into Administration, offered her badge for scanning. “I have an appointment with Dr. Lapkoff.”

  The guard nodded, read the scan. “She put you on the log, cleared you through.”

  He shifted, gave her quick, concise directions to the office of the president.

  Rarified, Eve thought as she took the stairs. The air, the architecture. The Urban Wars had missed defiling or destroying most of the older buildings here. She imagined there were contemporary touches—cams, security, alarms, animated guides. But they’d tucked them away, out of view so the ambiance was age and tradition.

  Before she’d reached the offices, a man of about thirty in one of those slick suits crossed the wide marble floor and waylaid her.

  “Lieutenant Dallas?” His smile was as slick as his suit, his accent faintly, very faintly, Italian. “I’m Dr. Lapkoff’s administrative assistant. She’d like me to bring you right in.”

  Good-looking guy, she noted, but he’d never pass for nineteen again. And his mocha skin couldn’t be mistaken for white. Too bad, the admin of the president would’ve been an excellent possibility.

  “How many people work in this building, administratively?”

  “In the summer?”

  “No, fall through spring.”

  “I can certainly get you that information. Dr. Lapkoff has an administrative assistant, an executive secretary, and a personal assistant. Each of us also has an assistant. Then, of course, there’s the provost and his staff, the vice presidents and theirs. Right this way.”

  He led her through a reception area and straight into the president’s domain.

  She’d thought it would be more posh and intimidating. Instead, despite its grand scale and dignified antiques, it looked like the office of a very busy woman. It boasted an excellent view of the campus and a stingy seating area comprised of worn furniture and upholstery faded by time and sun.

  Still, the wall of photographs and degrees could project the intimidating. As could the woman who rose from behind a big, cluttered desk.

  Her height and build earned her the term statuesque, and the strong features vied for dominance with the laser blue eyes.

  Eve imagined that piercing look had given recalcitrant students, faculty, and donors alike a good chill.

  “Lieutenant, thank you for coming, and for being so prompt.” She strode around the desk with the gait of a woman who got where she was going with minimum detours and shook Eve’s hand briskly. “Harry, let’s get Lieutenant Dallas some coffee.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “No? You can go Harry. Lieutenant.” She gestured to a chair, then circled behind her desk again. The position of power. “I understand you paid a visit to one of our dorms last night.”

  “Correct.”

  “I asked Darian about it this morning. He’s afraid he might be in trouble, and is considerably upset about the circumstances.”

  “He’s not in trouble with me. The circumstances are upsetting.”

  “They are. Darian is an excellent student with only a few minor infractions. I vetted his record thoroughly and personally this morning. I’m concerned that one of our students was used to commit a crime, and one of this nature. We’ve provided you with the data you re quested.”

  “Appreciated.”

  Lapkoff sat back, smiled a little. The smile softened her face, but the eyes remained bold and sharp. “You’re annoyed with being summoned here, so to speak. I understand. We’re women of position and authority, and being summoned grates.”

  “Murder grates, Dr. Lapkoff, a hell of a lot more.”

  “Yes, it does. I didn’t ask you to come just to satisfy my curiosity. Though I admit I wanted a look at Roarke’s cop. And Jamie Lingstrom’s. I’ve taken an interest in Jamie, as he brought us Roarke.”

  Those piercing blue eyes sparked with amusement for a moment. “Again, so to speak.”

  “Roarke’s taken a personal interest in Jamie.”

  “So I’m told. And I understand from Darian Jamie’s also connected to this girl.” She angled her head. “Another thing I imagine we share is an ability to interrogate and elicit information.” She waited a moment. “And to keep information to ourselves. I appreciated your discretion, Lieutenant, but—”

  She leaned forward again. “This isn’t just my job. This university and all that goes with it are my responsibility. And my passion. The obvious conclusion is this university may be connected to Deena MacMasters’s death. That disturbs me.”

  She paused, shook her head as if impatient. “No, that’s not accurate. It pisses me off. If the person who killed that girl is associated with Columbia, you can believe I want to find out. I want to offer any assistance I can.”

  “I appreciate your cooperation.”

  “My paternal grandfather was a cop.”

  Eve’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that so?”

  “In St. Paul. His stories fascinated me as a child. He retired a Detective-Inspector. We were very proud of him. Lieutenant.” Peach folded her hands on the desk. “I believe in law and in order—and in a very dry martini. I also believe in this university, what it stands for. Darian and Jamie are what it stands for. Darian is sick with guilt and worry. Jamie, though I haven’t spoken to him, is probably sick with grief. You, Lieutenant, have a reputation for getting things done, and kicking whatever ass needs to be kicked to do it. So do I. This office, and any office or facility at this university are at your disposal.”

  “That’s quite an offer.”

  Now Peach edged forward and those eyes were frosted glass. “I saw the morning reports on the murder.”

  “So it’s out.”

  “They didn’t have much, but enough. They showed her photo.”

  “I hope to have an artist’s rendering of the suspect by end of day. That may lead to a name and location, but unless he’s in the system already, something like that can take a great deal of time. Do you have imaging programs?”

  “We do.”

  “It’s possible he was a student here at one time, or employed here. It’s possible that if you ran that artist’s rendition through imaging with your database of student and staff IDs, you could match him before we do.”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  “It can’t be done by anyone on staff. I need a cop to do it. That would take a warrant without your permission and approval on record.”

  “You’ll have both.”

  “That certainly cuts through the bullshit.”

  This time Peach flashed a brilliant grin. “One of my best skills and favorite occupations.”

  “Well then, when we
have the sketch I’ll have an EDD man report here for that duty.”

  “I’ll clear it.”

  “I believe the suspect hacked into your student files in April, added his data, or the data he wished, so that any check would show him as a student here. He would have removed that data on or about the day of the murder. A good e-man might be able to find those hacks, and trace.”

  Peach blew out a breath. “All right. It will be a lot of tedious work, I imagine.”

  “That’s a good portion of what we do. Tedium.”

  “Understood. Not so different from what I do. I suppose I was hoping for something more immediate and exciting.”

  “Then you didn’t listen to your grandfather’s stories very closely.”

  She smiled again. “I suspect he juiced them up. Still you get juice. I’m looking forward to reading Nadine Furst’s book on the Icove case.”

  “Hmm.” Eve got to her feet.

  “Lieutenant. While I do believe in law and order, in education and in that dry martini, I also believe in youth—its potential and its brevity, its marvelous thirst. I’m very sorry about Deena MacMasters, very sorry that youth was taken, and that potential ended.”

  “So are we all.”

  Peach handed Eve a card. “My contact information, including my personal ’link. Please use it if you need anything.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Lapkoff.”

  “Call me Peach.”

  10

  AS SHE CROSSED THE GREEN EVE REACHED FOR her pocket ’link to check if Mira was on site or close, then spotted her. The police psychiatrist and top pro-filer sat in the white stream of sunlight on the wide ledge of a grand fountain. She wore shades with bold pink frames. Eve wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the elegant Mira in shades, much less any so frivolously female. Her face tipped up to the sun, her hair scooped back to wave at her nape and expose the multi-colored dangles at her ears, Mira looked absolutely relaxed and perfectly at home with the casual summer pace of the campus.

  A faint smile softened a face lovely in repose while the water spilled musically from stone tier to stone tier behind her. Her excellent legs were crossed, exposed by the knee-length skirt of a suit the color of vanilla cream. Sassy open-toed shoes in the same tone boasted needle-thin heels. Beside her sat a petal pink handbag large enough to swallow a toddler.

  Eve wondered if Mira slept, and if she should poke her or clear her throat. Then the smile spread, and Mira sighed deeply.

  “God! What a gorgeous day. I so rarely get to take advantage of a spectacular morning like this.” Mira lifted her shoulders, then let them fall in a kind of happy shrug. “I have to thank you for pulling me outside.”

  “Well, I’m glad there’s an upside. I didn’t have time to go downtown and back. We’re pushing hard on this.”

  “Understood. The age of the victim and the connection to a police officer make it a priority. Can we speak here?”

  “Yeah.” Eve sat beside her. “You read the file.”

  “Yes.” Mira touched her hand briefly to Eve’s, a gesture they both knew acknowledged the painful memories of Eve’s childhood. “Would you have taken this case if MacMasters hadn’t asked for you specifically?”

  “I don’t cherry-pick assignments.” The sharp tone, the defensive-ness in it, caught Eve off guard. She shook it off. “If I can’t handle what comes to me,” she said, “I don’t deserve the badge. That’s that.”

  “For you, yes, I agree. Not with the philosophy, but with your belief in it. She’s lucky to have you—Deena—because you understand what she faced in those last hours of her life.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “No, it’s never the same. And, conversely, it’s precisely the same. I need to ask before we discuss the case, about your nightmares and flashbacks. I need to ask,” Mira repeated, gently, when Eve’s face went blank. “If this case exacerbates them—”

  “It’s not. It won’t. They’re not as bad.” Dragging a hand through her hair, Eve struggled to put annoyance at the personal queries aside. Mira was right, she admitted, the question needed to be asked. “I still have them, but they’re not as . . . severe,” she decided. “They’re not as frequent or as intense. I think I’ve come to a place—I don’t know—it happened, and nothing can change what he did to me. But I stopped him. If I go back, in the nightmares, I can stop him again if I have to. He doesn’t have the power anymore. I do.”

  “Yes.” Mira’s smile was as brilliant as the sunlight, and again she laid her hand over Eve’s. “You do.”

  “I can’t stop the nightmares, but I can handle them better now. They’re not a dance in a meadow, which I don’t get anyway. Why is dancing in a meadow with all that tall grass hiding whatever’s slinking around under it, and the bugs flying around your head such a fun deal?”

  “Hmm” was the best Mira could think of.

  “What I mean is I don’t look forward to getting jerked around by my subconscious, but it doesn’t kick my ass nightly, not anymore.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Very glad.”

  “I had a few moments, looking at Deena, at what was done to her, that had me a little shaky. But I got through it. It won’t affect my ability to lead the investigation.”

  “I’d worry about your ability to lead the investigation if you weren’t touched in some way by what was done to her.”

  Eve said nothing for a few moments. “And you brought this up, pushed it, so I could get it out. So I wouldn’t have it sneaking around in the back of my mind.”

  Mira gave Eve’s hand a quick pat. “Did it work?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Well, good for me. And you. And Deena.”

  “Okay.” Done, Eve thought. For now. “Did you review the video?”

  “Yes. Particularly cruel, isn’t it? To force the girl to say those things, to intend the father to hear them, to show, graphically to the father the result.”

  “No question it was a message to MacMasters.”

  “No, none. It was all a message. The location, the use of police restraints, the method, and even the length of time the killer spent. Hours.”

  “He enjoyed it,” Eve commented. “He enjoyed stretching it out.”

  “Undoubtedly. But more, it’s a form of bragging. An in-your-face gesture. I did this to what you loved, in your own home, and I took my time.”

  “He made her suffer, wanted MacMasters to know she’d suffered, that he’d had total power over her.”

  “The rapes are another form of that power, and that message. I violated her, hurt her, humiliated her, terrified her, took her innocence before I took her life.” Mira shifted, angling toward Eve. “And he did so by first charming and dazzling her, making her feel something for him, believe he felt something for her.”

  “It hurts more that way.” Eve studied the students strolling or jogging by. “Hurts her more when she understands he felt nothing.”

  “It adds to it, to that power. He deceived her first, developed a relationship with her that took effort and time—and again he took his time. He enjoyed the planning, the deceit, her romantic entanglement with him as much as the killing itself.”

  “He’s young. If he passed for nineteen, he can’t be past thirty.” She watched the people walking by, calculated their age on looks, skin tone, movement, gestures, wardrobe. “And I’d say younger than that. Mid-twenties. But he’s organized, controlled, focused. He doesn’t have a young mind, doesn’t give in to impulse—or certainly, not with this. He stalked and studied and researched his target. He knew exactly how to approach her.”

  “Sociopathic tendencies, with a purpose,” Mira confirmed. “It’s a dangerous combination. While the video wasn’t an impulse, it was indulgent. He needed MacMasters to understand: This is your fault. Even the cruelty, the rape, the killing wasn’t enough unless MacMasters understood he was to blame for it. He didn’t want the father just shattered, he wanted him to understand this was a result of some prior act or offense.”

>   “We’re going through his cases. I’ve got a couple of lines to tug.”

  “He’ll be buried there.” Mira shook her head. “Nothing and no one obvious. While it’s hard to believe this is his first kill, it may be. It was a purpose, so may very well have driven him for some time. All the evidence you’ve gathered indicates to me he knows how to acclimate, to blend, to behave in a fashion society considers normal or acceptable.”

  “He’s spent time on this campus, and he has e-skills.”

  “He has education. Your victim was a bright student, and she’d expect him to have education as he posed as a college student. He would do what’s expected, therefore acclimate. He has a job or a source of income. But I believe he deals with people. He would need to, to observe them, to ply his trade of being what’s expected. He probably lives alone and is considered by his neighbors, his coworkers, to be a nice young man. Friendly, helpful. He detests authority, but would be careful not to show it. Does what he’s told, and if necessary, finds a way to pay back any slight or offense.

  “The police are the enemy,” Mira continued, “but it’s unlikely he’ll have a sheet. Minor stuff, perhaps, before he fully developed control and focus. More than that, this cop is the enemy, someone to be crushed. But not directly. He understands it’s more painful to take away a loved one.”

  “Like MacMasters took away one of his.”

  “I believe so. Yes, that would be my conclusion. If it was MacMasters and him, the punishment would have been more direct. But this punishment—it’s your fault—indicates a specific sort of payment. You took mine, I take yours.”

  But who? Eve wondered, frustrated. Or what? “MacMasters has ridden a desk for a long time. He doesn’t work the streets. He’s got a rep for closing cases, or supervising cops who do. But he’s methodical, not flashy. He’s a straight arrow, and he doesn’t have any terminations. He’s never taken down a suspect on the job.”

  “There are other ways to take away a loved one besides death.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve thought of that. But, do you rape and kill, go through all that led up to it, because a cop had a part in sending your brother, your father, whatever, to a cage? It’s eye for eye. Death for death. It’s purpose, like you said.”