Devoted in Death

8

Eve woke to the familiar. The scent of coffee, Roarke, already dressed in one of his master-of-the-business-universe suits on the sofa in the sitting area working on his PPC as the screen, on mute, scrolled with financial data she’d never understand. And the cat sprawled over the top of the sofa like some feline potentate.

Really, it didn’t get much better.

She lay still a moment, taking it all in – and still he sensed she’d waked as his gaze shifted to hers.

“Good morning.”

“It feels like one,” she decided.

She pushed up as nothing beckoned more alluringly that the scent of coffee. Since he’d gone for a pot, she walked over, poured an oversized mug, and gave herself that special glory of the first morning sip.

“How many countries and/or off-planet stations have you talked to this morning?” she wondered.

“Only Italy and Olympus. It’s a slow day.”

“In your world,” she countered as it was barely six a.m. “Shower,” she declared, and took her coffee with her.

Next to coffee, real coffee, pulsing jets and raining showers of steaming hot water equaled the finest start to any morning. There were days she didn’t think twice about it – such things had become routine. And other days she remembered, with brutal clarity, the cold, the hunger, the dark spaces, the painfully bright ones.

She had a flash of the room in Dallas – red light from the sex club blinking, the frigid cold because the temperature gauge was broken, the hunger gnawing like a rat in her belly fighting with the avid fear her father would come back drunk, but not drunk enough, and hurt her again.

She’d been eight, with hunger, fear and pain her constant companions.

Why should she think of that now, on a good morning with hot water flooding all over her and the clean, faintly green scent of the shower gel rising up with the steam?

She’d dreamed, Eve realized. No, not her old nightmare, not that horrible night she’d killed Richard Troy as he’d raped her. But he’d been in there, somewhere.

Her first instinct was to dismiss it – she couldn’t claim to be over the years of trauma, but she’d learned how to cope with it, to put it in its place and move on. But dismissing it gave it – him – too much power, and might subvert whatever her subconscious had worked on while she slept.

So she let her mind drift, let her thoughts play back as she stepped from the shower into the drying tube. And while the warm air blew around her, she heard music.

The cello. He’d played the cello. A requiem, Dorian Kuper had called it as he sat, wearing black tie, teasing mournful notes out of the instrument with the bow and his skilled fingers.

A requiem for all.

She’d seen the faces of the dead, sitting quietly in the audience of what had been the opera house, all dripping, glittering chandeliers and gilt. With each of the dead spotlighted in icy-blue light.

See me. Stand for me.

So many of them, she’d thought. Those known victims, the others she believed had been.

And empty seats – for those yet to be known, or worse, those yet to come.

Too many empty seats, she thought as she stepped out of the warm air, took down the robe tidily hanging on its hook.

Richard Troy had walked onstage, grinning that wild grin, a conductor’s baton in his hand.

Let’s liven it up! Time for a happy tune. Killing pumps you up and puts a spring in your step. You should know that, little girl.

“Fuck you back to hell,” she muttered, and heard her dream voice echo the sentiment.

That made her smile, if a little fiercely. He couldn’t get to her anymore, couldn’t make her quake and shake.

But the dream, or the memory of it, told her nothing she didn’t already know. There were many, and there would be more.

She went back into the bedroom, noted Roarke had two covered dishes on the table.

It would be oatmeal – something else she’d resigned herself to.

When she walked over, sat beside him, he took her chin in his hand, turned her face to his for a kiss.

Another fine way to start the day. Even when oatmeal followed.

When he removed the warming lids, she saw she hadn’t been wrong. But he’d added a side of bacon, a bowl of fat berries, and another bowl of the crunchy, caramelly stuff. When you added the berries and the crunchy stuff to the oatmeal, had bacon, it all went down easy enough.

“Why does stuff like oatmeal that’s good for you have to be weird?”

“There are many among us who don’t consider oatmeal weird at all.”

“I bet there’s more of us who do,” she mumbled, and disguised it with the berries and crunch.

“It’s a fine way to start a snowy day.”

“Snow?” She looked up, looked toward the window into the gray and the white.

Not the thin spit of yesterday’s snow, she saw. But thick, fast white flakes.

“Shit.”

“It’s lovely from here, with breakfast on the table and the fire crackling.”

“Which would be great if we could sit right here until it stops.”

“Is there anything you can’t do here through the morning?”

She could probably work at home. Her equipment here – and the other equipment available to her – put what she had at Central to shame. But —

“I need Peabody,” she began.

“I can arrange transportation for her.”

He could, she thought, and would. And still but.

“I just got back from leave. My people need me around, as much as I can manage. And Trueheart takes his detective’s exam tomorrow. Baxter’s a wreck over it.”

“Being a wreck over his young aide speaks well of him. And don’t claim you didn’t fret about it when Peabody took hers.”

“I trained her. If she’d bombed it, I’d have kicked her ass.”

“How do you think our young Trueheart will do?”

“He’ll pass. If he doesn’t it means he’s not ready. It means he let nerves screw him up. A cop can’t let nerves screw him up, so that would be not ready. Unless he and Baxter catch a hot, I’m going to use them on my investigation. It’s more hands and eyes, and it’ll keep them both busy and occupied.”

“You’re a good boss, Lieutenant.”

“The cops under me deserve one, so I need to be. If Trueheart makes it I’m going to request another uniform.”

“Anyone in mind?”

“A couple I’ll look into, if and when.” She felt the cat start to slink down the sofa like a snake when she picked up some bacon. “What’s on your plate today?”

“A number of meetings, reviews – much of which, lucky for me, I can handle from here via ’link or holograph. I’ll venture out later. I want to go by the youth shelter – work’s progressing very well there. And as I’ve also been away, I’ll want to spend time at my office.” He scooped up oatmeal happily enough. “I’m also a good boss.”

“Of legions.”

As the cat bellied over, eyes fixed on bacon, Roarke merely turned his head, raised an eyebrow. Galahad rolled onto his back, yawned hugely.

“Why does he think he’s going to get away with it?” Eve wondered. “He never does.”

“You can’t get the prize without reaching for it.”

Acknowledging the point, she reached for the prize of more coffee – and her communicator signaled.

“Hell.” She rose, went over to pick it up from the dresser. “Dallas.”

“Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the woman at 623 Bond, apartment 902. Whittiker, Kari has reported a possible missing person. Notification of possible missings flagged at your request.”

“Right. Who’s missing?”

“Campbell, Jayla, age twenty-four, mixed-race female. Last seen, 754 Carmine, apartment 615, at approximately twenty-four-thirty hours.”

“Acknowledged. I’ll take it. Dallas out.”

She frowned at the comm before setting it down again. “Probably nothing. Probably hooked up with somebody, but I had them flag any missings or possible missings over the age of sixteen. They’ve never gone for kids, that we know of.”

“Small blessings. Do you want me to go with you?”

“No point. I’ll take it solo, just meet up with Peabody at Central. The woman hasn’t been out of touch for even eight hours, so it’s probably nothing.”

“And yet.”

“And yet.” She headed for the closet. “If this turns out to be one of theirs, we’ve got a hell of a lot more time than anybody’s had before. That’s a start.”

She came out with a navy-blue crew neck sweater, brown trousers and a brown jacket. And frowned again when he gave her the Galahad/bacon raised eyebrow.

“What? What’s wrong with this stuff?”

“Keep the sweater and trousers.” He rose, plucked the jacket away from her, and strolled into the closet.

“Why can’t I get it right?” she demanded. “I think I do get it right, but you like to make me think I don’t get it right.”

“It’s not altogether wrong. There’s just a better choice.”

She yanked on a support tank, muttering about better choices, wriggled into underwear, and was hooking the trousers when he came out with a jacket – a brown one, damn it.

But one that had a subtle needle-stripe of navy. The boots were navy, too, with a wider brown stripe up the sides to the ankle.

She knew she’d never seen them before.

“Waterproof, insulated,” he told her. “Your feet will be happier.”

“How many pairs of boots do I have in there?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You keep buying them, so you ought to know.” She tugged the sweater on, shoved at her hair when her head came out.

And he kissed her. “One of my small pleasures. Would you deny me?”

She took the boots, sat down. Felt the warmth, the solid support the minute her feet were inside. “Do you know how many pairs of boots I had before I met you?”

He only smiled as she rose, reached for her weapon harness – which told her he undoubtedly did.

“Two, and one pair didn’t really count as they were emergency use only because they were trashed. I still caught the bad guys.”

“You did. Now you get to catch them with more comfortable and stylish feet.”

She took the jacket from him, put it on and began to stow what she needed in various pockets. “You know I married you for sex and coffee, not boots.”

“Isn’t it nice, then, to have the bonus?”

This time she grabbed his face, kissed him. “Yeah. I’m going to grab a few things from the office here, then I’m in the field. See you tonight.”

“I’ll be here until about eleven, I’m thinking, if you’ve need of me. Meanwhile, take care of my cop.”

“Nearly top of my list,” she said and strode out.

“It’s not, no, not nearly top.” He glanced over, saw the cat had managed to take advantage of the distraction and snag the bit of bacon still on Eve’s plate. “And that’s why you continue to try, isn’t it? Now and again, you hoist the prize.”

Galahad ran his tongue over his whiskers, and belched.

By the time she got downstairs her coat lay draped over the newelpost with the Peabody scarf folded neatly over it, the Mr. Mira snowflake hat on that, and a fresh pair of gloves added to the mix.

She thought to stuff the hat in her pocket, thought of the thick snow, reconsidered. She’d just look at it like a good-luck charm, she decided. Until she managed to lose it like she lost every hat and every pair of gloves she’d ever owned. She wound the scarf on, and because dangling ends were – to her mind – an opponent’s opportunity to strangle in any hand-to-hand, tucked them inside the coat.

Pulling the gloves on, she walked out into the wall of snow where her car already sat running, heaters, she imagined, turned to blast.

Routine, she thought again. Such things had become routine. That didn’t mean she took them for granted.

She imagined Summerset had given a dry, ghoulish snicker as he set out the snowflake hat, and sniffed when he’d set out the surely doomed gloves. But he’d put them out.

“So thanks,” she muttered, and drove off in her warm, ugly car.

She sent Peabody a voice mail, letting her partner know she was checking out a possible missing persons, and to plan to report to Central as usual.

“Push on the potentials I copied you on,” she added. “Let’s get a sense of the vics, and the local cops on them. If anything rings on this possible I’m checking, I’ll bring you in.”

She could have Baxter and Trueheart start on the two she hadn’t reviewed thoroughly, she considered. But it could wait.

She worked her way down to NoHo, forced to drive defensively on every block. Because there were snow-phobic morons on every block, she concluded. Which included pedestrians in such a hurry to get out of the snow, they didn’t bother to look when they used the crosswalk.

Maxibuses inched along until she wanted to obliterate every last one of them – and she comforted herself that at least the weather held off the hyping ad blimps.

It took her twice as long as it should have to get to Bond, and the shock of finding a parking space nearly in front of the building almost caused her to lose it to a sneaky sedan.

She hit the sirens, shocked the sneaky sedan, and slid smoothly into the space.

The sedan, obviously pissed and suspicious, remained inches away. Eve stepped out of the car, thinking: Want to take me on, pal?

She opened her coat, flashing her weapon in its harness, held up her badge. Stared.

The sedan moved along.

Another nice note to the morning, she decided, and trudged through the snow to the entrance of the building with its nicely repointed brick, snow-covered steps and curly iron rail.

A solid building, she determined, carefully rehabbed, decent security with cams and palm plates.

She started to use her master, thought better of it, and pressed for 902.

The answer was quick enough to tell her whoever was on the other end had been standing close.

“Yes.”

“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. Ms. Whittiker.”

“Yes. Yes. I’m buzzing you in. Please come right up. I’m waiting. Come right up.”

Eve pushed in the door at the buzz, at the thunk of locks deactivating. The small lobby showed the same care as the exterior with clean fake wood floors and a pair of elevators with shiny black doors.

She took one to the ninth floor, pleased when it ran smooth and nearly soundlessly. Even as she stepped out, a door down the corridor opened.

The woman wore short, stylish dreds around a carved-in-ebony face. Huge brown eyes looked exhausted and worried as she gripped her hands together.

“Are you the police?”

Eve took out her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas. You’re Kari Whittiker?”

“Yes, come inside. They said, when I contacted the police, they said Jayla hadn’t been out of touch long enough to be considered missing. Even when I explained everything, they said to wait another day, to try contacting her ’link, other friends. Then they tagged me just a little while ago, and said somebody was coming.

“Did you find her? Is that why you’re here?”

“No. I’m just following up.”

“You’re a lieutenant.” Those tired, worried eyes sparked. “Lieutenants don’t just follow up. My father’s a Marine, so’s my brother. I know how rank works.”

“I’m following up as I’m checking into any reports of missing persons in connection with another case. Why don’t we sit down, and you can explain to me what you explained when you called this in?”

“What other case?”

Smart and sharp, Eve thought, which might be helpful. But right now she needed data. “Ms. Whittiker, asking me questions isn’t going to help locate your friend. Answering mine might.”

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t get any sleep.”

She gestured to a chair in a living area that said female without the frills. Warm colors, a multitude of pillows, soft throws, flowers and candles.

“When did you last see Ms. Campbell?” Eve asked.

“She went out about nine last night, with Mattio. Mattio Diaz. They were going to a party, I’m not sure where. In the West Village, I think.”

“You’re roommates?”

“That’s right. We’ve lived together for nearly four years now – roomed in college, and got this place right after.”

“I’m going to assume she’s stayed out all night before this, and you have another reason to be concerned.”

“Yes, yes to both.”

Kari clasped her hands together again. She wore skin pants the color of iron and a thick hip-length sweater in red – and to Eve’s eye worked hard to stay calm and coherent.

“She texted me at about twelve-thirty last night, said she was on her way home because I’d been right and Mattio was a dick. She asked me to wait up if I wasn’t already in bed – I wasn’t. I mean I was, but I was watching a vid. So I got up, got out a bottle of wine and our stash of emergency chocolate brownies. But she didn’t come home. I waited until about one, tried her ’link, but it wouldn’t go through.”

“Wouldn’t go through?”

“Like the charge died, or the ’link broke, or something. I couldn’t even get to her v-mail. I tried again and again, but she never answered.”

“How about this Mattio?”

“Oh, I tagged that fuckhead.” Now she radiated disgust. “I waited until nearly two in the morning because I didn’t want to talk to him, but I tagged him. Still at the party, stoned – big surprise. He said she’d left – couldn’t say when, didn’t much care if you ask me, and had his usual line about how she’d misunderstood, and gotten jealous.”

Tears swam into her eyes but didn’t blur the fire behind them.

“He’s a cheat, and a loser. And I was so glad when Jayla texted me because she really sounded done this time. I can play it back for you.”

“Yeah, do that.”

Kari pulled it out of her pocket. “I’ve played it over and over, as if this time I’ll realize I missed something, but —”

She hit play.

Eve listened, and began to feel the burn.

It was the voice of a woman who was pissed, who was heading home because she wanted her girlfriend and a sympathetic ear. Not one who’d have decided to go back to a party or hook up with some other guy for the night.

“How would she have gotten home?”

“She’d have cabbed if she could. She doesn’t like the subway, doesn’t like being underground. So if she couldn’t find a cab, she’d have walked.”

“It’s a long walk on a cold night.”

“She was pissed, and that would keep her going awhile. Lieutenant, I know what you’re thinking. She’s a grown woman. She had a fight with her boyfriend, started home, changed her mind. Maybe she ducked into a bar, or hired an LC, or ran into somebody she knew and went with him. But she wouldn’t. She asked me to wait up for her. She’d never have left me worried this way. She’d have contacted me. We’re friends. We’re best friends. We’re like sisters. I know her, and she wouldn’t do this. Something happened to her.”

“Where does she work?”

“She works for a modeling agency – which is where she met Mattio Dickwad Diaz. He’s a model. She books models with ad agencies, with designers. Frosted. She worked for Frosted. They’re in the Flatiron Building here in New York. They’ve got agencies in Europe and Asia. She travels sometimes.”

“Did she have trouble with anyone? Did anyone bother her?”

Kari grabbed one of her dreds, twisted it, untwisted it. “She works with models, so there’s a lot of drama and demand. She’s good at it. There’d be somebody pissed, sure, if she rejected them, or the client turned them down when she sent them out. Nobody specific that I can think of.”

“Any guys who wanted to take Mattio’s place with her?”

“Plenty. She was wasting her time with him. Take the guy across the hall.”

“Across the hall?”

“Yeah.” She dropped her hand, sighed a little. “Luke Tripp. He’s single, he’s cute, he’s interested. But she’s had her focus on Mattio, making it work with him.”

“This neighbor ever get pushy?”

“Oh God no. I wish he would, a little, and maybe she’d take more notice.”

“How about Mattio? Did he ever get pushy, physical, any kind of abuse?”

“No physical, no. ‘Abuse’?” The fire flashed against the fear again. “I think it’s abusive to be a serial cheater who turns it all around so it’s the fault of the person he cheated on. But that’s me. He’s an asshole, but he’d never hurt her that way. Or anyone. They might fight back, and hit him in his precious face.”

She asked more questions, got the clear picture of a young woman – happy and successful in her work, with an eclectic circle of friends – who’d been hung up on the wrong man for about eight months.

“Can I take a look at her room?”

“Oh, sure. Look anywhere, at anything. Can you put out a – what is it – an APB or something? Maybe she had an accident. I called the hospitals and clinics, the emergency centers. Everything I could think of, but —”

“Get me a recent photo of her,” she told Kari, to give her something to do. “We’re going to look for her.”

“You’re going to look for her.” Kari grabbed Eve’s hand. “You promise?”

“I’m looking for her now, getting information from you, seeing where she lived, seeing her things. We’ll double-check at the hospitals.” And the morgue, Eve thought.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. Her room’s this way. I’ve got lots of pictures. I’ll get one for you.”

“I’d like to have your ’link.”

“Mine, why?”

“I’m going to have someone in EDD – Electronics – try to narrow down the location. Where she was when she texted you.”

“You can do that?” Kari pulled it out of her pocket. “Here, whatever you need.”

Eve used her own to contact McNab.

“Yo, Dallas.” His pretty face came on screen – the flash of silver links curving along his ear nearly blinded her. “Snow day!”

“I need a location off a text. Can you do that without the actual ’link in your hand?”

“I’m the magic man. Tag me on it, or connect it to yours, and give me a couple mo’s. She-Body,” he called out. “Got a task for your LT going. Don’t suit up yet. We were about to put on the snow gear, head out,” he told Eve.

“I’ll tag you on the civilian’s ’link.”

“Use this code,” he said, while the screen showed his movement around the apartment to the second bedroom they used as a mutual office.

She used the code he gave her, heard the signal on his end.

“Okay, what model are you using?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“Never mind, wait, let me…” She saw his comp now, and the codes flashing over his screen. “There it is, okay. Order Function/Control/Interface.”

She did as he instructed, felt the ’link vibrate lightly in her hand.

“Texts coming up. Which ones are you after?”

“That one.” She could just see Jayla’s name on McNab’s screen. “The last one from Jayla Campbell.”

“  ‘Wine and whine,’ nice one. Couple more mo’s on this. Did you know the ’link’s deactivated?”

“How?”

“I can dig into that if you want, but it’s nonresponsive. This text was sent near Carmine and Sixth. Somewhere in a two-block area.”

Peabody’s face pushed onto the screen. “What’s up? Do you have something hot?”

“I’ve got something. I’m currently on Bond, checking out a possible missing person. You head over to Carmine, talk to the people who gave a party last night.” She reeled off the address. “Subject’s name is Jayla Campbell. Get what you can. Save me time and tag Uniform Carmichael, have him check medicals for Campbell. I’ll get back to you.”

“You are looking for her,” Kari said from behind her. “You think something really bad happened to her.”

“Whatever’s happened, I’m looking for her.”

Eve got a good sense of Jayla Campbell. She liked popular music, nothing too cutting edge, nothing too nostalgic. She had a love affair going with shoes, and kept her wardrobe separated into the professional wear, the party wear and the hangout wear.

She leaned toward the conservative in sex, opted for the yearly birth-control implant – and was due for a recharge there in three months.

She liked her work, had hopes to climb the ladder to full partner, and struggled to keep steady on a healthy nutrition and exercise routine.

She had a younger sister, still in college, and parents who were going to celebrate their twenty-sixth anniversary in the fall.

She believed, according to the journal she kept on her bedroom comp, she was the woman to make Mattio a star, and to make him a good man.

Not in love with him, Eve deduced. Thinks she is, but it’s not the long-haul. And there was just enough about Luke Tripp – the cute neighbor – to show Jayla was paying some attention there.

She enjoyed a varied social life, much of it work-centered, kept a decent budget with occasional splurges – which included hair and skin care, an apparent priority.

By the time Eve left the apartment, she visualized a woman with a good work ethic, one who enjoyed interaction with people – friends and strangers alike. A dependable woman. Not one who would leave her closest friend and roommate hanging and worried.

She knocked on the door across the hall.

The man who opened the door had a compact body and an attractive face. His dark hair stuck up in wild tufts, as if he’d combed it with a rake. And his eyes, warmly blue, widened when she held up her badge.

“Luke Tripp?”

“Yeah. You’re the police. Did you find her?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“Ah, Jesus.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, added more tufts. “Kari just told me about an hour ago. I’ve been tagging everybody I can think of, but nobody’s seen her.”

“When did you last see or speak to her?”

“We got home from work at the same time yesterday, walked in together. Talked for a couple minutes, like you do. Later, about nine maybe, I was restless, so I decided I’d hit the gym. It’s right around the corner. I rode down in the elevator with her and Mattio.”

He said the name in a spit of contempt.

“Don’t like him much.”

“At all,” Luke corrected. “He’s an asshole, and he treats her like crap. She deserves better.”

“Like you?”

He let out a half laugh, then just sighed. “I wish.”

“How about after the gym?”

“After? I… Oh, well, God, you’re looking for where I was when she went missing.” This time he pressed his fingers to his eyes. “Okay, anything that helps. I ran into a couple gym buddies, and we went out for a brew. I’d’ve been home by midnight. Do you want to come in, do you want to look around?”

“No. I’m just crossing things off the list.”

“Kari said she was upset about Mattio – big surprise – but you’ve got to trust me. She’d never do this to Kari, never just drop off the grid. They’re family.”

No, Eve thought when she left the building, the woman she pictured had a good, solid sense of responsibility, and wouldn’t do this to a friend.

Eve pulled out her ’link to coordinate with Peabody on the next step.