Kindred in Death Read online

  “It wasn’t a . . . a date gone wrong. It wasn’t an impulse.”

  “No, sir, I don’t believe it was.”

  “Then tell me what you believe.”

  Eve glanced at Whitney, got a nod. “At this very early stage I believe she may have made a date, planning to entertain a friend—someone she may have met outside her circle. Someone who may have targeted her. I believe he may have incapacitated her. There’s a glass, the only thing out of place in the kitchen, which we’ll have tested.”

  “Drugged her.” Emotions scraped the words raw.

  “Possibly. Captain, I can’t as yet draw conclusions, and I’m not entirely comfortable outlining speculation. I will promise to keep you in the loop. I will promise my partner and I, and the team I’ve already started to assemble, will work diligently to find the answers.”

  “I asked for you, Lieutenant, because I have no doubt of that.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “For the record, and to repeat the statement I gave the commander: My wife and I returned early from a two-day holiday. The locks were secured. The cameras, I discovered later, were off. I didn’t notice this immediately. We went directly upstairs. I took our bags to our bedroom while Carol went to Deena’s room to see if she was awake. She screamed. My wife screamed, and I ran directly to her. I found her trying to lift Deena from the bed. I could see . . .”

  “There’s no need, Captain. I can refer to the statement you gave the commander.”

  “No, we all know it needs to be repeated. I could see Deena was gone. I saw the evidence of sexual and physical abuse—the blood, the bruising, the restraints. I pulled my wife away from our girl because . . . I knew I had to. She fought me, but I was able to get her out of the room and into our bedroom where I used both force and intimidation to keep her in there while I contacted the commander. I realize this isn’t procedure. I should have called for uniforms, but . . .”

  “I would have done the same.”

  “Thank you.” His chest shuddered as he fought for control. “I related the situation to the commander. I asked for his help. The uniforms he dispatched arrived. No, that’s not accurate. I went back into Deena’s room first. I had to see . . . I had to be sure. I convinced Carol to come downstairs, and at that time I checked the security and looked for signs of break-in. Then the uniforms arrived. The commander and Mrs. Whitney arrived shortly thereafter. At that time, the commander and I went back to . . . to the scene. I then requested you as primary.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I’ve dispatched two uniforms to do the door-to-door. With the commander’s permission I’ll copy you on all reports.”

  “Permission granted. The ME’s team is here,” Whitney added when he saw the wagon pull up outside. “It would be best if we kept Carol in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll go back with her.” MacMasters got to his feet. “If you’re done with me for now, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes. The sweepers will be all over the house soon. Is there somewhere you and your wife can go for the time being?”

  “You’ll come home with us,” Whitney said.

  MacMasters nodded. Eve thought the cop was beginning to fade. His hands trembled, and even as she watched, the lines at the corners of his eyes seemed to cut deeper.

  “I’ll be in contact, Captain. Once again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  When he walked out, a man in a daze now, Whitney turned to Eve. “Conclusions?”

  “Speculations is more accurate. She let him in, planned to do so. Impossible to say at this time if she brought him home with her from some outside meet or if he came here on his own. She ordered him food from the AutoChef. Most likely they ate. If he drugged her, left the glass on the counter, it was deliberate.”

  “He wanted us to know that much,” Whitney concluded.

  “Yes, sir. It was personal, planned, and deliberate. The rapes were very violent, the facial bruising feels like an afterthought, like show. I believe he choked her, smothered her, maybe taking her in and out of consciousness to prolong the event, and her pain and fear. He wanted the pain and the fear. TOD is after three this morning. Everything I’ve learned this far indicates the victim wouldn’t have let anyone in, even a boy she had a crush on, in the middle of the night.”

  “No. No, I don’t believe she would have done that. Unless. . . if she believed someone needed help. Someone she knew.”

  “It’s a possibility. More likely he was here for some time, a considerable amount of time. Unless the sweepers find evidence to the contrary, I believe all the violence took place in her bedroom, and after he had her restrained. He didn’t take any chances. He came here to accomplish a specific thing, and he did so.”

  “Check like crimes,” Whitney began, then stopped himself. “I’m telling you how to do your job. Instead, I should let you do it.”

  “I’m going to start with her friends. We may get lucky there, get a name, a description. I’m having the glass Peabody bagged sent straight to the lab. I’ve requested Morris as ME. Feeney, McNab, and whoever Feeney assigns out of EDD will handle the electronics. We’ll also do a sweep of the park where she jogged. If she met her killer there, someone might have seen them together. We will check out Garcia, though I tend to agree with the captain on that.”

  “Keep me informed,” Whitney told her, then glanced over as his wife came in.

  “I wanted to give them a few moments in private. And to give this to you, Lieutenant.” Anna offered Eve a memo cube. “The names and contacts of the friends Carol told you about.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I know you need to get started on what comes next, but I’d like to say something. Carol and Jonah are dear friends, and Deena was . . . lovely in every way. I don’t always like your style, Lieutenant. Jack,” she said with an impatient glance when he started to interrupt. “Please. I often find you abrasive and difficult to understand. But Carol and Jonah are dear friends, and Deena lovely in every way. If Jonah hadn’t requested you to lead this investigation, I’d have used every influence I had with your commander to get you so assigned. Get the bastard. You get the bastard.”

  She broke down, walked straight into her husband’s arms, and wept.

  3

  EVE ESCAPED. SHE WALKED OUTSIDE WHERE she could breathe without drawing in the misery and grief. And where she could reestablish the locks on her own memories and emotions.

  She spotted the two uniforms she sent out on the knock-on-doors crossing back toward the victim’s home.

  “Officers. Report.”

  “Sir, we covered the block, and were able to speak to all but four residents. Others confirmed the family two doors east is out of town, and has been for three days. Two others are reportedly attending a Peace Day rally this morning, and the whereabouts of the remaining resident is unknown at this time.”

  “I want the name of the question mark. We track him down and interview. The same with the rally attendants. Everyone on this block in residence for the last twenty-four hours is to give a statement.”

  “Yes, sir. Those we spoke with noticed nothing out of the ordinary yesterday or last night. No one saw anyone but the victim enter or leave the scene.” The female officer taking the lead flipped out her memo book. “A Hester Privet both saw and spoke to the victim yesterday morning at approximately ten-fifteen. The victim was, at that time, watering the plants at the entrance to the house. They spoke briefly. The victim mentioned she had a few errands to run that day as her parents were due back the following afternoon. Privet states she then jokingly asked if the victim had a big party planned for the evening. The victim seemed slightly flustered, but laughed and stated she thought she’d just have a quiet evening instead. Privet then continued east on foot.”

  Over the uniform’s shoulder Eve watched a big orange dog lead its young couple into the park, spotted a jogger in bright red shorts heading out.

  “The witness passed by the house later in the day, she believes about three in the afternoon when she took her children t
o the park, and again at approximately five when she took them home. She is certain the security was engaged at those times as she deliberately walked by to check as she was aware the parents were out of town. She did not, however, see the victim at either time.”

  “Good. Let me know as soon as you’ve located and gotten statements from the others.”

  After dismissing the uniforms, she stood where she was and watched the morgue attendants bring Deena out in the anonymous black body bag. Then she moved to intercept a woman, blond hair flying, who rushed toward the house.

  “Ma’am. This is a crime scene, you can’t enter at this time.”

  “It’s Deena, isn’t it? They wouldn’t say what happened, the police. Just that there’d been an incident. I couldn’t believe. . . Is it Deena? What happened?”

  “I’m unable to give you any information at this time. Are you a friend of the family?”

  “Yes. A neighbor. Hester Privet. I spoke with two officers earlier this morning, but—”

  “Yes. I’m Lieutenant Dallas. You spoke with Deena yesterday.”

  “Yes, right here, right out front. Is she—God—is she in that bag?”

  No point in evading. It would all hit soon enough. “Deena MacMasters was killed last night.”

  The woman stumbled back a step, then wrapped both arms around her torso. “But how? How?” Tears gathered in eyes gone wide with shock. “Was there a break-in? She’s so vigilant with the alarms and locks. She babysits my twins, my boys—and she lectures me about making sure the house is secure. Oh God, my God. My boys adore her. What will I tell them? Can I do something, anything? Jonah and Carol. They’re away. I have the contact information. I can—”

  “They returned this morning. They’re inside.”

  Hester closed her eyes a moment, took several breaths. “I—I almost went over and knocked. To check? To make sure she didn’t want to come over and hang, have dinner. But I talked myself out of it. I wish I’d . . . Is there anything I can do? Anything?”

  “Did Deena ever have anyone over when she watched your children? A friend?”

  “Sometimes Jo came with her. Jo Jennings, her best friend.”

  “Any boys?”

  “No. God.” She used the backs of her hands to wipe her wet cheeks. “Against the rules, and Deena didn’t really date.”

  “Did she always follow the rules?”

  “Yes, from what I could tell. I often wished she’d break one.” Hester swiped at another tear. “She seemed, to me, so young and innocent for her age, and on the other hand so mature. Responsible. I trusted her absolutely with my sons. I should have checked on her more while her parents were gone, kept a closer eye. I should’ve insisted she come over for dinner. But it was only a couple of days, and I didn’t think. Just didn’t think.”

  “Did she ever talk to you about a boy?”

  “No one specific. We did talk about boys now and then, in general. She has—had—such a good relationship with her mother, but sometimes a girl can’t say things to her mom. And we were closer in age. Plus, I pried,” Hester admitted with a twisted smile. “I think she had a crush on someone because I’d noticed she was taking more care with her wardrobe, her hair. And . . . well, there was just a look in her eye. You know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I commented on it, and she just said she was trying some new things. But there was this look in her eye. This I’ve-got-a-secret look. Did some boy hurt her? Did some . . .” Realization and horror struck her face. “Oh God.”

  “I can’t give you details at this time. I’m going to give you my card. If you think of anything you saw, anything she may have said to you, I want you to contact me. I don’t care how inconsequential it may seem, I want to hear it.” Eve passed over a card. “One thing. Did you happen to notice when you saw her yesterday morning if she had her nails done? Painted fingers and toes?”

  “She didn’t. I would’ve noticed as she rarely did. And she was bare-foot. Watering the plants there, in her bare feet, so I’d have noticed.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  “I have to tell my husband, and our boys. They’re only four. I don’t know how to tell them.”

  Peabody came out as Hester walked away. “EDD’s on the way, and the sweepers are on it. Mrs. Whitney’s packing a few things up for Mrs. MacMasters. They’ll stay at the Whitneys’ for a day or two, depending.”

  “We’ll leave them to it then. We need to interview the friends. It’s too late in the day to scope the park, the jogging trails. Her habit was to run there between eight and nine on weekends, the same weekdays when she didn’t have school. We’ll hit that tomorrow. We’ll take Jamie first.”

  “Jamie? Our Jamie?”

  “Lingstrom. He was a friend.”

  “It’s a damn small world when it sucks.”

  Couldn’t argue.

  She knew Jamie was home for the summer, and staying with his mother. She kept tabs—loosely. He was the grandson of a dead cop—a damn good cop, and a boy who’d lost his sister to murder when he’d been sixteen.

  He was no stranger to death.

  And at sixteen, he’d intrigued her husband by using a homemade jam mer to bypass Roarke’s home security enough to gain access to the estate.

  She knew Jamie had a job in one of Roarke’s R&D departments for the summer—just as she knew Roarke harbored a bit of frustration that the boy’s goals were toward the Electronic Detective Division and cops rather than the private sector.

  “Since they were friends, and knowing Jamie, he’s going to want in.”

  Eve picked her way through the holiday traffic. Gathering crowds, souvenir and snack stands prepared for the afternoon parade.

  “That’ll be up to Feeney.” There was a connection there, too, as Feeney and Jamie’s grandfather had been tight back in the day. “More to the point, he is in. He’s on the short list of the vic’s friends, and the only male on it.”

  “You think they were involved, romantically?”

  “The parents don’t think so—but according to one of the neighbors, and the mother—there was somebody. Somebody fairly recent that the vic was keeping to herself.”

  Peabody pondered a moment. “If she had a thing for Jamie—and he had one back—I don’t think she’d have kept it to herself. He’s just the type the parents would approve of. He’s smart, responsible, has the cop connection. He’s on scholarship to Columbia, and had plenty of other offers from top-level colleges. He took Columbia so he could stay close to home, not leave his mother too much alone.”

  At Eve’s sidelong stare, Peabody shrugged. “He chats up with McNab, which is also how I know Jamie’s been dating the field the last few months. No one girl, nothing serious. I don’t think he’s even mentioned Deena. I’d’ve remembered, since I knew her. Plus most college guys don’t go for high school girls, or not for long.”

  “What do high school girls go for?”

  “Boys. A college boy would be a big status coup. But . . . Deena wasn’t the type. She was kind of sweet and serious and shy.”

  “Vulnerable. A guy pays attention, knew how to play it. She got her nails done.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sometime Saturday, she did her nails or had them done. She dressed up—skirt, nice shirt, jewelry, put on makeup. If you’re hanging at home for the evening, alone, what’re you wearing?”

  “My pajamas or sweats, probably my rattiest.”

  “She didn’t just let him in. She was expecting him.” Eve pulled over to the curb of the modest town house.

  She’d done all this before, walked this same path to tell Brenda Lingstrom her daughter was dead.

  This time Jamie answered the door.

  When had he gotten taller? She had to shift her gaze up to meet his, an odd sensation. He’d let his hair grow a little longer so it tumbled around his face in blond disarray. His jeans were full of holes, his T-shirt baggy with the faded faces of what she recognized as a popular trash rock group sneering out.


  His face had fined down since she’d last seen him, and had gone handsome on her. Another mild shock. She wasn’t looking at a boy anymore, she realized, but a man.

  His sleepy eyes brightened in friendly pleasure, then immediately went blank. He said, “Oh shit.”

  “Nice to see you, too.”

  “Who’s dead? You’re not at the door because you were passing by. Who’s—my mother.”

  Panic leaped, even as his hand shot out and gripped her arm hard enough to bruise.

  “No. She’s not here?”

  “She and Grandma left Friday to hook up with some friends for a girl week, take advantage of the holiday. They’re okay?”

  “As far as I know. We need to come in, Jamie.”

  “Who is it? Tell me who it is.”

  No point trying to soften the blow. “Deena MacMasters.”

  “What? No. No. Deena? Oh God. Oh, goddamn!”

  He turned away, strode into the living area that had changed little since she’d brought death into it almost two years before. He paced it, veering around tables, chairs, circling like a cat in a cage. “Give me a minute, okay? Give me a minute.”

  Eve gestured Peabody to a chair herself, and remained standing while Jamie took his minute.

  He stopped, turned, with an air of weary resignation at odds with his youth. “When?”

  “Early this morning.”

  “How?”

  “We’re going to talk about that. When’s the last time you saw her?”

  “Ah.” He rubbed the space between his eyebrows. The gesture seemed to steady him a little. “A couple weeks ago. Wait.” He lowered to the arm of a chair, then stared hard into space for a few minutes.

  And Eve watched him pull control and composure back. If he decided to pursue law enforcement, he had the spine to make a cop, she thought.

  “Tuesday, two weeks ago this coming Tuesday. A bunch of us went to see this new group—Crusher—play at Club Zero. I asked her to come along because we hadn’t seen much of each other in a while, and she’s into music. All kinds, even the old stuff. It’s an underage club, so she could get in, no prob. They sucked extra large, so she and I split off after the first set and went for pizza, caught up some. I took her home, got her home before midnight. She’s got a curfew.”