Survivor in Death Page 3

  “But you’ll be there? You’ll come back?”

  “I live there.”

  “Okay.” Nixie took Eve’s hand. “I’ll go with you.”

  2

  ALL THINGS BEING EQUAL, EVE WOULD RATHER have been transporting a three-hundred-pound psycho hopped on Zeus in the back of her police issue than a little girl. She knew how to handle a homicidal chemi-head.

  But it was a short ride, and she’d be able to pass the kid off soon enough, and get back to work.

  “After we notify . . .” Eve glanced in the rearview, and though Nixie’s eyes were drooping, she left off next of kin. “We’ll set up in my home office. I’ll swing back to the scene later. For now, we’ll work with your record.”

  “EDD’s picking up all the home and personal ’links and comps, and they’ll run a check on house security.” Peabody shifted so she could keep Nixie in the corner of her eye. “Maybe they’ll have something by the time we do a second pass through the scene.”

  Had to get back in the field, Eve thought. Work to do. Interviews, reports, runs. She needed to get back to the scene. Her concentration had been fractured by finding the child. She needed to get back there, get the vibe.

  Walked in the front door, she thought, going back in her head. Kid was in the kitchen, would’ve seen if someone had come in the back. Through the front, through security like it wasn’t there. One up, one down. Fast and efficient.

  Housekeeper first. But she wasn’t the target, she wasn’t the goal. Otherwise, why go upstairs at all? The family was the target. Parents and kids. Don’t even deviate for a second and scoop up an expensive wrist unit lying in plain sight.

  Straight kill, she thought. Impersonal. No torture, no talk, no mutilation.

  Just a job, so—

  “You live here?”

  Nixie’s sleepy question broke Eve’s rhythm as she drove through the gates toward home.

  “Yeah.”

  “In a castle?”

  “It’s not a castle.” Okay, maybe it looked like one, she admitted. The vastness of it, the stones gleaming in the early light, with all those juts and towers, all that space of green and the trees shimmering with the last sparks of fall.

  But that was Roarke for you. He didn’t do ordinary.

  “It’s just a really big house.”

  “It’s a mag house,” Peabody added, with a smile for Nixie. “Lots of rooms, tons of wall screens and games, even a pool.”

  “In the house?”

  “Yeah. Can you swim?”

  “Dad taught us. We get to go on vacation for a week after Christmas to this hotel in Miami. There’s the ocean, and there’s a pool, and we’re going to . . .”

  She trailed off, teared up, as she remembered there would be no family vacation after Christmas. No family vacation ever again.

  “Did it hurt, when they got dead?”

  “No,” Peabody said, gently.

  “Did it?” Unsatisfied, Nixie stared hard at the back of Eve’s head.

  Eve parked in front of the house. “No.”

  “How do you know? You never died before. You never had somebody take a big knife and cut you open in your throat. How do you know—”

  “Because it’s my job.” Eve spoke briskly as Nixie’s voice rose up the register toward hysterics. She shifted, looked back at the child. “They never even woke up, and it was over in a second. It didn’t hurt.”

  “But they’re still dead, aren’t they? They’re all still dead.”

  “Yeah, they are, and that blows wide.” Typical, Eve thought, letting the fury roll off her. Anger usually held hands with grief. “You can’t bring them back. But I’m going to find out who did it, and put them away.”

  “You could kill them.”

  “That’s not my job.”

  Eve got out of the car, opened the back. “Let’s go.”

  Even as she reached out a hand for Nixie’s, Roarke opened the front door, stepped out. Nixie’s fingers curled into hers like little wires.

  “Is he the prince?” she whispered.

  As the house looked like a castle, Eve supposed the man who’d built it looked like its prince. Tall and lean, dark and gorgeous. The flow of black hair around a face designed to make a woman whimper with lust. Strong, sharp bones, full, firm mouth, and eyes of bold and brilliant blue.

  “He’s Roarke,” Eve answered. “He’s just a guy.”

  A lie, of course. Roarke wasn’t just anything. But he was hers.

  “Lieutenant.” Ireland cruised out of his voice as he came down the steps and walked toward them. “Detective.” He crouched. Eve noted that as he looked into Nixie’s eyes he didn’t smile.

  He saw a pretty, pale little girl, with dried blood in her sunlight blonde hair, and bruises of fatigue and grief under eyes of quiet blue. “You’d be Nixie. I’m Roarke. I’m sorry to meet you under such terrible circumstances.”

  “They killed everybody.”

  “Yes, I know. Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody will find who did this horrible thing, and see that they’re punished for it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s what they do, what they do better than anyone. Will you come inside now?”

  Nixie tugged on Eve’s hand, kept tugging until Eve rolled her eyes and bent down. “What?”

  “Why does he talk like that?”

  “He’s not from around here, originally.”

  “I was born across the sea, in Ireland.” Now he did smile, just a little. “I’ve never quite shaken the accent.”

  Roarke gestured them inside the spacious foyer, where Summerset stood, with the fat cat sprawled at his feet. “Nixie, this is Summerset,” Roarke said. “He runs the house. He’ll be looking after you, for the most part.”

  “I don’t know him.” And eyeing Summerset, Nixie cringed back against Eve.

  “I do.” It was a big cup of bile to swallow, but Eve gulped it down. “He’s okay.”

  “Welcome, Miss Nixie.” Like Roarke, his face was sober. Eve had to give them both credit for not plastering on those big, scary smiles adults often wore around vulnerable kids. “Would you like me to show you where you’ll sleep?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He reached down, picked up the cat. “Perhaps you’d like some refreshment first. Galahad would keep you company.”

  “We had a cat. He was old and he died. We’re going to get a kitten next . . .”

  “Galahad would be pleased to have a new friend.” Summerset sat the cat down again, waiting while Nixie loosened her grip on Eve’s hand and moved closer. When the cat bumped his head against her leg, a ghost of a smile trembled on her lips. She sat on the floor, buried her face in his fur.

  “Appreciate this,” Eve said to Roarke under her breath. “I know it’s a major.”

  “It’s not.” There was blood on her as well. And the faint scent of death. “We’ll talk of it later.”

  “I need to go. I’m sorry to dump this on you.”

  “I’ll be working here most of the morning. Summerset and I will deal well enough.”

  “Full security.”

  “Without question.”

  “I’ll get back as soon as I can, work out of here as much as possible. Right now, we need to go notify the parents of the minor female vic. Peabody, you have the Dysons’ address?”

  “They’re not home.” Nixie spoke with her voice muffled against Galahad’s fur.

  “Nothing wrong with your hearing,” Eve commented, and walked across the foyer. “Where are they?”

  “They went to a big hotel, for their anniversary. That’s why we could have a sleepover on a school night, me and Linnie. Now you have to tell them she’s dead instead of me.”

  “Not instead of. If you’d been in the room, you’d both be dead. Where does that get you?”

  “Lieutenant.” The irritated shock in Summerset’s voice had her doing no more than lifting a hand to jab a finger at him for silence.

  “She’s not de
ad because you’re not. This is going to be hard on the Dysons, just like it is on you. But you know who’s to blame for what happened.”

  Nixie looked up now, and those quiet blue eyes hardened like glass. “The men with the knives.”

  “Yeah. Do you know what hotel?”

  “The Palace, because it’s the best. Mr. Dyson said.”

  “Okay.” It was the best, Eve thought, because it was one of Roarke’s. She shot him a look, got a nod.

  “I’ll clear the way.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got to go,” she said to Nixie. “You’re going to hang with Summerset.”

  “The men with knives could come looking for me.”

  “I don’t think so, but if they do, they can’t get in. There’s a gate, and it’s secure, and the house is secure. And Summerset? I know he looks like a bony, ugly old man, but he’s tough, and you’re safe with him. This is the deal if you’re staying here,” she added as she rose. “It’s the best I’ve got.”

  “You’re coming back.”

  “I live here, remember? Peabody, with me.”

  “Her bag’s right here.” Peabody gestured to the duffle she’d packed. “Nixie, if I forgot anything you want, or you need something else, you can have Summerset contact me. We’ll get it for you.”

  Eve’s last look was of the child sitting on the floor between the two men, and seeking comfort from the cat.

  The minute she was outside, Eve rolled her shoulders, rolled the weight off. “Jesus” was all she said.

  “I can’t imagine what’s going on inside that kid.”

  “I can. I’m alone, I’m scared and hurt, and nothing makes sense. And I’m surrounded by strangers.” It made her sick, just a little sick, but she pushed past it. “Check in with EDD, see where they are.”

  As she drove back toward the gate, Eve used the dash ’link to contact Dr. Charlotte Mira, at home.

  “Sorry. I know it’s early.”

  “No, I was up.”

  On screen Eve could see Mira dab a white towel at her soft sable hair. There was a dew—either sweat or water—on her face.

  “Doing my morning yoga. What’s the matter?”

  “Multiple homicide—home invasion. An entire family, save the nine-year-old daughter. Sleepover friend murdered through mistaken ID. Kid’s a witness. I’ve got her stashed at my place.”

  “Yours?”

  “Fill you in later, but that’s how it stands. I’m heading over to notify next of kin on the daughter’s friend.”

  “God’s pity.”

  “I know you’ve probably got a full slate, but I’m going to need to interview this kid today. I’m going to need a shrink—sorry.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’m going to need a psychiatrist on hand, one who’s got experience with children and police procedure.”

  “What time do you want me?”

  “Thanks.” And relief rolled in where the weight had rolled off. “I’d prefer you, but if you’re squeezed I’ll take your best recommendation.”

  “I’ll make room.”

  “Ah.” Eve checked her wrist unit, tried to gauge the timing. “Can we make it noon? I’ve got a lot to push through before then.”

  “Noon.” Mira began to make notes in a mini memo book. “What’s her condition?”

  “She wasn’t injured.”

  “Emotional condition.”

  “Ah, she’s fair, I guess.”

  “Is she able to communicate?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to need an eval for Child Protection Services. I’m going to need a lot of things for the red tape brigade. I’m on borrowed time here since I went over the rep’s head. Have to notify the supervisor there. Soon.”

  “Then I’ll let you get to it, and see you at noon.”

  “EDD’s on scene,” Peabody said when Eve ended transmission. “Their team’s going through security and checking ’links and data centers on site. They’ll transport the units to Central.”

  “Okay. Next of kin on the other vics?”

  “Grant Swisher’s parents divorced. Father’s whereabouts currently unknown. Mother remarried—third time—and living on Vegas II. Works as a blackjack dealer. Keelie Swisher’s parents are deceased—back when she was six. Foster care and state schools.”

  And that, Eve knew, was just tons of fun. “When we’ve talked to the Dysons, contact Grant Swisher’s next of kin and inform. She may have legal guardianship of the kid, and we’ll need to deal with that. You got an addy on Swisher’s law firm?”

  “Swisher and Rangle, on West Sixty-first.”

  “Close to the hotel. We’ll hit there after the Dysons. See how it goes and tap in another pass at the scene if it fits.”

  This, as hard as it was, she knew how to do. Shattering the lives of those left behind was a job she did all too often. Roarke had, as promised, cleared the way. Since she was expected, she avoided the usual wrangle with the doorman, the time-consuming conversation with desk clerks and hotel security.

  She almost missed it.

  But she and Peabody were efficiently escorted to the elevators and given the Dysons’ room number.

  “Only child, right?”

  “Yeah, just Linnie. He’s a lawyer, too, corporate. She’s a pediatrician. Reside about two blocks south of the Swishers. Daughters go to the same school, same class.”

  “You’ve been busy,” Eve commented as they rode up to the forty-second floor.

  “You were wrapped up with the kid awhile. We detectives do what we can.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Eve saw Peabody shift her stance, wince just a bit. Ribs still bothering her, she thought. Should’ve taken a few more days medical. But she let it pass.

  “Get any financials on the Swishers?”

  “Not yet. We detectives are not miracle workers.”

  “Slacker.” Eve stepped off, walked straight to 4215. She didn’t allow herself to think, to feel. What good would it do?

  She pressed the buzzer, held her badge up to the security peep. Waited.

  The man who answered was wrapped in a plush hotel robe. His thatch of dark brown hair stuck up in wild tufts and his square, attractive face held the sleepy, satisfied look of someone who’d just enjoyed some early morning nookie.

  “Officer?”

  “Lieutenant Dallas. Matthew Dyson?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, we’re not up yet.” He cupped his hand over a huge yawn. “What time is it?”

  “Just after seven. Mr. Dyson—”

  “Is there a problem in the hotel?”

  “Can we come in, Mr. Dyson, speak to you and your wife?”

  “Jenny’s still in bed.” The sleepy look was fading into mild irritation. “What’s the problem?”

  “We’d like to come in, Mr. Dyson.”

  “All right, all right. Hell.” He stepped back, waved at them to shut the door.

  They’d sprung for a suite—one of the dreamy, romantic ones with banks of real flowers, real candles, fireplace, deep sofas. There was a bottle of champagne upended in a silver bucket on the coffee table. Two flutes, and she noted, some lacy portion of female lingerie draped like a flag over the back of the sofa.

  “Would you get your wife, Mr. Dyson?”

  His eyes were brown like his hair. And irritation flashed into them. “Look, she’s sleeping. It’s our anniversary—or was yesterday—and we celebrated. My wife’s a doctor, and she works long hours. She never gets to sleep in. So tell me what the hell you want.”

  “I’m sorry, we need to speak with both of you.”

  “If there’s a problem with the hotel—”

  “Matt?” A woman opened the bedroom door. She was sleep-tousled and robed, and smiling as she shoved a hand through her short, disordered blonde curls. “Oh, I thought you must’ve ordered room service. I heard voices.”

  “Mrs. Dyson, I’m Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. This is my partner, Detective Peabody.”

  “The police.” Her smile became uncertain as she walked
to her husband, hooked an arm through his. “We weren’t that loud last night.”

  “I’m sorry. There was an incident at the Swishers’ early this morning.”

  “Keelie and Grant?” Matt Dyson went stiff and straight. “What kind of incident? Is everyone all right? Linnie. Did something happen to Linnie?”

  Fast, Eve knew. Like a short-armed punch to the face. “I’m sorry to tell you that your daughter was killed.”

  While Jenny’s eyes went blank and frozen, Matt’s went hot with rage. “That’s ridiculous. What is this, some sort of sick joke? I want you out of here, I want you to get out.”

  “Linnie? Linnie?” Jenny shook her head. “This can’t be true. This can’t be right. Keelie and Grant are too careful. They love her like their own. They’d never let anything happen to her. I need to call Keelie.”

  “Mrs. Swisher is dead,” Eve said flatly. “Persons unknown entered the residence last night. Mr. and Mrs. Swisher, their housekeeper, their son Coyle, your daughter were murdered. Their daughter Nixie was overlooked, and is now under protective custody.”

  “This is a mistake.”

  Jenny squeezed a hand on her husband’s arm as he began to shake. “But they have security. They have good security.”

  “It was compromised. We’re investigating. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m extremely sorry.”

  “Not my baby.” It wasn’t a cry so much as a wail as Matt Dyson crumbled, as he turned to his wife and collapsed against her. “Not our baby.”

  “She’s just a little girl.” Jenny rocked, herself, her husband, as her shattered eyes clung to Eve’s. “Who would hurt an innocent little girl?”

  “I intend to find out. Peabody.”

  On cue, Peabody stepped forward. “Why don’t we sit down? Can I get you something. Water? Tea?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” With her arm still wrapped around her husband, Jenny sank with him onto the couch. “Are you sure it was my Linnie? Maybe—”

  “She’s been identified. There’s no mistake. I’m sorry I have to intrude at this time, but I need to ask you a few questions. Did you know the Swishers well?”

  “We . . . Oh God, dead?” The barrage of shock had turned skin to paste. “All?”

  “You were friends?”