Desperation in Death--An Eve Dallas Novel Read online

  “Dump site?” Peabody asked.

  “Her shirt’s damp—hasn’t dried through—and TOD confirms she died during that storm last night. But the pants? They’re dry, and the blood on them? Rain didn’t hit that.”

  “They fit her though. Well, maybe just a tad short, like she had a little growth spurt.”

  “Her ID lists her at five-four. Morris to verify.”

  “They’re good pants. School-uniform navy.”

  Eve’s eyes narrowed. “‘School uniform’?”

  “That’s how they strike me. Private school uniform. They’re usually navy or gray, maybe khaki for the summer. These aren’t summer weight though.”

  “Not summer weight,” Eve repeated thoughtfully. “Morris will check for rape. Why change her pants? Take her shoes—you can see by the condition of the bottom of her feet she wasn’t walking around the city barefoot. Why take her shoes, remove her earrings, take her ID, her ’link, if she had all that, but take the time to change her pants? Because I’m damned if she died in these. Or died here.”

  “Pretty kid,” Peabody said. “Seriously pretty.”

  “Yeah, she was. Look at her nails—fingers and toes. Perfectly kept, clean, neat. Soft hands. She hasn’t spent any time on the streets. Check with missing persons in Devon, see if they have anything on her. I’ll call for the dead wagon and the sweepers.”

  Moved her here, Eve thought as she made the contacts. Set it up to look like a mugging. But it wasn’t about a pair of shoes or a pocket ’link.

  “Dallas. There’s been an Amber Alert out on her since last November. November nine. She didn’t come home from school. Bester Middle—private school. I’ve got the names of the detectives assigned. And there’s a notation the parents have offered two hundred thousand to anyone with information that leads to their daughter’s return.”

  “This kid hasn’t been on the streets for over seven months. A runaway, possibly. We’ll see what the investigators say. But she’s had a decent place to stay. You know this shit—is that actual wood or composite?”

  Peabody crouched down.

  “It’s pine,” she said. “The real deal. Looks like it has some age on it. The lab’ll have to pin that down. I think it’s an old stud.”

  “Like your grandfather?”

  “Ha! Funny! Like a wall stud maybe, and somebody who didn’t give a shit about decent wood ripped it out. Somebody rehabbing a building—like we’re doing with the house, but we’d never treat material like this. It’s warped some, so it’s been out in the weather. Probably for a while.”

  “Another point she was dumped. The killer didn’t just happen to pick that up lying on the ground here. We’ll have uniforms canvass, but somebody brought her here, after that storm blew out, dumped her under that tree.

  “Could’ve weighed her down, dumped her in the river—it’s close enough.”

  “They wanted her found.”

  Eve nodded at her partner. “And why’s that? She was out in that storm, and she fought. Nothing under her nails, so she didn’t get any scratches in—or the killer cleaned them before the dump. No facial bruising, just a little on her knuckles.”

  “Fight didn’t last long,” Peabody concluded.

  “No.” Eve looked down at the body again. “Not long.”

  * * *

  Eve waited until she got to Central, into her office, grabbed some life-giving coffee from her AutoChef, before making the first contact.

  Rather than start with the notification, she contacted the lead detective on Mina’s missing persons case.

  “Ah, hell. Ah, fuck it all to hell.” Detective Sharlene Driver scrubbed her hands over her deep brown face, then pressed her fingers to eyes several shades darker.

  Then she dropped them, and the eyes went cop flat. “I’d appreciate the details, Lieutenant.”

  “And you’ll have them. My partner’s writing the report now and will copy you. I’ll answer any questions you may have. I have some of my own.”

  “How about I anticipate some of them, answer—and reciprocate by sending you our files?”

  “Appreciated.”

  “It’s a good family, Lieutenant. Mother’s a civil rights attorney—does a lot of pro bono work. Father’s a doctor, a GP, has his own practice. They’re financially solid, but not crazy rich—not kidnap a kid for a big, fat payday rich. Mina did exceptionally well in school, had a solid circle of friends—no serious boyfriend, but she was sweet on a guy in her class. We talked to him, his family, the friends. Nothing pointed to her running off. Nothing.”

  Driver paused. “You have to look at that. Kid gets pissed off, takes off, but not here. She’d negotiated a vid date—her first group date with the boy and two other couples, and was looking forward to it. She was walking home from soccer practice.”

  “Usual time and route?”

  “Yeah, and that’s a thing. It’s only about a half mile, nice neighborhood—with this little grove of trees along her way. The other thing is while the parents had the talk about strangers and all that, and Mina was a sharp kid, she was also the type—look at her parents—to try to help somebody she thought needed it.”

  “Somebody knew her route, used her nature, grabbed her up.”

  “That’s how we saw it. No ransom demand. We got some hotline calls, but mostly bogus, and nothing panned out. The closest we came is somebody thought they might have seen a van in the area. Either a black or brown or frigging blue van. With windows, no windows.”

  “I hear you.”

  “The dad picked up the son at his friends’—where the kid habitually went after school—just before five. Mina was due home by five, but he didn’t worry until about five-thirty when his wife got home. They called Mina’s ’link—but couldn’t connect. Started calling her friends, her soccer coach, then while Oliver—the dad—went out to drive around the area, Rae called the police.

  “They haven’t given up, Lieutenant. This is going to crush them. If you could do me a solid, let my partner and me notify them. We have a relationship.”

  “I’ll make sure you get the report quickly. I’ll want to talk to them, but it can wait until later in the day.”

  “I’ll tell you they’re going to be on their way to New York today. They won’t wait.”

  “Give them my contact. I’ll make time.”

  “They’re going to ask me if she was raped.”

  “I can’t give you that information. She’s with our ME now, and he’ll determine that. What was she wearing the night she went missing?”

  “School uniform—she’d have had her soccer clothes in her bag. White, long-sleeved shirt, navy pants. She had a habit of shoving her school blazer in her backpack—because it was lame—and wearing a white zip-up hoodie. Same with her uniform shoes—dark brown loafer style. She’d more likely have worn her white kicks.”

  “Jewelry?”

  “Three earrings—studs. Two silver hearts, one blue star, a silver heart on a chain. She’d have had her ’link, her ID, under twenty in cash, her tablet, schoolwork—assignments, a binder to hold assignments—earbuds, the makeup she was allowed—and what she snuck in, which her mother knew about. Hairbrush, hair ties, and a small first aid kit. Her father insisted both kids carry the basics. We didn’t find a trace of any of it.”

  Whoever grabbed her wanted it to look like a runaway at first glance, Eve thought when she ended the call. Like the killer wanted it to look like a mugging.

  To buy time, she assumed, in both cases.

  And that led her to believe the snatch and the murder rested on the same person or persons.

  She got up to start her murder board.

  She kept at it when she heard Peabody clomp down the hall to her office.

  “Send the report to Detective Driver.”

  Peabody pulled out her PPC and did so.

  “Devon’s going to do the next of kin notification, and reciprocate by sending us their files. They concluded a snatch, not a runaway. I’m going to agree with that. The victim didn’t strike out for the bright lights of New York after soccer practice with under twenty in her pocket.”

  Eve didn’t turn. “I can feel you giving the AC begging glances. Get your damn coffee. Get me more.”

  “It was more like longing glances than begging.”

  “We’re going to run the parents to cover it. Look for any debts, any payouts that don’t square. Devon’s done that, but we cover it. She had a boyfriend—sort of. We’re going to look at him and see if he has a perv older brother, uncle, father. Run her coaches and teachers, same deal.”

  “Okay.”

  “And we look for any connections to New York, because they brought her here, and they kept her here. No signs of restraints or force—so far.”

  “Maybe kept her drugged.”

  “The tox will show it, just like Morris will determine if somebody used her for sex. Why do you grab up a pretty young teen if not for ransom—and no ransom demands made—or sex?”

  “Like a house droid? Slave labor?”

  “Not with those hands and nails. If anything, she’d had some pampering there, with that—what do you call it—kind of manicure deal.”

  “French. You’re right. She had a classic French manicure—fingers and toes. Nothing flashy, all classy.”

  “Classy,” Eve repeated, and grabbed her coffee. “If it was for sex, he wanted that classy. Or … let’s check child pornography. Thirteen’s on the cusp of that. It’s more pubescent porn. Photos, vids.”

  Eve looked at the ID shot on her board, that young, fresh, open face. “Pretty redhead, clear white skin, some curves. Youthful but what—budding?”

  “It’s so sick.”

  “Yeah, and so’s jamming a sharp piece of wood in a kid’s chest. McNab did
some time in Vice—check with him.”

  Since the EDD ace was Peabody’s cohab and main squeeze, checking with him added a plus.

  Eve stepped back from the board, studied it.

  “A pretty young girl walks the half mile home from school—same route every day. That makes a snatch easy. But the nice neighborhood makes it stickier. Somebody took some time, to watch, to plan. Had transportation. I’m betting somebody’s done this before. Maybe selling the kids he snatches. For sex, for underground porn sites.

  “It has to be worth it, to keep her for months, to keep her clean and healthy, closed in or drugged, or convinced she’s living the high life. Has to pay off. Has to pay enough to transport her out of state.”

  “Maybe that just happened,” Peabody suggested. “And something went wrong there, and she got away.”

  “Could be. Could very well be. You’ve had her all this time, you maybe get a little careless, and she tries to bolt.”

  She looked at the picture from the crime scene.

  “Where the hell did that weapon come from? Close to where she bolted, if so?”

  She went back to her desk to open the murder book on Mina. “Check with McNab, and let’s put together a list of known pedophiles—in and around Devon, in New York.”

  “Holy shit, that’s going to be a long list.”

  “Girls—eleven to fourteen. Younger won’t work, older’s beyond that scope of sick. No brutality—unless Morris turns some up. He kept her school uniform,” Eve murmured. “The pants. But the shirt? Roe said long sleeves when she was snatched—we need to verify that absolutely, because she had on short, cuffed sleeves when she was killed. Maybe we can track the shirt.”

  “They could change the pants, but not the shirt,” Peabody concluded. “But why keep the pants?”

  “Maybe he has a collection. That’s the file from Devon coming through. Go.”

  Eve read the files from the initial incident report through the steps and stages of the investigation, the interviews, statements, the timeline the investigators put together. She studied the map of the neighborhood, the location of the house to the school, both to the grove of trees.

  Thorough, she decided. The Devon detectives weren’t morons or slackers. They’d worked it, and hard, covered the ground, then covered it again.

  And attached to the file, she found a list of known pedophiles that included nearby Philadelphia.

  She’d go through those interviews, too, but first she entered the list, then ordered a new search narrowing it to her parameters.

  Females between eleven and fourteen.

  She did the same for New York, restricting it—for now—to Manhattan.

  Then, testing her tech skills, ordered one more for any connections between the narrowed Pennsylvania list and New York’s.

  While the computer worked, she put her boots on her desk, picked up what was left of her coffee, and studied the board.

  Pampered hands and feet, no signs of restraints, no outward signs of malnutrition, violence.

  Morris would confirm or refute that, but for now …

  What kept a thirteen-year-old girl with an abductor for months?

  Someone she knew, trusted. But nothing in Driver’s report indicated anything like that, and she and her partner hadn’t missed a trick that Eve could see.

  No physical restraints didn’t mean she hadn’t been locked up, or fed drugs to make her compliant. Brainwashed, threatened.

  School uniform pants and a plain white shirt. The necklace. Odd, really, they’d allowed her to keep the necklace but not the earrings.

  Because it sure as hell hadn’t been a standard botched mugging.

  “You got outside, didn’t you, Mina? And you fought back when they caught you. Died for it. Maybe you still had those pants, or maybe they put them on you to make you look like a runaway. Left your necklace with a broken chain to make it look like a mugging or fight.”

  Just another kid, Eve thought, who takes off and comes to a bad end.

  “But that’s not you. Look at that face. Pretty girl with skin like white rose petals. And a body just barely past the first bud. Whoever took you kept you pretty and prime for a reason.”

  When her computer announced the completion of her first search, she dropped her feet to the floor, swiveled back.

  She’d find the reason.

  3

  Peabody came back in while Eve worked another series of cross-checks.

  “McNab gave me a contact, Detective Willowby. She just transferred to Central from the four-oh-six. She’s in SVU, mostly on crimes against minors. I reached out.”

  Because Peabody knew the perils of Eve’s ass-biting visitor’s chair, she perched warily on the very edge. “She’ll run Mina’s picture against any of the vids or photos they’ve got. And there are dark web chat rooms—sharing sites. They—”

  “Share or trade slaves—sex or domestic.”

  “You knew about that. Jesus, Willowby says some of the minors they pull out claim it’s consensual, or ordained—or whatever they’ve been indoctrinated to believe. Sometimes they start them off really young, even babies they…”

  As it struck her, Peabody forgot about the chair, had her ass bitten, pushed up. “Sorry. Sorry, Dallas.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. It gives me insight. I probably had a couple more years before he put me on the market. He fucked that up by raping me, so he couldn’t market me as a virgin. They’re usually worth more. Then again, some like them broken in.”

  Or just broken, she thought. She’d sure as hell qualified.

  “But this wasn’t that,” Eve continued. “Probability’s high she was snatched because of her looks and her age—twelve at the time of the snatch. But why keep her so long if you’re going to put her on the market? Personal use and/or porn profit hits the highest on the scale. And when she ages out of kiddie porn and your preferences, you pass her on to the next.”

  “That’s more or less what Willowby told me. She also said, when I told her about the mani-pedi and her general condition, the victim fits what they call the Princess category.”

  Intrigued, Eve stopped, swiveled around. “Princess—as in treated as such?”

  “Yeah. Compliance drugs probably, at least at first. But pretty clothes, makeup, some sparkles, a fun room—no windows likely, locked door for sure. Toys and stuff for younger ones.”

  “The carrot instead of the stick. I never get why it isn’t candy or ice cream instead of the stick. Who really can’t wait to eat a damn carrot?”

  She considered it, tossed carrots aside. “The stick comes in for lack of cooperation. A street kid—they’re likely to wallow pretty deep in all the goodies. But somebody like Mina wouldn’t be as easily turned.”

  She glanced at her wrist unit. “Let’s see if Morris can tell us any more.”

  Even as she started to stand, her ’link signaled. She looked at the display. “The victim’s parents. Hold on. Lieutenant Dallas.”

  The man on-screen looked ghost pale, the blue of his red-rimmed eyes glassy. “Lieutenant Dallas.” His voice cracked. “I’m—”

  “Mr. Cabot. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  “Sharlene—Detective Driver said you were absolutely sure.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand how difficult this is for you and your family. I can promise you that finding out who took Mina from you is priority for me and my partner.”

  “She—our Mina—was she—”

  Raped, Eve finished in her head, because she understood the father couldn’t quite say the word. “Mina is with the chief medical examiner of New York. Let me assure you she couldn’t be in more skilled or compassionate hands than Dr. Morris’s. My partner and I are about to go there now.”

  “We need to see her. We need to bring her home.”

  “You won’t be able to take her home at this time, but I can arrange for you to see her. I can arrange transportation for you, Mr. Cabot, and accommodations if you plan to stay overnight.”

  “We won’t come home until Mina comes with us. We need to bring our girl home. We need—”

  He broke off, broke down. While he struggled, Eve continued to speak.

  “We need to keep Mina here for a while. When we speak with Dr. Morris, we’ll let him know you’re coming in to see her. It would be helpful if I could speak to you and your wife, your son if he’s coming with you. I understand you’ve gone over everything about her disappearance with Detective Driver and her partner, but it would be helpful.”