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Ransom in Death - Chapter 2
Posted by
Cyrex
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19 August 2012
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Dallas sat back and scanned through the information Peabody had sent to her unit. She glanced over at Louise Dimatto. The doctor was trying to act nonchalant but Dallas could feel the nervousness rolling off her.
Feeney sat methodically working through files. As cops, both Dallas and Feeney, the captain of the Electronics Detective Division, were accustomed to testifying. Open court or before Congress, Dallas figured it was all the same for cops.
Across from Dallas, Roarke read through an in-depth technical manual, making notes for modifications and requesting clarification. Dallas figured it would take the judgement at the end of the universe to get Roarke to break a sweat.
It was definitely Dimatto that needed the distraction.
“Louise, what can you tell me about Tristavane?”
“What?” Louise looked up and focused on Dallas. “Tristavane, not much. I don’t use it at the clinic. It’s used in psychiatric treatment.”
“Short rundown, what does it do?”
“It’s used to dull extreme emotional distress. It in effect separates the emotional response from the intellectual response. Some doctors use it to help patients deal with the reality of the problem without allowing the pain and depression to influence the treatment.”
“Huh...so you come to terms with the loss first then feel the pain afterwards?” Dallas asked.
“Yes. Not everyone agrees with the treatment, but it is popular among some psychiatrist.”
“And Nortix?” Dallas scanned through the tox report.
Louise became very interested. “Nortix with Tristavane?”
“Mean something to you?” Dallas asked. She nodded to the unit next to Louise. With a couple of keystrokes, she sent the tox screen to Louise’s unit.
Nerves gone, Louise concentrated on the drugs rolling down the screen. “This woman probably was lucky to know where she was, let alone who she was.”
Roarke looked up, “Eve, you promised no new cases.”
“Trueheart and Baxter caught the case,” Dallas said. “I’m consulting.”
“Lieutenant...” Roarke said, his voice lilting up with disbelief.
“Do you know Justice Prince?” Dallas asked.
“That would be Supreme Court Justice Prince?” Roarke asked, keying something in quickly before pushing aside the screen to concentrate on his wife..
Feeney’s snort spoiled Dallas’ innocent answer, “We have a meeting scheduled with him after the testimony today.”
“Fill us in kid,” Feeney said, rubbing his eyes as he pushed aside the screen. “You know the Irishman can’t resist a mystery.”
Dallas did a quick run down while watching Roarke. Louise listened while scanning the drugs and doing a little research, “This is a reprogramming cocktail,” she muttered.
“Do you know Justice Prince?” Dallas asked Roarke again.
Throwing a cold glance at Feeney, who studiously avoided the look, Roarke shook his head. “I know of him, but he’s avoided the social world for some time now.”
“About four years,” Feeney said, looking up from a quick search. “Looks like Mrs. Prince enjoyed society, was a real social butterfly, then suddenly nothing.”
Dallas thought about that. The autopsy report showed the medicals for Barbara Prince stopped 4 years ago. Baxter and Trueheart’s research yielded Prince had last been seen 4 years ago. That matched the end of Justice Prince’s socializing.
“I’d like to check his financials back four years, but I don’t have the juice yet to go after a Supreme Court Justice,”
“Actually, Lieutenant,” Roarke said, “You don’t need juice. Since 2017 any American can view the financials of Supreme Court Justices.”
“What?” A couple of seconds later, Roarke sent the financials he had pulled up when Dallas had first asked about Justice Prince.
“There was a concern that the Court was being influenced by money. Since the Justice has a job for life unless they are impeached, Congress passed a law to avoid any appearance of undue influence. Their financials are part of public record,” Roarke smiled slightly. “It was the first law the Court couldn’t rule on. Since it impacted them, they would all have to recuse themselves, so it held.”
Feeney snorted, “That’s how Justice Norman was forced to resign. When it was found he was getting money from China, he had a choice to resign or get impeached. In my opinion we’ve seen better decisions, but they’re still pretty screwy.”
Dallas scanned the numbers, “Regular payments every quarter of $2 million to a non-profit. I wonder....”
“We’ll check later, Lieutenant. We’re on the ground,” Roarke said. Dallas wasn’t the only one who could create a distraction. It was a poorly kept secret that Dallas disliked flying. He’d successfully engaged her so they landed without her noticing.
Baxter and Trueheart stood outside the alley where George McKenzie’s trail ended. They had watched as McKenzie destroyed his link in full view of the cams. He had obviously wanted anyone watching to know what he had done. It had been fairly easy to watch his progression into this alley, then nothing.
First thing Trueheart noticed was the recyclers had been emptied that morning. There were three, all with the green light indicating they had recently been serviced. If McKenzie had dropped his broken link into these recyclers, it was long gone.
Baxter focused on the opening at the other end of the alley. There had been a couple of people who had exited from the alley at that end according to the cams, none of which was identifiable as McKenzie. He saw a street sleeper’s crib set up against the wall a few feet from the opening.
“See if anyone’s home,” Baxter told Trueheart. He knew his trainee had a way with the forgotten and hopeless. Something about the open, earnest expression won their cooperation if not their trust.
It was always a gamble to send a uniform instead of plain clothes. The target could run before getting a look at the concern in the face that promised help instead of trouble.
Trueheart hunkered down in front of the makeshift tent. He kept a distance in case the occupant had a sharp weapon. He trusted Baxter to have his back.
“NYPSD,” Trueheart called out.
“Didn’t do nothing for NYPSD. Go away,” Came a broken voice from within.
“Sir, are you injured?” Trueheart asked.
“Didn’t do nothing for NYPSD,” the voice repeated. “Mine to sell.”
“What was yours to sell, sir?” Trueheart kept his distance from the tent. He kept his voice level and non-threatening.
The sir did it, the street sleeper stuck his head out between the tent flaps. One eye was filmed over. The local clinic could remove the cataract but getting the street people to come in, even for free, was always a struggle. He did have one good eye which examined Trueheart closely.
“Baby cop,” he said.
Trueheart didn’t see himself as a baby cop. The things he’d seen and experienced since joining homicide had ensured he’d never be that innocent again. But he was aware of how he looked and the impact he had on people. He could always use that to his advantage. Play to your strength Baxter had told him more than once.
“Yes sir,” he agreed equably. “What was yours to sell?”
“Fine suitcase, shoes...too small but fit Bingo. Credits … fine brew.... nothing for cops.”
“You sold something for a suitcase and credits? No sir, no problem for the cops. You could help me though. Can you tell me what you sold?”
“Trade?”
Trueheart patted his pocket and pulled out a half pack of mints. He held it out. It was to his credit that he didn’t flinch when the thin, dirty fingers scraped across his palm taking the mints. The man almost delicately pulled a mint free and dropped it into his mouth. He took a few moments to enjoy the cooling mint flavor.
“Cart,” he said. His voice seemed a little clearer as if the mint had a medicinal effect.
Trueheart showed the man his link. The last clear picture of McKenzie before entering the alley was on the screen.
“Is this the man who bought your cart?”
“Why’d he wear coat?...So hot now. Could have used in cold.”
“He took a coat out of the suitcase before selling it to you?” Trueheart clarified.
The man had lost interest, “Shoes too small. Fit Bingo.”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure Bingo appreciated the shoes,” Trueheart stood knowing he’d gotten all he could now.
The man held out the remaining package of mints, “No sir, you can keep the pack. The NYPSD appreciates your assistance.”
The mints disappeared into the tent. Apparently deciding all those mints deserved more information, the man pointed out the alley and to the left. “Went that way.”
“Thank you, Mr?” Trueheart fished for a name.
“Iggy...call me Iggy.”
“I’m Troy,” Trueheart said. “Thank you, Iggy.”
Iggy went back inside the tent. Baxter joined Trueheart exiting the alley and turning left. They were a few blocks away before Baxter murmured “Charmer.”
Trueheart smiled with a small shrug.
As Dallas approached the witness table, the Senators took stock. They saw a tall, lanky woman with short, carelessly cropped hair. They didn’t know Dallas had reluctantly kept an appointment with the hair consultant Trina who kept the careless look but made it stylish.
The summer weight suit spoke to power and control. Eve wore it with ease, not because she was comfortable with designer clothes but because she didn’t care. Leonardo, the suit’s designer and the love of her best friend’s life, understood that and made sure it worked for her.
The whiskey colored eyes were flat and no-nonsense... cop’s eyes. Here was a woman more accustomed to asking questions than answering them.
Behind her strode the attorney representing Roarke and Dallas, Craig Underhouse, and the attorney representing NYPSD, Lisa Craig. Dallas swore to tell the truth, then sat with an attorney on each side.
“Mrs. Roarke,” Senator Bryan Waylan began, “what can you tell us about the events that led up to the arrest of Doctor Michael Waverly?”
“Senator,” Dallas said mildly, “my legal name is Eve Dallas, my rank is Lieutenant.
Lisa nervously laid a hand over Dallas’s hand, Craig raised an eyebrow, and took the direction from his client, “Senators, please address the witness as either Lieutenant, Lieutenant Dallas or Dallas. I believe this information was in the legal briefing provided the Senators.”
“Of course if she is ashamed of her husband’s name,” Senator Twoey started.
“I am not ashamed of my husband’s name, Senator, it simply is not my name. If the question is directed to me, I ask the Senators use my name,” bullshit power play, Dallas thought. Twoey was acting as a second for Waylan.
“My mistake, Lieutenant Dallas,” Waylan said with apparent graciousness, “I am old fashioned and trust you will be lenient with me.”
“I trust the Senator will remember going forward, if not, I will be happy to jog his memory,” Dallas answered, almost sweetly. She was aware of the cameras in the room. She had essentially suggested if Waylan made the mistake again, he was not just old fashioned he was old and forgetful. It was not an image he or any of the other Senators would want picked up for the news flashes.
“The question, Lieutenant,” Senator Austin prompted. The small smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, made it clear she understood Dallas’ gambit.
“I was called to the scene for the reported homicide of a street sleeper Snooks, aka Samuel Patrinsky. His heart had been removed with a great deal of surgical skill,” Dallas ran them through the like crimes and the fresh death of Jilessa 'Honey' Brown.
“When did Roarke become involved in the case?” Austin asked.
“Because I believed it likely the killer was one of the top surgeons in the city, I ran a check on the best clinics and found Roarke was on the board of the Drake Center. He accompanied me to a fund raiser and provided introductions to the doctors who had the skill set to do the cuts.”
“So from the beginning,” Waylan prompted.
“Only as a resource for background on the Drake Center procedures and introductions,” Dallas clarified.
“When did Roarke become fully involved in the investigation?” Twoey asked.
“He was not involved in the formal investigation. I was removed from the case.”
“Ah yes, suspected of the murder of a fellow cop,” Waylan said, looking down as if he just remembered this juicy tidbit.
“Officer Bowers was brutally beaten to death by a droid normally reserved for the military in an attempt to stop the investigation.”
“That’s quite a charge, Dallas,” Senator Sweeney spoke for the first time.
“One that has been confirmed, Senator. A similar droid was recovered from the hospital and the serial number confirmed it was military issue. Dr. Waverly said he had friends in high places. He gave us the name of a Colonel Riker who we have been unable to locate. A similar droid was used to threaten me with Roarke’s death if I didn’t stop. That droid self-destructed,” Dallas flashed a fierce grin.
“If you will check your brief, you will see a picture of a five year old boy being held by a droid. The cop in Chicago that was working the Jasper Mott case received that photo along with a threat of what the droid would do to his son if he didn’t back off the investigation,” Dallas let disgust show through her words. She had spoken to Wilson McRae, the Chicago cop who had resigned rather than risk his family. He had discussed it with his wife and they decided coming forward now was the right thing to do.
“Both the threat to Detective McRae’s family and Roarke occurred after warnings to stop investigating the medical profession issued by you, Senator Waylan.”
That, Eve thought, had been almost too easy. Bringing in Waylan after saying Waverly had friends in high places was an unmistakable connection. One the Senator didn’t appreciate, if his heightened color was an indicator. She waited for the next move in this little game.
Feeney sat methodically working through files. As cops, both Dallas and Feeney, the captain of the Electronics Detective Division, were accustomed to testifying. Open court or before Congress, Dallas figured it was all the same for cops.
Across from Dallas, Roarke read through an in-depth technical manual, making notes for modifications and requesting clarification. Dallas figured it would take the judgement at the end of the universe to get Roarke to break a sweat.
It was definitely Dimatto that needed the distraction.
“Louise, what can you tell me about Tristavane?”
“What?” Louise looked up and focused on Dallas. “Tristavane, not much. I don’t use it at the clinic. It’s used in psychiatric treatment.”
“Short rundown, what does it do?”
“It’s used to dull extreme emotional distress. It in effect separates the emotional response from the intellectual response. Some doctors use it to help patients deal with the reality of the problem without allowing the pain and depression to influence the treatment.”
“Huh...so you come to terms with the loss first then feel the pain afterwards?” Dallas asked.
“Yes. Not everyone agrees with the treatment, but it is popular among some psychiatrist.”
“And Nortix?” Dallas scanned through the tox report.
Louise became very interested. “Nortix with Tristavane?”
“Mean something to you?” Dallas asked. She nodded to the unit next to Louise. With a couple of keystrokes, she sent the tox screen to Louise’s unit.
Nerves gone, Louise concentrated on the drugs rolling down the screen. “This woman probably was lucky to know where she was, let alone who she was.”
Roarke looked up, “Eve, you promised no new cases.”
“Trueheart and Baxter caught the case,” Dallas said. “I’m consulting.”
“Lieutenant...” Roarke said, his voice lilting up with disbelief.
“Do you know Justice Prince?” Dallas asked.
“That would be Supreme Court Justice Prince?” Roarke asked, keying something in quickly before pushing aside the screen to concentrate on his wife..
Feeney’s snort spoiled Dallas’ innocent answer, “We have a meeting scheduled with him after the testimony today.”
“Fill us in kid,” Feeney said, rubbing his eyes as he pushed aside the screen. “You know the Irishman can’t resist a mystery.”
Dallas did a quick run down while watching Roarke. Louise listened while scanning the drugs and doing a little research, “This is a reprogramming cocktail,” she muttered.
“Do you know Justice Prince?” Dallas asked Roarke again.
Throwing a cold glance at Feeney, who studiously avoided the look, Roarke shook his head. “I know of him, but he’s avoided the social world for some time now.”
“About four years,” Feeney said, looking up from a quick search. “Looks like Mrs. Prince enjoyed society, was a real social butterfly, then suddenly nothing.”
Dallas thought about that. The autopsy report showed the medicals for Barbara Prince stopped 4 years ago. Baxter and Trueheart’s research yielded Prince had last been seen 4 years ago. That matched the end of Justice Prince’s socializing.
“I’d like to check his financials back four years, but I don’t have the juice yet to go after a Supreme Court Justice,”
“Actually, Lieutenant,” Roarke said, “You don’t need juice. Since 2017 any American can view the financials of Supreme Court Justices.”
“What?” A couple of seconds later, Roarke sent the financials he had pulled up when Dallas had first asked about Justice Prince.
“There was a concern that the Court was being influenced by money. Since the Justice has a job for life unless they are impeached, Congress passed a law to avoid any appearance of undue influence. Their financials are part of public record,” Roarke smiled slightly. “It was the first law the Court couldn’t rule on. Since it impacted them, they would all have to recuse themselves, so it held.”
Feeney snorted, “That’s how Justice Norman was forced to resign. When it was found he was getting money from China, he had a choice to resign or get impeached. In my opinion we’ve seen better decisions, but they’re still pretty screwy.”
Dallas scanned the numbers, “Regular payments every quarter of $2 million to a non-profit. I wonder....”
“We’ll check later, Lieutenant. We’re on the ground,” Roarke said. Dallas wasn’t the only one who could create a distraction. It was a poorly kept secret that Dallas disliked flying. He’d successfully engaged her so they landed without her noticing.
#
Baxter and Trueheart stood outside the alley where George McKenzie’s trail ended. They had watched as McKenzie destroyed his link in full view of the cams. He had obviously wanted anyone watching to know what he had done. It had been fairly easy to watch his progression into this alley, then nothing.
First thing Trueheart noticed was the recyclers had been emptied that morning. There were three, all with the green light indicating they had recently been serviced. If McKenzie had dropped his broken link into these recyclers, it was long gone.
Baxter focused on the opening at the other end of the alley. There had been a couple of people who had exited from the alley at that end according to the cams, none of which was identifiable as McKenzie. He saw a street sleeper’s crib set up against the wall a few feet from the opening.
“See if anyone’s home,” Baxter told Trueheart. He knew his trainee had a way with the forgotten and hopeless. Something about the open, earnest expression won their cooperation if not their trust.
It was always a gamble to send a uniform instead of plain clothes. The target could run before getting a look at the concern in the face that promised help instead of trouble.
Trueheart hunkered down in front of the makeshift tent. He kept a distance in case the occupant had a sharp weapon. He trusted Baxter to have his back.
“NYPSD,” Trueheart called out.
“Didn’t do nothing for NYPSD. Go away,” Came a broken voice from within.
“Sir, are you injured?” Trueheart asked.
“Didn’t do nothing for NYPSD,” the voice repeated. “Mine to sell.”
“What was yours to sell, sir?” Trueheart kept his distance from the tent. He kept his voice level and non-threatening.
The sir did it, the street sleeper stuck his head out between the tent flaps. One eye was filmed over. The local clinic could remove the cataract but getting the street people to come in, even for free, was always a struggle. He did have one good eye which examined Trueheart closely.
“Baby cop,” he said.
Trueheart didn’t see himself as a baby cop. The things he’d seen and experienced since joining homicide had ensured he’d never be that innocent again. But he was aware of how he looked and the impact he had on people. He could always use that to his advantage. Play to your strength Baxter had told him more than once.
“Yes sir,” he agreed equably. “What was yours to sell?”
“Fine suitcase, shoes...too small but fit Bingo. Credits … fine brew.... nothing for cops.”
“You sold something for a suitcase and credits? No sir, no problem for the cops. You could help me though. Can you tell me what you sold?”
“Trade?”
Trueheart patted his pocket and pulled out a half pack of mints. He held it out. It was to his credit that he didn’t flinch when the thin, dirty fingers scraped across his palm taking the mints. The man almost delicately pulled a mint free and dropped it into his mouth. He took a few moments to enjoy the cooling mint flavor.
“Cart,” he said. His voice seemed a little clearer as if the mint had a medicinal effect.
Trueheart showed the man his link. The last clear picture of McKenzie before entering the alley was on the screen.
“Is this the man who bought your cart?”
“Why’d he wear coat?...So hot now. Could have used in cold.”
“He took a coat out of the suitcase before selling it to you?” Trueheart clarified.
The man had lost interest, “Shoes too small. Fit Bingo.”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure Bingo appreciated the shoes,” Trueheart stood knowing he’d gotten all he could now.
The man held out the remaining package of mints, “No sir, you can keep the pack. The NYPSD appreciates your assistance.”
The mints disappeared into the tent. Apparently deciding all those mints deserved more information, the man pointed out the alley and to the left. “Went that way.”
“Thank you, Mr?” Trueheart fished for a name.
“Iggy...call me Iggy.”
“I’m Troy,” Trueheart said. “Thank you, Iggy.”
Iggy went back inside the tent. Baxter joined Trueheart exiting the alley and turning left. They were a few blocks away before Baxter murmured “Charmer.”
Trueheart smiled with a small shrug.
#
As Dallas approached the witness table, the Senators took stock. They saw a tall, lanky woman with short, carelessly cropped hair. They didn’t know Dallas had reluctantly kept an appointment with the hair consultant Trina who kept the careless look but made it stylish.
The summer weight suit spoke to power and control. Eve wore it with ease, not because she was comfortable with designer clothes but because she didn’t care. Leonardo, the suit’s designer and the love of her best friend’s life, understood that and made sure it worked for her.
The whiskey colored eyes were flat and no-nonsense... cop’s eyes. Here was a woman more accustomed to asking questions than answering them.
Behind her strode the attorney representing Roarke and Dallas, Craig Underhouse, and the attorney representing NYPSD, Lisa Craig. Dallas swore to tell the truth, then sat with an attorney on each side.
“Mrs. Roarke,” Senator Bryan Waylan began, “what can you tell us about the events that led up to the arrest of Doctor Michael Waverly?”
“Senator,” Dallas said mildly, “my legal name is Eve Dallas, my rank is Lieutenant.
Lisa nervously laid a hand over Dallas’s hand, Craig raised an eyebrow, and took the direction from his client, “Senators, please address the witness as either Lieutenant, Lieutenant Dallas or Dallas. I believe this information was in the legal briefing provided the Senators.”
“Of course if she is ashamed of her husband’s name,” Senator Twoey started.
“I am not ashamed of my husband’s name, Senator, it simply is not my name. If the question is directed to me, I ask the Senators use my name,” bullshit power play, Dallas thought. Twoey was acting as a second for Waylan.
“My mistake, Lieutenant Dallas,” Waylan said with apparent graciousness, “I am old fashioned and trust you will be lenient with me.”
“I trust the Senator will remember going forward, if not, I will be happy to jog his memory,” Dallas answered, almost sweetly. She was aware of the cameras in the room. She had essentially suggested if Waylan made the mistake again, he was not just old fashioned he was old and forgetful. It was not an image he or any of the other Senators would want picked up for the news flashes.
“The question, Lieutenant,” Senator Austin prompted. The small smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, made it clear she understood Dallas’ gambit.
“I was called to the scene for the reported homicide of a street sleeper Snooks, aka Samuel Patrinsky. His heart had been removed with a great deal of surgical skill,” Dallas ran them through the like crimes and the fresh death of Jilessa 'Honey' Brown.
“When did Roarke become involved in the case?” Austin asked.
“Because I believed it likely the killer was one of the top surgeons in the city, I ran a check on the best clinics and found Roarke was on the board of the Drake Center. He accompanied me to a fund raiser and provided introductions to the doctors who had the skill set to do the cuts.”
“So from the beginning,” Waylan prompted.
“Only as a resource for background on the Drake Center procedures and introductions,” Dallas clarified.
“When did Roarke become fully involved in the investigation?” Twoey asked.
“He was not involved in the formal investigation. I was removed from the case.”
“Ah yes, suspected of the murder of a fellow cop,” Waylan said, looking down as if he just remembered this juicy tidbit.
“Officer Bowers was brutally beaten to death by a droid normally reserved for the military in an attempt to stop the investigation.”
“That’s quite a charge, Dallas,” Senator Sweeney spoke for the first time.
“One that has been confirmed, Senator. A similar droid was recovered from the hospital and the serial number confirmed it was military issue. Dr. Waverly said he had friends in high places. He gave us the name of a Colonel Riker who we have been unable to locate. A similar droid was used to threaten me with Roarke’s death if I didn’t stop. That droid self-destructed,” Dallas flashed a fierce grin.
“If you will check your brief, you will see a picture of a five year old boy being held by a droid. The cop in Chicago that was working the Jasper Mott case received that photo along with a threat of what the droid would do to his son if he didn’t back off the investigation,” Dallas let disgust show through her words. She had spoken to Wilson McRae, the Chicago cop who had resigned rather than risk his family. He had discussed it with his wife and they decided coming forward now was the right thing to do.
“Both the threat to Detective McRae’s family and Roarke occurred after warnings to stop investigating the medical profession issued by you, Senator Waylan.”
That, Eve thought, had been almost too easy. Bringing in Waylan after saying Waverly had friends in high places was an unmistakable connection. One the Senator didn’t appreciate, if his heightened color was an indicator. She waited for the next move in this little game.
