Brotherhood in Death

5

They cleared the house, every step on record. While Peabody called it in, Eve located the mechanism for lowering the chandelier. Something she only knew about because she’d seen them work in her own foyer.

“You can clean it and stuff without hauling in a ladder,” she told Peabody.

“Handy. Man, they messed him up good before they hanged him.”

“I’d say he was alive when they hauled him up there. Gouges on the neck likely self-inflicted. Skin and blood under his nails is likely his. ME will determine that and COD.”

As Peabody had brought in their field kits, Eve opened hers. While they sealed up, she studied the body. “Beat his face, his genitals, stripped him naked. That says personal, really pissed, and probably sexual.”

“Sure doesn’t read trying to score a bunch of money. One of the women he diddled with, but like you said before, getting him in and out? Probably had to have a partner.”

Eve got out tools and gauges, first verified his identity for the record with the Identi-pad.

“Victim is Mira, Edward James, age sixty-eight. Severe facial contusions and lacerations. Looks like both cheekbones are broken as well as some teeth.” She put on microgoggles. “Check TOD, Peabody. I don’t think these were caused by fists,” she said as she peered closer. “Maybe a sap, likely weighted. Same with the genitals, but there’s some . . . almost like punctures in the groin area.”

“TOD oh-three-thirty-six.”

“So, worked on him for while. Bruising on the wrists, look at the pattern.” Rigor mortis had yet to pass, so she used her own wrists to demonstrate, holding them up and together, palms facing. “Looks like he was restrained, hung up, see the pattern? Restrained by the wrists, hoisted up. No sign of bruising on the ankles. Kicked him in the balls, repeatedly. Those shallow punctures? I’m betting shoes with those ridiculous pointed toes.”

“That says female killer.”

“I’ve seen plenty of those stupid shoes on guys’ feet, but, yeah, this reads female to me. And sexual motives. Going to kick your balls till they fall off, you fucker. That’s what it says to me.

“And they sodomized him.”

Peabody’s shoulders hunched up. “What?”

“You didn’t look at him from the back. His anus is torn, bloody. They used something to sodomize him. It’s very sexually motivated. It’s personal, and it’s planned out. Bringing him back here where they probably intended to do it all in the first place.”

“But Mr. Mira came in.”

“They had a place to take him, and the transportation. Maybe that was always backup, maybe they always intended to haul him off, haul him back, and hang him.”

She sat back on her heels. “I bet they waited to hoist him up, waited until he was coming to, waited until he could be aware, could know and feel. Then they pushed that button, let him struggle as he went up, watched him choke, watched him tear at his own throat. You don’t go this personal and not want him to feel death, not want to watch it happen.”

“But do you go that vicious over ending an affair? Do you think someone could be that pissed about being dumped?”

“Sure. Of course, that means she’s batshit crazy, but there’s no lack of batshit crazy in the world. It would have to mean whoever helped her is equally batshit.”

Eve got to her feet, closed her eyes a moment to help herself see it.

“Okay. Yesterday they conned the vic into coming here, talking about selling the house he couldn’t sell without Mr. Mira’s approval, which he wasn’t going to get. He lets them in. Maybe the batshit crazy ex—if so—has hid the crazy and hooks him up with this Realtor. Or maybe she comes as a surprise at his door. One way or the other, they get him back to the study.”

She moved around the body, a few paces down the foyer.

“No restraints—or Mr. Mira doesn’t think so, ME will verify—so they have a weapon on him. One holds it on him, the other smacks him around. Mr. Mira comes in, calls out, walks down. They don’t use the weapon on him, are careful to keep out of sight until they can knock him out.”

She paced as she worked it through because there were variables. The pictures changed depending on how she juggled them in.

Dissatisfied, she started again.

“Back up, consider the timing. When the vic first arrived, when Mr. Mira came in. There’s a solid gap of time.”

“You said they’d started on the vic. That Mr. Mira saw he was injured.”

“Yeah, but . . . They walked around with the vic some first. Black eye, bloody lip when this is your endgame? They’d barely gotten started, so they walked around, didn’t force him back to the study, that was just part of the tour, the place they jumped him.”

To satisfy herself, Peabody walked back, glancing in rooms, stopped at the study. And she could see it, too.

“So if he knew one of them, and he had to because it’s really personal, he wasn’t worried about it.”

“Exactly. She didn’t pose a threat to him. Fast-forward to Mr. Mira unconscious on the study floor. Completely batshit finishes him off, so not completely batshit. They decide to get the vic out, take him somewhere they can work on him. One of them knows enough to take the security hard drive.”

Following, Peabody walked back. “Not completely batshit, and not in total panic mode.”

“That’s right. They have an agenda, a plan, and they hold it together, follow through.”

“How do they get him out? Counting on the weather to mask the abduction, okay,” Peabody continued. “But how do they get him to go with them?”

“Maybe they stun him—light stun, just enough to unbalance him. Or drug him. Morris will look for it. They get him into a vehicle. Then they’ve got to do it all again on the other end. Get him out of the vehicle and into wherever they’re going to torture him.

“He’s going to have to tell us some of it. Whether he was stunned, tranq’d, just intimidated in and out, out and in. Morris will find some of the answers.”

She looked around. “I don’t think it was about this house. The house was their ploy, and they used it to get him where they could take him. Hanging him here, they wanted him found, but they wanted some impact.”

“‘Justice is served,’” Peabody read. “Could be someone he sent up, or about someone he didn’t. And the woman, you know, vamped him into a relationship to get close to him, to get intel, to become someone who didn’t worry him.”

“Maybe so, and we’ll have to dig there. If it’s about someone he sent up, or didn’t, it was about rape. On some level it’s about rape.”

“Because they raped him.”

“Somebody does this to another human being and calls it justice? It’s about vengeance, and vengeance this sexual is about sex. So rape’s going to be a factor. At least that’s how it reads for me right now.”

She glanced over at the knock on the door. “Probably the sweepers or the dead wagon. Go ahead, let them in. And let’s get the uniforms started on a canvass. Anybody who saw a vehicle near the house, noticed lights on last night, with another hit on yesterday between sixteen and eighteen hundred, just to cover it.”

She looked back down at Edward Mira. She doubted very much if she’d have liked him in life. But in death, he was hers.

She pulled out her ’link, walked back toward the study as the morgue team filed in. After blowing out a breath, she contacted Mira.

“Eve.” Mira barely blinked, and gave Eve no chance to speak at all. “Edward’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, please. Tell me where you are, what happened.”

“In the house on Spring, and I’m sorry about that, too. I can’t officially determine COD. Morris will—”

“Eve.”

Hell, Eve thought. “His face and genitals were severely beaten. He was sodomized.”

“Ah, dear God.”

“Ligature marks on his wrists are consistent, to my eye, with him being restrained vertically—arms over his head. I believe he was likely still alive before he was hanged from the ceiling light in the entrance foyer. He had a comp-generated sign around his neck reading ‘Justice Is Served.’”

“All right.” With her eyes closed, Mira rubbed her fingers over the middle of her forehead. “It’s very personal, sexual—”

“I’m not asking for a profile, Dr. Mira, not right now. Take a minute. I’m not sure what you want to tell Mr. Mira.”

Mira opened her eyes. “I’ll tell him what you tell me. Of course.”

“Okay. I’m going to need to talk to him again. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” There was a snap in the words. Mira held up a hand, visibly regouped. “Don’t apologize,” she said again, calmly now. “Both Dennis and I want you to do everything you have to do, everything you can do to find who did this. Do you want him to come to Central?”

“No, don’t do that. I’ll go to him. I have to inform next of kin, then I’ll go by and talk to him before I go in. Officially, I’m not going to be able to consult with you on this.”

“Of course not, the conflict of interest. I’m not thinking straight yet.”

“But unofficially I’m going to want your help with the profile. Later,” she added. “Go home. You’re going to want to be with him when I interview him. I’m going to contact Whitney, go by the victim’s residence and speak to his wife. That’ll give you time to go home, to tell Mr. Mira before I get there.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll leave here in a few minutes.”

“One last thing. I’m going to leak this to Nadine Furst.”

“Oh,” Mira said, on a kind of sigh.

“The media’s going to know about this fast. I’m going to leak it to her so she can get out in front of it. You’re going to want to screen any incomings, because once this hits, the media’s going to try to talk to you and Mr. Mira. You need a statement.”

“I know what to do. I’ll take care of that end. Please do what you have to do.”

“I’ll speak to you within ninety minutes.”

Eve turned, saw Peabody in the doorway.

“Sweepers are here, uniforms are canvassing. The morgue wagon’s on its way. I flagged him for Morris.”

“That covers it. The sweepers will go through the house, but there’s nothing relevant that’s not in the entranceway. For now, we’re finished here. Let’s go break it to the vic’s wife.”

“I hate that part.”

“We all do. You’re probably going to hate this time more than usual.”

She contacted Whitney before she left the crime scene.

“Tibble was right about the media, particularly given the sexual implications of the murder.”

“Yes, sir. I’m going to contact Nadine Furst. I’d rather have someone I know and trust, someone who knows the Miras, take the media lead on this. Whatever comes after, what goes out first will be fair.”

“Do it. I’ll speak with Tibble and with our media liaison. And dot those i’s, Dallas, right down the line.”

“Let’s move,” she told Peabody when Whitney clicked off. “I’ll contact Nadine on the way.”

The minute she slid behind the wheel, Eve used the in-dash to contact Nadine.

The reporter, looking on-camera ready as usual, greeted her with a brilliant smile. “Dallas. I happen to be with your delicious husband in what may be my new triplex penthouse. I was just wishing he came with it, then it would be a done deal.”

“Get your own, and put on your media hat.”

The humor dropped out of Nadine’s foxy green eyes, turning them sharp. “What do you have?”

“Less than an hour ago Peabody and I discovered the body of former Senator Edward Mira in the former residence of the senator’s grandparents.”

“Shit, damn, fuck. Let me get my recorder.”

“Just listen. The victim had been brutally beaten, then hanged. He’d also been sodomized.”

“Christ, this story’s going to burn.”

“Yesterday at approximately five-twenty-five P.M., according to the log of the Rapid Cab used for transportation, the senator’s cousin Dennis Mira—no, go with Professor Mira, he’s one of those—entered the residence, and was attacked and rendered unconscious after seeing the senator injured and trying to go to his assistance. Professor Mira contacted the NYPSD. Since that time, investigators have attempted to locate the senator, who they believe was held against his will in another location before being brought back to the residence. The chief medical examiner is working to determine the time and cause of death. The primary investigator has no comment at this time, but the department intends to issue a statement once details are confirmed.”

“God, when you drop one on me, you drop it big-time.”

“I’m on my way to notify next of kin. You can’t air that until Peabody gives you the green.”

“All right. How’s Dennis? Is he all right?”

Eve let out a breath. Friendships didn’t come easily to her, but when they did, they came solid.

“There are two reasons I’m giving you the jump. You’ll wait for the green, and you asked about Mr. Mira. He’s okay. He got banged up a little, but he’s okay.”

“And now it’s my job to ask if you have any leads, any suspects.”

“No, because I’m still doing my job. Since you’re with Roarke, tell him I okayed it for him to fill you in on the details of the grandfather’s estate, the brownstone. That’s going to come out anyway, and I’d rather you played it at the opening. What I don’t want is even a whiff that Mr. Mira is a suspect, even a person of interest. He’s a witness and a victim himself. That’s it.”

“You should know me better.”

“I do, that’s why I contacted you before I notified next of kin. Peabody will give you the green as soon as we do. I’ve got to go.”

“So do I now.”

They both clicked off, and Eve scowled at the traffic.

“How are you going to handle Mr. Mira?”

Eve’s scowl deepened. “What do you mean, ‘handle’?”

“Look, first off, I know he didn’t have anything to do with this. I’m talking about the whole dotting the i’s thing. He was the last person to see the vic alive, and he and the vic had a strained relationship at least partially due to the house the vic’s body was hanged in. So I know how we’d handle it if we didn’t know and love Mr. Mira. But . . .”

“We’ll dot the fucking i’s, Peabody.”

“I don’t want to throw off the rhythm.”

“You won’t.”

By the time she pulled up in front of the shiny spear of the building, Eve was primed for trouble. A different doorman wore the polar bear suit and instantly jogged her way. Eve slammed out of the car, shot up her badge.

“We’re the police, and here on police business. That’s a police vehicle and it stays just where it is. You give me any lip over that, my partner here is going to arrest you for obstruction of justice and interfering in a police investigation, and arrange to have you hauled down to Central.”

He had a deep brown face against the snow white of the livery, and that face went carefully blank. “I didn’t say a word.”

“That’s smart. You need to clear us up to Edward and Mandy Mira’s apartment.”

Now he winced. “It just would be. Look, I have to follow procedure. You’re doing your job, right? I’ve got to do mine. I need to clear it with the Miras’ personal security.”

“Then do that.”

He walked toward the building, and had the grace—or the training—to hold the door open for them. “If you’ll give me a minute.”

He went to the same system used the night before, tapped in a code. “Hank, it’s Jonah on the door. There are a couple of cops here who—”

Eve nudged Jonah aside. “Hank, Lieutenant Dallas. Don’t screw around. You need to clear me and my partner up there, asap.”

“It could be my ass this time. She put you on the banned list.”

“She needs to talk to me. If she won’t let me up, she’ll end up hearing what I have to tell her on a media bulletin. Clear me up, tell her that.”

“Hell, it’s a crap job anyway. You’re clear. Jonah, they’re clear.”

“Copy that.”

“I know the way,” Eve told him, and walked to the elevator she’d used before.

“Fancy,” Peabody said when they stepped on.

“Eyes and ears,” Eve said.

“Really?” Humming to herself, Peabody looked around the car, sniffed the roses. “You get to use the new dojo much?”

“I’ve managed a couple times a week. I’m learning to be a bear, a rooster, a crane, a tiger, a dragon. It’s like the animal kingdom. But somehow it ends up being frosty by the time I’m done.”

“I could like being a dragon,” Peabody speculated, and the doors opened.

Hank gave them a pained look.

“She’s going to have the senator give me the what for when he gets back. You get three minutes, then she’s contacting the governor again.”

“I think she’s not going to do either of those things. Open up, Hank.”

He shook his head, but opened the doors.

Mandy stood, arms crossed, chin up, eyes filled with contempt.

“This is harassment. I’ll be contacting the governor and our lawyers in precisely three minutes ten seconds.

“Mrs. Mira, I regret to inform you that your husband’s dead. We’re sorry for your loss.”

Color hoisted like red flags on her cheeks. “What are you talking about? How dare you come here and say such a thing to me!”

“His body was found hanging from the entrance chandelier in the house on Spring Street. Visible evidence of physical violence was obvious. His body has been transported to the chief medical examiner, who will determine cause of death.”

Mandy lost the red flags, and all of her color—every shade of it. But her voice remained full and furious. “You’re a liar.”

“I am the primary investigator into your husband’s death, and as such have come here to inform you thereof. We understand this is a difficult time for you, but we have some questions. The answers may help us find the person or persons who murdered your husband.”

“Get out, get out of my house. You’re lying. You’re lying to upset me.”

“You know I’m not.”

When she swayed, Hank rushed over, took her by the arm. “Mrs. Mira, ma’am, you need to sit down. You sit down, and I’m going to get you some water.”

“You’re lying.” But this time her voice trembled.

Eve didn’t sit, but stepped over to her. The woman didn’t weep, but sat pale as ice. The shock in her eyes struck as genuine.

“My partner and I entered the house on Spring approximately sixty minutes ago and discovered your husband’s body. I’m a murder cop, Mrs. Mira, a ranked officer. I don’t lie about murder. Can you tell me if you know anyone who would want to kill him?”

“No one would do this. No one would dare.”

“Someone did this, Mrs. Mira. Someone dared. They hurt him, are you hearing me? They made sure he felt pain before they ended it. Who wanted to cause him pain?”

“I don’t know. Go away.”

Peabody made an attempt, her voice soothing, sympathetic. “Is there anyone we can contact for you, Mrs. Mira? Family, a friend?”

“I don’t want your help. Get out. Get out or I’ll have you thrown out!”

Hank rushed back with a glass of water. She grabbed it and flung it across the room. “All of you, get out!”

“You can reach me at Central if you have any questions or want to make a statement.” Eve turned, walked to the door. She glanced back once, saw that Mandy continued to sit, hands gripped together, eyes shocked but dry.

“You’re leaving?” Eve asked Hank as he came out with them, shut the doors.

“I’ll stick for now, in case. I don’t know what to say. Can I contact her son, her daughter?”

“Go ahead. Make sure you give them my name.” She stepped back on the elevator with Peabody. “Good luck, Hank.”

“She’s scary.” Despite eyes and ears, Peabody blurted it out. “I know people react in all kinds of ways to death notifications, but she’s scary.”

“She is what she is, and we did what we came to do.”

Eve’s head throbbed, a dull but steady beat as she drove toward the Miras’ home. Again, she’d do what she had to do—and didn’t expect anyone to call her a liar or throw a glass. Maybe that’s what made this one harder.

She found street parking just over a block from the pretty townhome. When they got out, started to walk, she stuck her hands in her pockets and found the gloves she’d forgotten about.

At least she hadn’t lost them yet.

“Give Nadine the green.” Rolling her shoulders, she started up the short steps to the front door.

She rang the bell, focused on her approach, the basic procedure. The woman who opened it had Mira’s coloring, Mr. Mira’s lankier build. Gillian, Eve remembered, the Wiccan daughter who lived in . . . yeah, New Orleans.

“Dallas. Hi, Peabody.”

“Hey, Gillian. I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I came in last night. I had a feeling, something off, and contacted my mother. So here I am.”

“It’s nice to see you, even given.”

Gillian smiled at Peabody, stepped back. “The same for you. Mom and Dad are in the living room. This is hard on him, so don’t you be.”

“We were figuring on hauling him down to Central in restraints where we keep the saps and rubber hoses.”

Gillian just gave Eve a cool stare with her mother’s eyes. “Let me take your coats.”

She did her hostess duty, then led them in.

They’d lit a fire, and the Miras sat together on the sofa in the pretty room much as they had at the crime scene. He looked tired, Eve thought, and felt a pang of guilt knowing she would add to the strain.

“Cops in the house,” Gillian said, but lightly, before she walked over to sit on the arm of the sofa by her father.

United front.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Mira,” Eve began, “for your loss.”

“Thank you. Edward and I . . . our relationship wasn’t what it had been, but I remember the boy he was. The boys we were together. It was a hard death?”

He looked at her with those kind green eyes. She wanted to lie to him, give him that much. But she couldn’t spare him. “Yes, it was.”

“It’s odd, even with Charlotte’s work, and knowing what people can and will do to people, you never expect it to happen to one of your own. Despite our differences, Edward was my family. You’ve spoken to Mandy?”

“We were just there.”

“She won’t answer her ’link,” Mira explained. “Dennis is concerned about her.”

“She . . .” How to put it? Eve wondered.

“Her personal security was contacting her children,” Peabody put in.

“That’s good.” He patted Gillian’s knee. “They’re a comfort. I know she’s a difficult woman. You’re too polite to say.”

“I’m not all that polite,” Eve said, making him laugh, just a little.

“I’ll bet you haven’t had lunch.”

The segue threw Eve off balance. “We aren’t really—”

“You have to eat. I’m going to make sandwiches.”

“Mr. Mira, I’m sorry, but we need to ask you some questions. I need to interview you, on the record. I need to read you your rights.”

“You’re not treating him like a suspect.” Gillian shoved off the arm of the sofa, an arrow yanked from the quiver.

“Gillian, I explained this to you.” Mira rubbed Dennis’s thigh, rose. “It’s procedure, and has to be done.”

“I don’t care about procedure.”

“I have to,” Eve said, then looked at Dennis. “I’m sorry. I have to.”

“Of course you do. But you also need to eat. We can do this in the kitchen while I make sandwiches.”

“Dad, I made soup, remember?”

“That’s right, of course, that’s right.” He got to his feet in his baggy green cardigan and tousled hair. “Gilly makes wonderful soup. It’s potato leek, isn’t it?”

“Chicken and rice.”

“That’s right. Potato leek was last time. Soup’s a comfort,” he said to Eve. “We could all use it.”

Eve couldn’t say no, just couldn’t make herself draw the hard line with him. So she ended up in the big kitchen with the comfort of soup scenting the air, sitting across from him in the breakfast nook with the winter sun eking pale through the windows.

“You eat a bit first, both of you,” he said when Gillian set bowls in front of them. “Charlie tells me that nice young policeman was promoted today.”

“Trueheart. He got his detective’s shield.”

“Good for him. He’s a nice young man. Bright, I take it?”

“He is. He’s a good cop.” She ate because it was there. “It’s nice soup.”

“It really is.” Peabody glanced at Gillian. “The sage really makes it. My granny always uses sage in hers.”

“You like to cook?”

“Bake mostly, when I have time. It’s relaxing.”

Eve let the small talk circle around her. She should cut it off. She shouldn’t be cozied up here in the kitchen with soup and conversation. She should—

Dennis reached over, patted her hand. “You mustn’t worry. You mustn’t worry about doing your job. I want to help you find whoever gave Edward a hard death.”

“Mr. Mira, you’re not a suspect. Nobody thinks you had anything to do with this. But we have to go through this, and some of the questions I have to ask are going to be pointed, they’re going to feel hard and intimidating. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. You go ahead—but finish your soup first.” He shifted to Peabody. “And how is your young man? I like him quite a lot. He’s so colorful.”

“Yeah, he is. He’s great.”

Eve finished her soup, caught Mira’s eye and the quiet gratitude in it. So maybe it had been the right thing, just to give Mr. Mira time to settle.

“I’m going to make hot chocolate,” Dennis announced. “You like my hot chocolate,” he said to Eve.

“Who wouldn’t, but—”

“You and Delia— You like hot chocolate?”

“It’s a big weakness of mine, and now I know why I didn’t get any cake earlier.”

“It’s better than cake.” He winked at her, tugging hard on Eve’s heart. “You and Delia come sit at the counter while I make it. It’ll keep my hands busy while you interview me. And, Charlie, you and Gillian sit right there. Gilly, you behave.”

“Maybe.”

He chuckled as he rose.

They’d do it his way, Eve decided and got up to switch to a stool at the big kitchen counter while Dennis hunted in cupboards.

“You make it from scratch?” Peabody’s eyes went shiny as he found a big bar of chocolate, a canister of sugar. “It’s a real treat to watch somebody make hot chocolate from scratch.”

Eve sent Peabody a look to remind her they weren’t there for a treat.

As Dennis put an actual pan on an actual cooktop, Eve reminded herself of the same.

“Record on.”