Seduction In Death

CHAPTER TWENTY

She was rolling up her other sleeve as she walked toward Interview Room A. Apparently, it wasn't just her car that was having an electronic rebellion. Climate control was on the fritz in this section, and the air was hot, stuffy, and violently scented with bad coffee.

Peabody was waiting outside the door, perspiring lightly in full uniform.

"He whining for a lawyer yet?"

"Not yet. Sticking to the mistaken identity story."

"Beautiful. He's going to be an idiot."

"Sir, in my opinion, he thinks we're the idiots."

"Better and better. Come on, let's do this." Eve pushed open the door. Kevin sat at the single table at one of the two chairs. He was sweating as well, and not so delicately. He looked over as Eve came in, and his lips trembled.

"Thank God. I was afraid I'd just been left here and forgotten. There's been some horrible mistake, ma'am. I was having a picnic with a woman I met online, a woman I knew only as Stefanie. Suddenly, she went crazy. She said she was the police, and then I was brought here."

He spread his hand, a gesture of reason and puzzlement. "I don't know what's going on."

"I'll just bring you up to speed." She drew out a chair, straddled it. "But calling me crazy isn't going to endear you to me, Kevin."

He stared. "I'm sorry? I don't even know you."

"Now, Kevin, what a thing to say after you gave me those pretty flowers and quoted poetry to me. Men, Peabody, what are you going to do?"

"Can't live with them, can't beat them with a stick."

Kevin's eyes darted from one face to the other. "You? It was you in the park? I don't understand."

"I told you to remember my name. Engage recorder," she said. "Interview with suspect Kevin Morano, regarding charges of murder in the first in the case of Bryna Bankhead, accessory to murder in the case of Grace Lutz, attempted murder in the cases of Moniqua Cline and Stefanie Finch. Additional charges of sexual assault, rape, illegals possession, administering illegals to persons without consent, also filed. Interview conducted by Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Also present, Peabody, Officer Delia. Mr. Morano has been informed of his rights. Isn't that so, Kevin?"

"I don't – "

"Did you receive the Revised Miranda warning, Kevin?"

"Yes, but – "

"Do you understand your rights and obligations as contained in that warning?"

"Of course, but – "

She made a mildly impatient sound, held up a finger. "Don't be in such a hurry." She stared at him, went silent. When he licked his lips, opened them, she wagged a finger at him again. And watched a single line of sweat drip down his temple. "Hot in here," she said conversationally. "They're working on the climate control. Must be pretty miserable under that wig and face putty. You want to ditch them?"

"I don't know what you – "

She merely reached over, gave the wig a quick jerk, then tossed it to Peabody. "I bet that feels cooler."

"It's not a crime to wear hair alternatives." He raked unsteady fingers through his short-cropped hair.

"You wore a different one the night you killed Bryna Bankhead. Another still the night you tried to kill Moniqua Cline."

He looked Eve dead in the eyes. "I don't know those women."

"No, you didn't know them. They were nothing to you. Just toys. Did it amuse you to seduce them with poetry and flowers, with candlelight and wine, Kevin? Did it make you feel sexy? Manly? Maybe you can't get it up unless the woman's drugged and helpless. You can't get a boner unless it's rape."

"That's ridiculous." A ripple of anger passed over his face. "Insulting."

"Well, pardon the hell out of me. But when a guy has to rape a woman to get off, it tells me he can't do the job otherwise."

His chin lifted a fraction. "I have never raped a woman in my life."

"I bet you believe that. They wanted it, didn't they? Once you slipped a little Whore into their wine, they were practically begging you for it. But you only did it to loosen them up." Eve rose, walked around the table. "Just priming the pump. Guy like you doesn't have to rape women. You're young, handsome, rich, sophisticated. Educated."

She leaned over from behind him, put her mouth close to his ear. "But it's boring, isn't it? Guy's entitled to a little extra zip. And women? Hell, they're all whores under the skin. Like your mother, for instance."

He cringed away from her. "What are you talking about? My mother is a highly regarded and highly successful businesswoman."

"Who got knocked up in a lab. Did she even know your father, I wonder? Did it matter to her once she was revved to go? How much did they pay her to drop the suit and complete the pregnancy? She ever tell you?"

"You have no right to speak to me this way." His voice was thick with tears.

"Were you looking for Mommy in those women, Kevin? Did you want to fuck her, punish her, or both?"

"That's disgusting."

"There, I knew we'd hit a point of agreement. In the end she sold herself, didn't she? No difference, really, between her and those other women. And all you did was bring out their true natures. They were cruising for it on the web. Got what they asked for. And then some. Is that what you and Lucias figured?"

He jerked, and his breath hitched. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not going to listen to any more of this. I want to see your superior."

"Whose idea was it to kill them? It was his, wasn't it? You're not a violent man, are you? Bryna, that was an accident, wasn't it? Just bad luck. That might help you out some, Kevin. Might help you out a little with Bryna being accidental. But you'll have to work with me on that."

"I told you. I don't know any Bryna."

She whirled until her face was pushed into his. "Your pants are on fire, asshole. Look at me. We've got you cold. All the goodies in your little black bag, the illegal substance you slipped into the wine. We had you under surveillance, fully recorded from the time you stepped into the park. Heard you talking to your pal about the points you were going to rack up. And you're real photogenic, Kevin. I bet the jury thinks so, too, when they see the disc of you slipping the illegal into the wine. I bet they'll be so goddamn impressed they'll give you, oh, I'd say three life sentences – no possibility of parole – on an off planet penal colony. A nice concrete cage to call your own."

She hammered it at him while he stared at her with horror creeping over his face. "Three squares a day. Oh not the squares you're used to," she added, fingering the material of his shirt. "But they'll keep you alive. A long, long time. And you know what happens to rapists in prison? Especially pretty ones. They'll all try you out, then they'll fight over you and try you out some more. They'll fuck you half to death, Kevin. And the more you beg them to stop, the more you plead, the harder they'll ram into you."

She straightened, stared into the two-way glass, into the nightmare that lived in her own eyes. That, crawled in her own belly.

"If you're lucky," she said, "somebody named Big Willy will make you his bitch and keep the others off you. Feeling lucky, Kevin?"

"This is harassment. This is intimidation."

"This is reality," she snapped. "This is fate, this is destiny. This is your goddamn kismet, pal. You trolled for women in online chats. Poetry chats. That's where you found Bryna Bankhead. You developed a relationship with her while using the name Dante. And working with your friend and fellow creep, Lucias Dunwood, you arranged to meet her."

She paused, let it sink in. "You sent her flowers, pink roses, at work. You spent some time watching her on her day off. You used a unit in the cyber-joint across the street. We got you nailed there. You know, we've got a whole frigging division of cyber-geeks on the payroll, Kev. I'll tell you a little secret."

She eased in again, dropped her voice to a conspirator's whisper. "You're not as good as you think you are. Not there, not at the joint on Fifth either. You left prints."

She watched his lips tremble like a child about to cry. "Anyway," she said, "back to Bryna Bankhead. You met her at the Rainbow Room. Coming back to you yet, Kevin? She was a pretty woman. You had drinks. Or you did, and she had Whore you mixed with her wine. When she was primed with it, you went back to her place. Gave her a little more, just in case."

She slapped her hands on the table, leaned in. "You turned on music, you lit the candles, you tossed fucking pink rose petals on the bed. And you raped her. To give it all a little more kick, you fed her some Wild Rabbit. Her system couldn't take it, and she died. Died right there in the bed of roses. Scared you, didn't it? Pissed you off. What the hell did she mean by dying and messing up your plans? You threw her off the terrace, threw her out on the street like she was garbage."

"No."

"Did you watch her fall, Kevin? I don't think so. You were done with her. Had to cover your ass, didn't you? Run home to Lucias and ask him what to do."

She straightened, turned away, strolled over and got herself a cup of water. "He runs you, doesn't he? You haven't got the spine to run yourself."

"No one runs me. Not Lucias, not you, not anyone. I'm a man. My own man."

"Then it was your idea."

"No, it was – I have nothing to say. I want my lawyer."

"Good." She eased a hip down on the table. "I was hoping you'd say that because once you bring the lawyers in, I don't have to work with you toward any sort of deal. I've got to tell you, Kevin, just the idea of making a deal with you was making me sick to my stomach. And I've got a really strong stomach, right, Peabody?"

"Titanium steel, sir."

"Yep, that's me." Eve gave her stomach a little pat. "But you managed to churn it. Now I'm all steady again picturing you spending the rest of your pitiful life in a cage, without your pretty suits, all snuggled up with Big Willy." She pushed off the table. "When I have Lucias sitting where you're sitting now, I'll get a little sick again, working with him. Because he's going to go for a deal and roll right over on you. What are the current odds on that in the pool, Peabody?"

"Three to five, on Dunwood, sir."

"I better place my bet. Let's get you that lawyer, Kevin. Break in Interview, due to suspect's request for representation." She turned for the door.

"Wait."

Her eyes, January ice, met Peabody's. "Something on your mind, Kevin?"

"I just wondered… strictly out of curiosity, what you mean by a deal."

"Sorry, I can't get into that as you've called for your lawyer."

"The lawyer can wait."

Gotcha,Eve thought, and turned back. "Record on. Continuation of Interview, same subjects. Please repeat that, Kevin, for the record."

"The lawyer can wait. I'd like to know what you mean by a deal."

"I'm going to need a nausea pill.",. She sighed, sat again. "Okay. You know what you've got to do, Kevin? You've got to come clean, tell me how it all happened. I need chapter and verse. And you're going to have to show me some good faith and some sincere remorse. You pull that off, and I'll go to bat for you. Recommend that you're given better facilities, separated from the general population of butt-fuckers."

"I don't understand? What sort of deal is that? You think I'm going to go to jail?"

"Oh, Kevin, Kevin." She sighed. "I know you're going over. What happens to you after you're there is up to you."

"I want immunity."

"And I want to sing show tunes on Broadway. Neither one of us have a chance in hell of realizing those precious dreams. We got your DNA, you stupid putz. You didn't suit up for your parties. We got your juice, your prints. And you know that little sample they took from you at Booking? They're running it right now. It's going to match, Kevin, we both know it's going to match what you left behind in Bryna and Moniqua. Once it does, once I have the DNA match in my hot little hand, play time's over. I'll put you down like a sick dog, and all the lawyers in all the land won't be able to help you."

"You have to give me something. A plea bargain, a way out. I have money – "

Her hand whipped out, snatched his shirtfront. "Was that a bribe, Kevin? Am I adding bribing a cop to your list of credits?"

"No, no, I just… I need some help here." He tried to calm himself, to sound reasonable, cooperative. "I can't go to prison. I don't belong in prison. It was just a game. A contest. It was all Lucias's idea. It was an accident."

"A game, a contest, someone else's idea, an accident." She shook her head. "Is this multiple choice?"

"We were bored, that's all. We were bored and needed something to do! We were just having a little fun, a kind of re-enactment of his bastard grandfather's great experiment. Then it went wrong. It was an accident. She wasn't supposed to die."

"Who wasn't supposed to die, Kevin?"

"That first woman. Bryna. I didn't kill her. It just happened."

She leaned back now. "Tell me how it happened, Kevin. Tell me how it just happened."

An hour later, Eve stepped out of Interview. "A miserable, pusboil on the ass of humanity."

"Yes, sir, he is. You wrapped him up tight," Peabody added. "A platoon of lawyers won't be able to poke so much as a pinhole in that confession. He's gone."

"Yeah. The other boil won't break so easy. Alert the team, Peabody. Same personnel as the park. I'm getting a warrant for Dunwood. They deserve to be in on act two."

"You got it. Dallas?"

"What?"

"Do you really want to sing show tunes on Broadway?"

"Doesn't everyone?" She pulled out her communicator, prepared to request her warrant. It beeped in her hand. "Dallas."

"My office," Whitney ordered. "Now."

"Yes, sir. What is he, psychic? Round up the crew, Peabody. I want to move on Dunwood within the hour."

With the interview on her mind and the anticipation of getting her hands on Lucias hot in her blood, she walked into Whitney's office. She'd been prepared to give him her report orally. Her plans changed when she saw Renfrew and another man in Whitney's office.

Face impassive, Whitney remained behind his desk. "Lieutenant, Captain Hayes. I believe you and Detective Renfrew have already met."

"Yes, sir."

"Detective Renfrew is here with his captain. He's considering filing a formal complaint re your conduct in the Theodore McNamara investigation, of which he is primary of record. In hopes to avoid any such action, I've asked you to come here so that the matter can be discussed."

There was a dull roar inside her head, a low burn deep in her gut. "Let him file."

"Lieutenant, neither I nor this department have a desire to wade through the mess of a complaint if it can be avoided."

"I don't give a damn what you or the department wants." Her tone bit and had something unidentifiable flashing in Whitney's eyes. "You file your complaint, Renfrew. File it, and I'll finish you."

"I told you how it was." Renfrew bared his teeth. "Got no respect for the badge, no respect for fellow officers. She comes onto my crime scene throwing her weight around, pulling rank, undermining my investigation. Questioned my crime scene unit after I requested her to remove herself before she contaminated the scene. Goes behind my back to the ME getting data on a body that's not hers."

Whitney held up a hand to halt Renfrew's tirade. "Your response to this, Lieutenant?"

"You want my response to this? I'll give it to you." Funous, she yanked a disc out of her pocket, slapped it onto the desk. "There's my response to this. On record. You idiot," she said to Renfrew. "I was going to let it slide. That was my mistake. Nobody should let cops like you slide. You think the badge is some sort of protection for you? Some sort of hammer you can toss around? It's your fucking responsibility, your goddamn duty, not your cushion and not your weapon."

Hayes made a move to speak. Whitney silenced him by lifting a single finger.

"Don't you tell me about duty." Renfrew braced his hands on his thighs, leaned his body forward. "Everybody knows you're out for other cops, Dallas. You're in IAB's pocket. The rat squad's poster girl."

"I don't have to justify what I did about the One-two-eight to you. It seems you've forgotten cops were dying. Want their names, because I've got them in my head. I stood over them, Renfrew, you didn't. You want a piece of me over that, you should've taken it outside the department, off a homicide investigation. You want a shot at me, you don't take it over the dead we're supposed to stand up for. I asked you to reach out, I asked you to share information vital to both our investigations so we could do the damn job."

"My robbery-homicide hasn't been connected to your sex whacks. And you've got no business on my scene without authority. You've got no right recording on that scene, and anything in such a recording is bogus."

"You pompous, egotistical, ignorant fuckhead. You don't have a robbery-homicide. I've got one half of your murder team in the tank. I've got a full confession, on record, that includes the murder of Theodore McNamara."

Renfrew leaped out of his chair. "You go around me to bring my suspect into interview?"

"My suspect, brought in for questioning re my investigation, which as I told you, asshole, is connected with yours. If you hadn't been so busy taking the easy way, so tight-assed about cooperating, you'd have been part of the op that brought him in. Get out of my face, and get out of it now, or I'll take that badge you don't deserve and make you eat it."

"That's enough, Lieutenant."

"It's not enough." She whirled back to Whitney. "It's not enough. I just listened to a twenty-two-year-old boy tell me how he and his sick friend were bored and made up a game. A dollar a point, a goddamn dollar a point for the one who bagged the most women in the most inventive ways. They drugged them, raped them, killed them, for the satisfaction of being the top stud. And when McNamara realized what his grandson and his playmate were doing, when he confronted them, they bashed his brains in, kept him alive with a stimulant, stripped him naked, bashed him again, and tossed him in the river where he had the bad luck to be assigned to this disgrace.

"Three people are dead, and one's in the hospital fighting to come back. Because one cop decides to take a personal dislike to another, there might have been more. So it's not enough. It's never going to be enough."

"You think you can hang your screwups on me," Renfrew began.

"Stand down, Detective." Hayes got slowly to his feet.

"Captain – "

"I said stand down. Now. There will be no complaint filed from my house. If Lieutenant Dallas wishes to file – "

"I have no wish to file."

Hayes inclined his head. "Then you're a better man than I. I'd like to request a copy of that disc, Commander."

"Request granted."

"I'll consider the contents of the recording and take such actions as are deemed appropriate. Open your mouth, Renfrew, and I'll be filing myself. I want you to step outside. That's an order."

The insult went deep enough to have him vibrating. "Yes, sir, but under protest."

"So noted." Hayes waited until the door slammed. "My apologies, Commander Whitney, for bringing this mess to your door, and for the unbecoming behavior of my officer."

"Your officer needs discipline, Captain."

"He needs a kick in the ass, sir, and I can promise you he'll get one. My apologies to you as well, Lieutenant."

"Unnecessary, Captain."

"That's the first thing you've said I disagree with since you walked in. Renfrew is a problem child, but he is, for the moment, my problem child. I run a clean house, Lieutenant, and take responsibility for any untidiness that works its way in. Thank you for your time, Commander."

He started for the door, paused, and turned. "Lieutenant, Sergeant Clooney and I rookied together. I went to see him after the events of last May came to light. He said you were an untarnished badge and he was grateful you were the one to bring him in. I don't know if that makes any difference to you, but it did to him."

He nodded again, stepped out, and closed the door quietly at his back.

When they were alone, Whitney rose and walked to his AutoChef. "Coffee, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir. Thank you."

"Sit down, Dallas."

"Commander, I apologize for my disrespect and insubordination. My behavior was – "

"Impressive," Whitney interrupted. "Don't spoil it by remembering who's in charge in this room now."

She winced and searched for something to say. "I have no excuse."

"I didn't ask for one." He brought his coffee back to his desk. "But if I required one I might start by asking how much sleep you got last night."

"I don't – "

"Answer the question."

"A couple."

"And the night before?"

"I don't… I can't say."

"I told you to sit down," he reminded her. "Shall I make it an order?"

She sat.

"I've never been a witness to you dressing down an officer – heard rumors," he added. "Now I can safely say you've earned your rep. You did what had to be done with Clooney and the One-twenty-eight. That doesn't mean you won't take flak for it."

"Understood, sir."

He studied her face, and because he could see hints of fatigue, grief, anger, knew she was running thin. "The badge doesn't make the man, Eve, it's the other way around."

She blinked, off balance by his use of her first name. "Yes, sir. I know."

"You're high-profile, professionally and personally. That kind of exposure and shine causes jealousy and resentment in certain types. Renfrew's a prime example."

"He doesn't concern me, personally, Commander."

"Glad to hear it. You have Kevin Morano's confession."

"Yes, sir." She started to rise, to give her oral, but Whitney gestured her back down.

"I don't require a formal report at this time. I got the gist from your rant. Has the warrant for Lucias Dunwood been issued?"

"Requested. It should be waiting for me in my office."

"Then go get him, Lieutenant." Whitney sipped his coffee as she got to her feet. "Contact me when you've wrapped him up. We'll need to schedule a press conference after which you're ordered to go home and use whatever method you choose to guarantee you eight full hours' sleep."

When she left, Whitney picked up the disc, turned it in his hand. Light glinted from it.

An untarnished badge,he thought. It was a good description of her. Watching the light play, he contacted Chief Tibble to make his own report.

It was tempting to blow the doors on the brownstone and blast in with a full squad of cops armed with riot guns and body armor. The circumstances of the case and the weight of the charges gave her the option to do just that.

It would make a splash, a blistering statement.

And it would be completely self-indulgent.

Eve let the fantasy fly away, and with only Peabody beside her, approached the door.

"All stations manned and ready?"

"That's affirmative," Feeney said through her earpiece. "He tries to rabbit and gets past you, we'll scoop him up."

"Copy that." She glanced at Peabody. "He's not getting past us."

"Not in this life."

Eve pressed the bell, counted off seconds as she rocked on the balls of her feet. She'd reached ten when the house droid opened the door.

"Remember me?" She gave him a toothy smile. "I need to speak with Mr. Dunwood."

"Yes, Lieutenant. Please come in. I'll tell Mr. Dunwood you're here. May I offer you some refreshment while you wait?"

"No, we're set, thanks."

"Very well. Please make yourself comfortable."

He walked away, stiff and formal in his classic black uniform.

"Now if Roarke would ditch Summerset and get a droid, I could be treated politely like that every day."

"Yeah." Peabody grinned. "You'd really hate it."

"Who says?"

"Those who know you best, sir."

"I think I know me best," she countered. "What makes you say… hold that thought," she said when she saw Lucias turn into the foyer. "Mr. Dunwood."

"Lieutenant." He'd dressed in black as well, had used just a hint of makeup to give his face a grieving pallor. It had worked wonders on his mother that morning, and he had no doubt it would set just the right tone with the cops. "You have some news about my grandfather? I spent the morning with my mother, and she…"

He trailed off, looked away as if composing himself. "We'd both be grateful for any news. Anything at all to help us make some sense out of our loss."

"I think I can help you with that. We already have someone in custody."

He looked back at her, an instant of surprise before it was masked. "I can't tell you what this means to us. To have his killer brought to justice quickly."

"Brightens my day, too."Indulgent, she told herself. She was being indulgent after all. But what the hell. "Actually, there were two people responsible. One has been charged, and an arrest of the second is imminent."

"Two? Two against a helpless old man." He worked rage into his voice. "I want them to suffer. I want them to pay."

"We're riding the same wave on that one. So let's get started. Lucias Dunwood, you're under arrest."

She whipped out her weapon when he took a quick step back. "Oh, please," she invited. "Keep going. I didn't have the opportunity to use this on your pal, Kevin, and it's made me twitchy."

"You stupid bitch."

"I'll take the bitch, but hey, which one of us is going into a cage? Stupid is as stupid does. Hands up and behind your head. Now."

He raised his hands, and when she turned him to face the wall, made him move.

Maybe she let him. Eve wasn't going to lie awake at night debating the point. But when he shoved, she let her body flow back, gave him room to swing. And ducking under the arch of his fist, rammed her own, twice, into his gut.

"Resisting arrest," she said when he fell to his hands and knees, retching. "Another mark on your permanent record." She nudged him flat with her foot, then put her boot lightly on the back of his neck. "I won't add assaulting an officer because you missed. Restrain this clown, Peabody, while I finish stating the charges against him and read him his rights."

He was demanding a lawyer before she'd finished.