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Chapter Three
Posted by
jlk
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03 October 2012
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Detective Delia Peabody had seen a lot of nasty things in her work with the New York Police and Safety Department. Seen more than most street veterans. More than any other officer her age that she knew of. And it wasn’t that this was the worst. Probably. It was just the fact that the remains showed so clearly that they had been victims of cannibalism. Morris would tell her if they’d been dead first. She sincerely hoped they had been. Without Dallas here to be primary, she had to take charge. Which meant not only couldn’t she boot, she couldn’t look like she wanted to. Dallas never did. And she’d never forgive Peabody if she did.
“Detective?” Officer Carmichael, still looking green and a little wild around the eyes, stood in the doorway. “Sweepers are here.”
“Tell them to hold off in here until Morris finishes. Did you get men started on the neighborhood knocks?” Peabody was proud of her voice; cool, calm, in charge, some of that hard ass sound Dallas had.
“Yes, Sir.” Admiration sounded in his voice. She caught it in his eyes, too. Hid her blush of pleasure, dismissed him with a nod.
She knelt beside Morris, waited for his input. He finished with the third body, turned on his knees to look at her. His dark eyes were sorrowful. She noticed that he was wearing a stanch black suit, and remembered it had almost been two years since Amaryllis Coltrane had been killed. He was mourning her.
“Do you want me to wait for Dallas to give you my initial findings,” he asked her, voice as sad as his eyes.
“She’s heading back from Florida. She took Roarke to one of those baseball fantasy camp things,” Peabody explained at his raised brows. “Go ahead, Morris. I’ll catch her up.”
“You’re primary” he agreed, and launched in.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Eve worked on her, no, Peabody’s murder board. Nine dead that they had the bodies in the morgue. Four living, all insane cannibals unless Mira could work her magic. At least one torturer, what else would describe the one who had created this horror, who had directed one of the victims to ask for her. And who had a thing about policewomen with brown eyes. The necklace addressed to Eve had arrived a half hour ago. The attached note had simply said, ‘To my Brown Eyed Girl.’ They hadn’t gotten any communication about it from the suspect or suspects, but her gut told Eve that she wasn’t solo here. This time Peabody was with her on the hot list for obsessed criminals lusting for NYPSD’s finests blood.
“Got it.” McNab bounced in to the conference room Central Scheduling had given up without Eve even bringing Whitney’s name up. He wore piercing her eyeballs orange orange cargo shorts, blueberry gel boots, a gold long sleeved shirt and red tie. Eve just couldn’t bring herself to ask about the tie. Maybe he and Peabody were using it in the maintenance closet... She winced, pressed her fingertips to her temples. “It’s called ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ by Van Morrison. Feeney’s got it on disc. Here are the lyrics.”
Eve gave a brief thought to how McNab had grown as a detective in the past three years as he efficiently posted the lyrics on the board near the copy of the note they had received late last night via email sent through so many officers of the NYPSD that the system had threatened shutdown. Captain of the EDD, Feeney had been up dealing with the mess all night, and reported there was no tracing it back to anyone other than someone named fuckhead … he’d been joking. McNab put a disc into one of the computers that had been set up in the conference room, and music rumbled out.
Eve frowned as she listened. Could be some kind of code. Lots of possible clues: rain, hollow, new game, misty morning fog, hearts, Tuesday … “Get Callander down here, start on finding out if he’s trying to tell us something. Ask Feeney first,” she added, realizing she’d snapped out an order for someone who wasn’t in her division. Too little sleep. Not an excuse. “Don’t play it out loud again,” she yelped as the thing started over.
McNab grinned at her. “Sorry, Dallas. I kinda liked it. Peabody's got brown eyes, and it ..." he trailed off. His jade green eyes shot to hers, horror dawning. “Dee.” He sounded like a fish out of water, gulping at the air.
“Pull it together, Detective,” Eve told him crisply. “You’re jumping to conclusions. Seventy-five percent of Cop Central has officers with brown eyes. Make that call to Feeney.” She continued to write information on the board. He stood for a minute, then pulled himself together and headed out of the room. She knew he’d go find Peabody, and found it in his favor, not a fault.
Reports from Morris were in and she ordered them printed. The printer made a screeching sound that had her grabbing her head. Trying to make it stop, Eve hit it with her fist. Repeatedly. When that didn’t work, she picked up the pot of coffee from the table to pour on it.
“Wait! I got it, Dallas!” Peabody lunged across the room, put her arms around the printer. A moment later, the noise stopped. “Jeez. What did you do to it?”
“Nothing. It’s evil” Eve muttered, rubbing her head. That had done it; her head would hurt forever now.
Not risking it, Peabody decided to wait on the next EDD person to fix it. She checked out the board. It was filling up. “I’ll get another board.”
“Make it two,” Eve suggested quietly. “He’s nowhere near done.”
With reports from Morris, Dickie, Sweepers, first on scene, 911 calls, witness statements, results of knocks, she and Peabody had their work cut out. Next step, was for her, Peabody to look at the crime scenes. “Let’s go,” she ordered Peabody. “We’ve got to keep moving. You drive.”
“Huh?” Peabody paused putting her PPC in her bag, glanced at Dallas.
“You drive,” Eve repeated. “Until I say otherwise, you’re driving for a few days.”
“Yes, Sir!”
In the car, Eve pulled out her PPC, looked up cannibalism. It wasn’t pleasant. She ordered the information sent to the conference room printer. “No like crimes in IRCCA,” she told her partner. “Plenty of similar, but we’re looking at home grown here. Set a couple of uniforms on Europe et al,” she began to order Peabody, remembered that the detective in question seemed to like to keep two hands on the steering wheel when driving, and it really was impossible for her to efficiently enter directions into her PPC if she was hurling them through traffic. And said detective was primary, not Eve. She made the assignments. Well hell, Eve thought, looking at her options for assignments personnel on the appropriate link to Central. “Peabody, how many of these uniforms can I use?”
“You’re the Lieutenant, Dallas. You can use every single one of them.” Peabody gave her a wide grin, actually used the vertical over a disabled RapidCab. “They’ll bitch, but it might be good for some of them to get off their lazy asses.”
Eve frowned. “I didn’t approve all these people. And they sure as hell aren’t in my budget.” Had she missed some memo? “And who’s reviewing their work? Who’s assigning their work? Peabody, what the hell’s going on?” Panic edged her voice.
“Relax, Dallas. We got a group of ten of them in just two weeks ago. They came in under Sparilou, and she’s their supervisor. They’re budgeted under the Probie Program. They’re supposed to be working Sparilou’s shift, but her partner says they drive her mad, so she dumped them on first shift.” Peabody double parked in front of the first crime scene, flicked the On Duty light on the DLE Urban, and stepped out.
Eve ground her teeth as she considered how to thank dear Lieutenant Emmylou Sparilou for her largesse, and thought about whining she was hungry just to see if Peabody got irritated.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
He watched his two beautiful students. His brown eyed girls. Eve was letting Delia take the lead. Such a good teacher. He was proud of the way she had brought the younger woman along. They were meticulous in their examination of his second temple. October smiled when she found a small cutout section of the floorboard. He’d left her a marvelous gift there. She took out the tiger’s eye necklace, the stones holding all the colors in those brilliant eyes.
He’d have to find some chocolate pearls for sweet Delia. Matching bracelets for her wrists. She had such perfect wrists. He could picture her with his gifts glimmering, holding a man’s neck, keeping him from breathing. While he and Eve watched. While he kissed Eve and watched Delia strangle a man. Then he would kiss Delia, too. Yes!
They finished and headed for his laboratory that had held the ten. Waiting, he ordered the chocolate pearl bracelets. Sweet Delia. A shame she had to wait for her gift. He didn’t want her to feel that she was less important. He knew she was very skilled. Her research would be invaluable to his study. Especially with the larger numbers. Lovely Eve’s mind didn’t work in such large quantities. She was so much better in small focused tasks. But Delia, he had seen her capabilities. She would be able to interpret results for the hundreds, even thousands. OH, yes, she deserved a gift immediately. October hurriedly ordered her flowers to be delivered to her home. Chocolate Brown Gerbera Daisies. Perfect!
He smiled again as they began their search of the crime scene. This one would take them hours. Hours and hours and hours. He pulled out his hypothesis and began to read, “Let us say there are three people …”
++++++++++++++++++++++
Eve ignored the cold rain, the cold wind, the cold. Crouched, she watched, observed, recorded what was going on. The man was running for his life and Roarke was running after him. Roarke wore black: boots, jeans, jacket. So he hadn’t been working when this event started. The man she didn’t know. Not yet. She recorded his statistics: five foot ten, one hundred fifty, short brown hair, not enough light to guess eyes, also wearing black. But he wasn’t as fast as Roarke.
Roarke took him down with a flying tackle. Then he proceeded to beat him to death with his fists.
Ruthlessly, Eve stopped her emotions. This wasn’t about her. This was about finding a way to save Roarke.
Where was she during this time? Why wasn’t she giving chase? They had run for a long way. Roarke was fast, but when it came to distance, she could outpace him. Had she not been with him? Was she down and injured somewhere?
There! With the man dead, Roarke got to his feet. He looked around. From her spot on the hilltop in her dream, Eve saw herself coming from the opposite direction.
All right. That explained why she hadn’t been there to stop Roarke. He turned to her now.
And as if from a sudden headlight, the night brightened and she saw his face. That beautiful face that her mind had fancied as a “fallen angel” so many times was cold, proud, angry, defiant. And not one bit sorry. He had killed and he was glad. Eve bit back on revulsion. Not for Roarke. Never for him. But for the injury she felt on his soul. No, No, No!
Her own howls woke her. Cold, wet, windy. Eve blinked, shaking her head, stood. The mansion stood in the distance, lights softly reassuring. She was standing on a small hill top, more than three acres away from her home, she judged. Standing in the rain, wearing an old NYPSD t-shirt that was soaked through and covered with mud. Her bare feet felt frozen. She looked around, but it was too dark to be sure. Was this where he would endanger his soul? In his own back yard?
“Lieutenant Dallas!”
Oh for the sake of the damn guardian angels she was memorizing by the boat load! Here came Summerset into the storm, tracking her down like some gruesome guard dog. Furious, Eve marched toward him. When she reached him, she took the coat he held out to her, shrugged it on as best she could being sopping wet and kept heading back to the house. They went in the kitchen doors, the closest. As soon as he closed and locked the doors, he turned and found her facing him.
Eve backed him right up against the doors, not touching him, using her body as a ram without touching. She’d developed the skill so long ago with perps that it was unassailable. “If I tell you not to tell him, you’ll still tell him, won’t you,” she snarled, keeping her eyes drilled into his.
“Certainly.” He had the sense to keep his mouth shut after that one word. His eyes held hers, trying to project that he was in charge, especially in his domain, and certainly not afraid of her temper.
Eve knew better. She could … she stopped the thoughts. Trying for indulgences, she reminded herself. Sacrifices. The devil wasn’t going to take Summerset as a sacrifice. She couldn’t get that lucky. “All right, we’ll compromise.” She drew back a little, went to the sink and filled a glass with water. Drank. Looked at him. “He’s having a good time in Florida. Let’s not interrupt that. You can tell him after he comes home.”
She saw the protest coming. Whether it was his sense of duty to Roarke or simple contrariness, he opened his mouth to deny her that compromise. Eve jumped in, using one of her markers. “You owe me. Until Roarke comes home, you don’t tell him about these nightmares.” Because if I don’t find out more while he’s gone, I may not get any more chances.
“I most certainly cannot be blackmailed,” Summerset told her. “Nor would I be when it comes to not breaking Roarke’s trust in me. I –“
“Stop!” Eve held up her hand. “Just stop, you fucking idiotic mannequin. I’m not going to spend what’s left of the night doing this. If you refuse to compromise, you refuse to be blackmailed, then you’ll listen to the truth. His soul is in trouble. You and he believe in that happy horseshit, so you’d better believe it’s bad when I tell you I’m afraid for his soul.”
He watched her now. “You’re nightmare, from a week ago. You said you’d trade your soul for his." It had shaken him nearly as much as Roarke.
“That’s right. And I’m in negotiations right now. So keep your mouth shut, Summerset. Or I’ll fucking kill you.” Eve thought she heard one of the angels she’d been studying up on laugh.
Summerset sniffed, chin rising so he could look down on her. “I might be able to forget this happened. For a time.”
Satisfied, Eve turned on her wet, muddy and cold heels, and headed to her room.
Peabody smiled as she fixed McNab a heaping plate of French Toast with syrup and whipped topping. She’d set the table with the beautiful bouquet of brown daisies as the centerpiece, using the really nice place settings from Mavis, the coffee mugs from McNab’s mother. Humming, she put the steaming plate, fresh from the Autochef, on the table and called to him. “Honey, breakfast’s ready,”
He came out of the bathroom, looking spiffy and yummy, wearing a handful of her earrings. His hair was slicked back, green eyes shining. Damn he was pretty, Peabody thought. “What smells so good? Smells like Dallas and break – hey! French Toast?” He bounded to the table, looked from the plate to her, to the plate, to the table, back to her. The big grin slipped off his face. “Did I forget some anniversary?”
Peabody thought her heart would just jump up and choke her. She went to him and gave him a hard hug. “No, you didn’t forget an anniversary. I’m just showing you I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have you. Now eat before it gets cold.” She shoved him onto his chair.
Without any problem, she watched him shovel the food in, sipping her soy coffee and nibbling at her breakfast yogurt. He was enough sugary breakfast goodness for her, Peabody thought in amusement. Was this how Dallas stayed so skinny? She watched Roarke eat and instead of feeling hungry for food, she felt hungry for him? It would explain a lot, Peabody decided.
“What?” McNab looked at her suspiciously.
“Nothing, honey.” Still feeling mushy, she reached out to pet the flowers. So beautiful. She hadn’t even known there was such a thing as Chocolate Daisies. How sweet of him to track them down and actually buy them for her. She’d been a little uncomfortable with that Brown Eyed Girl song from the killer or killers on this case. It was just so sweet of Ian to reassure her this way. “Huh?” He’d said something.
“I said I really like those brown flowers. Where’d you get ‘em?”
“Oh, shit.”
Eve considered the flowers as they sat on Dr. Richard Berenski’s stainless steel countertop. She had made this little stop to look at the flowers and see her colleague before heading in to Central to check for herself that Peabody was alive and well. Talking by link just hadn’t offered the reassurance she needed today. She heard a sound and turned to watch Dickie come scurrying in. He all but screeched to a halt when he saw her. She took a breath, feeding her hungry lungs.
“Don’t start, Dallas. It’s my top priority. Get out so I can get what we all need.” He pointed to the doors of his lab.
Eve blinked, let her lungs take another shot at the air. “Ok.” Some days people just did themselves proud. She used her fist on the swinging doors just to keep in practice when she left.
At Cop Central, she went to her office, sent the entire batch of media messages to Kyung Beaverton, the media liaison for her … and Peabody. He was actually Chief Tibble’s Media Liaison, but since he was the only one of his species she had ever been able to work with who hadn’t inspired physical violence, Eve had broken down and asked Commander Whitney to make some inquiries, perhaps some arrangements. She’d pushed how much better everyone would look if she could use him, how much smoother all those bothersome press conferences would go if she had a relationship with the NYPSD PR department, how much more of her time could be used on actual homicide cases versus those she created by stunning to death the press department. She’d actually had a list of twenty things. Whitney had agreed after the first five to talk with Tibble. Hence, she got to forward all those media messages to Kyung.
That done, she headed for the conference room. Peabody was working, organizing the murder board with new information, a pot of coffee on the table, a cup near her hand. McNab was bouncing nearby, his headset on private, working his system by remote. He caught sight of her, gave her a pleading look. Eve sighed, put all ten fingers in the air, then jerked her thumb over her shoulder. As soon as he bopped out, she coughed, loudly. Peabody about jumped out of her skin, glared at her.
“What? I didn’t hear you come in.” It was almost a snarl.
Eve hid a smile. “You ok, partner?”
“I’m fine, Dallas. Son of a bitch thinks he can scare me, he’s way wrong. I’m bringing Baxter and Trueheart in on this, the rest of the team’s coming for a briefing at nine. I spoke with Mira and she says all four of the survivors are a wash right now. Not one of them is coherent enough to tell us their names, much less details. Get anything off the necklace?” Peabody resumed updating the now almost full second board.
“Feeney traced it to one of six jewelry stores in the city. I’ll bet you it was a fake credit card buy, but it needs checked out. Guess I’ll use Sparilou’s squadron for the footwork.” She got a cup of coffee, sat down, put her feet on the conference table. She needed a new pair of boots like she needed a hole in her head. Eve frowned at the saying that had entered her thoughts; one of Roarke’s old-fashioned guns with bullets as the weapon. What had the man done to her that she was using that kind of language in her brain? Why had the man bought her these damn boots? Which reminded her … she used her PPC to order a Saint Nicholas of Myra medallion. Who would have thought thieves and murders have their own Catholic Saint? If she had to wear St. Jude, Roarke could wear St. Nicholas. At least until … well, until.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
I have started a new experiment with ten. Each one stands for one thousand. Because my beauties are looking for me, I do not bring my subjects from nearby. These ten have been selected by the Internet, ordered from countries that still could care less if women and men are bought and sold. So easy. Several have luscious creamy mocha skin I believe will look so perfect when spattered in blood. Like a painter’s tarp. Delia liked her flowers. I watched as she accepted them at her door. The smile of pleasure that lit that charming face, those beautiful deep dark eyes glowing.
Ah, well. Back to work. I have supplied them with twenty water bottles. Six knives, all from a set that I found at an auction in Brazil. That is all. Just the knives and water. And of course the cots. I am fascinated how these experiments can sometimes lead to sex. I have left the words running on the walls. They flicker in the half-light I have given the ten. kill one to save nine. I will come back tomorrow to see what has happened.
I am so angry. The first temple is unspoiled. The three will be terminated. Now. Foolishness! One could have lived. Now I must activate a droid to dispose of them all, clean up the mess. Wasted effort! I need my students. Lovely Eve and Charming Delia. They would have provided me with sustenance when I weep at this failure. They understand human nature, as I do. The need to kill, survive, learn, and grow. What if I were to father children with them? I could have a class to teach. To help me in my studies. Oh, yes. Yes! What man, what teacher, could fail with students who are of his own flesh? With enough children, an actual test of one thousand would be possible. Control would be possible. Eve and Delia could think of a way.
I need them with me.
Soon.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Detective?” Officer Carmichael, still looking green and a little wild around the eyes, stood in the doorway. “Sweepers are here.”
“Tell them to hold off in here until Morris finishes. Did you get men started on the neighborhood knocks?” Peabody was proud of her voice; cool, calm, in charge, some of that hard ass sound Dallas had.
“Yes, Sir.” Admiration sounded in his voice. She caught it in his eyes, too. Hid her blush of pleasure, dismissed him with a nod.
She knelt beside Morris, waited for his input. He finished with the third body, turned on his knees to look at her. His dark eyes were sorrowful. She noticed that he was wearing a stanch black suit, and remembered it had almost been two years since Amaryllis Coltrane had been killed. He was mourning her.
“Do you want me to wait for Dallas to give you my initial findings,” he asked her, voice as sad as his eyes.
“She’s heading back from Florida. She took Roarke to one of those baseball fantasy camp things,” Peabody explained at his raised brows. “Go ahead, Morris. I’ll catch her up.”
“You’re primary” he agreed, and launched in.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Eve worked on her, no, Peabody’s murder board. Nine dead that they had the bodies in the morgue. Four living, all insane cannibals unless Mira could work her magic. At least one torturer, what else would describe the one who had created this horror, who had directed one of the victims to ask for her. And who had a thing about policewomen with brown eyes. The necklace addressed to Eve had arrived a half hour ago. The attached note had simply said, ‘To my Brown Eyed Girl.’ They hadn’t gotten any communication about it from the suspect or suspects, but her gut told Eve that she wasn’t solo here. This time Peabody was with her on the hot list for obsessed criminals lusting for NYPSD’s finests blood.
“Got it.” McNab bounced in to the conference room Central Scheduling had given up without Eve even bringing Whitney’s name up. He wore piercing her eyeballs orange orange cargo shorts, blueberry gel boots, a gold long sleeved shirt and red tie. Eve just couldn’t bring herself to ask about the tie. Maybe he and Peabody were using it in the maintenance closet... She winced, pressed her fingertips to her temples. “It’s called ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ by Van Morrison. Feeney’s got it on disc. Here are the lyrics.”
Eve gave a brief thought to how McNab had grown as a detective in the past three years as he efficiently posted the lyrics on the board near the copy of the note they had received late last night via email sent through so many officers of the NYPSD that the system had threatened shutdown. Captain of the EDD, Feeney had been up dealing with the mess all night, and reported there was no tracing it back to anyone other than someone named fuckhead … he’d been joking. McNab put a disc into one of the computers that had been set up in the conference room, and music rumbled out.
Hey, where did we go
Days when the rains came?
Down in the hollow
Playing a new game,
Laughing and a-running, hey, hey,
Skipping and a-jumping
In the misty morning fog with
Our, our hearts a-thumping
And you, my brown-eyed girl,
You, my brown-eyed girl.
Whatever happened
To Tuesday and so slow-
Going down to the old mine with a
Transistor radio.
Standing in the sunlight laughing
Hidin' behind a rainbowed wall,
Slipping and a-sliding
All along the waterfall
With you, my brown-eyed girl,
You, my brown-eyed girl.
Do you remember when we used to sing
Sha la la la la la la la la la la dee dah
Just like that
Sha la la la la la la la la la la dee dah
La dee dah.
So hard to find my way
Now that I'm all on my own.
I saw you just the other day,
My, how you have grown!
Cast my memory back there, Lord,
Sometime I'm overcome thinking about
Making love in the green grass
Behind the stadium
With you, my brown-eyed girl,
You, my brown-eyed girl.
Do you remember when we used to sing
Sha la la la la la la la la la la dee dah
Laying in the green grass
Sha la la la la la la la la la la dee dah
Dee dah dee dah dee dah dee dah dee dah dee
Sha la la la la la la la la la la la la
Dee dah la dee dah la dee dah la
D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d...
Eve frowned as she listened. Could be some kind of code. Lots of possible clues: rain, hollow, new game, misty morning fog, hearts, Tuesday … “Get Callander down here, start on finding out if he’s trying to tell us something. Ask Feeney first,” she added, realizing she’d snapped out an order for someone who wasn’t in her division. Too little sleep. Not an excuse. “Don’t play it out loud again,” she yelped as the thing started over.
McNab grinned at her. “Sorry, Dallas. I kinda liked it. Peabody's got brown eyes, and it ..." he trailed off. His jade green eyes shot to hers, horror dawning. “Dee.” He sounded like a fish out of water, gulping at the air.
“Pull it together, Detective,” Eve told him crisply. “You’re jumping to conclusions. Seventy-five percent of Cop Central has officers with brown eyes. Make that call to Feeney.” She continued to write information on the board. He stood for a minute, then pulled himself together and headed out of the room. She knew he’d go find Peabody, and found it in his favor, not a fault.
Reports from Morris were in and she ordered them printed. The printer made a screeching sound that had her grabbing her head. Trying to make it stop, Eve hit it with her fist. Repeatedly. When that didn’t work, she picked up the pot of coffee from the table to pour on it.
“Wait! I got it, Dallas!” Peabody lunged across the room, put her arms around the printer. A moment later, the noise stopped. “Jeez. What did you do to it?”
“Nothing. It’s evil” Eve muttered, rubbing her head. That had done it; her head would hurt forever now.
Not risking it, Peabody decided to wait on the next EDD person to fix it. She checked out the board. It was filling up. “I’ll get another board.”
“Make it two,” Eve suggested quietly. “He’s nowhere near done.”
With reports from Morris, Dickie, Sweepers, first on scene, 911 calls, witness statements, results of knocks, she and Peabody had their work cut out. Next step, was for her, Peabody to look at the crime scenes. “Let’s go,” she ordered Peabody. “We’ve got to keep moving. You drive.”
“Huh?” Peabody paused putting her PPC in her bag, glanced at Dallas.
“You drive,” Eve repeated. “Until I say otherwise, you’re driving for a few days.”
“Yes, Sir!”
In the car, Eve pulled out her PPC, looked up cannibalism. It wasn’t pleasant. She ordered the information sent to the conference room printer. “No like crimes in IRCCA,” she told her partner. “Plenty of similar, but we’re looking at home grown here. Set a couple of uniforms on Europe et al,” she began to order Peabody, remembered that the detective in question seemed to like to keep two hands on the steering wheel when driving, and it really was impossible for her to efficiently enter directions into her PPC if she was hurling them through traffic. And said detective was primary, not Eve. She made the assignments. Well hell, Eve thought, looking at her options for assignments personnel on the appropriate link to Central. “Peabody, how many of these uniforms can I use?”
“You’re the Lieutenant, Dallas. You can use every single one of them.” Peabody gave her a wide grin, actually used the vertical over a disabled RapidCab. “They’ll bitch, but it might be good for some of them to get off their lazy asses.”
Eve frowned. “I didn’t approve all these people. And they sure as hell aren’t in my budget.” Had she missed some memo? “And who’s reviewing their work? Who’s assigning their work? Peabody, what the hell’s going on?” Panic edged her voice.
“Relax, Dallas. We got a group of ten of them in just two weeks ago. They came in under Sparilou, and she’s their supervisor. They’re budgeted under the Probie Program. They’re supposed to be working Sparilou’s shift, but her partner says they drive her mad, so she dumped them on first shift.” Peabody double parked in front of the first crime scene, flicked the On Duty light on the DLE Urban, and stepped out.
Eve ground her teeth as she considered how to thank dear Lieutenant Emmylou Sparilou for her largesse, and thought about whining she was hungry just to see if Peabody got irritated.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
He watched his two beautiful students. His brown eyed girls. Eve was letting Delia take the lead. Such a good teacher. He was proud of the way she had brought the younger woman along. They were meticulous in their examination of his second temple. October smiled when she found a small cutout section of the floorboard. He’d left her a marvelous gift there. She took out the tiger’s eye necklace, the stones holding all the colors in those brilliant eyes.
He’d have to find some chocolate pearls for sweet Delia. Matching bracelets for her wrists. She had such perfect wrists. He could picture her with his gifts glimmering, holding a man’s neck, keeping him from breathing. While he and Eve watched. While he kissed Eve and watched Delia strangle a man. Then he would kiss Delia, too. Yes!
They finished and headed for his laboratory that had held the ten. Waiting, he ordered the chocolate pearl bracelets. Sweet Delia. A shame she had to wait for her gift. He didn’t want her to feel that she was less important. He knew she was very skilled. Her research would be invaluable to his study. Especially with the larger numbers. Lovely Eve’s mind didn’t work in such large quantities. She was so much better in small focused tasks. But Delia, he had seen her capabilities. She would be able to interpret results for the hundreds, even thousands. OH, yes, she deserved a gift immediately. October hurriedly ordered her flowers to be delivered to her home. Chocolate Brown Gerbera Daisies. Perfect!
He smiled again as they began their search of the crime scene. This one would take them hours. Hours and hours and hours. He pulled out his hypothesis and began to read, “Let us say there are three people …”
++++++++++++++++++++++
Eve ignored the cold rain, the cold wind, the cold. Crouched, she watched, observed, recorded what was going on. The man was running for his life and Roarke was running after him. Roarke wore black: boots, jeans, jacket. So he hadn’t been working when this event started. The man she didn’t know. Not yet. She recorded his statistics: five foot ten, one hundred fifty, short brown hair, not enough light to guess eyes, also wearing black. But he wasn’t as fast as Roarke.
Roarke took him down with a flying tackle. Then he proceeded to beat him to death with his fists.
Ruthlessly, Eve stopped her emotions. This wasn’t about her. This was about finding a way to save Roarke.
Where was she during this time? Why wasn’t she giving chase? They had run for a long way. Roarke was fast, but when it came to distance, she could outpace him. Had she not been with him? Was she down and injured somewhere?
There! With the man dead, Roarke got to his feet. He looked around. From her spot on the hilltop in her dream, Eve saw herself coming from the opposite direction.
All right. That explained why she hadn’t been there to stop Roarke. He turned to her now.
And as if from a sudden headlight, the night brightened and she saw his face. That beautiful face that her mind had fancied as a “fallen angel” so many times was cold, proud, angry, defiant. And not one bit sorry. He had killed and he was glad. Eve bit back on revulsion. Not for Roarke. Never for him. But for the injury she felt on his soul. No, No, No!
Her own howls woke her. Cold, wet, windy. Eve blinked, shaking her head, stood. The mansion stood in the distance, lights softly reassuring. She was standing on a small hill top, more than three acres away from her home, she judged. Standing in the rain, wearing an old NYPSD t-shirt that was soaked through and covered with mud. Her bare feet felt frozen. She looked around, but it was too dark to be sure. Was this where he would endanger his soul? In his own back yard?
“Lieutenant Dallas!”
Oh for the sake of the damn guardian angels she was memorizing by the boat load! Here came Summerset into the storm, tracking her down like some gruesome guard dog. Furious, Eve marched toward him. When she reached him, she took the coat he held out to her, shrugged it on as best she could being sopping wet and kept heading back to the house. They went in the kitchen doors, the closest. As soon as he closed and locked the doors, he turned and found her facing him.
Eve backed him right up against the doors, not touching him, using her body as a ram without touching. She’d developed the skill so long ago with perps that it was unassailable. “If I tell you not to tell him, you’ll still tell him, won’t you,” she snarled, keeping her eyes drilled into his.
“Certainly.” He had the sense to keep his mouth shut after that one word. His eyes held hers, trying to project that he was in charge, especially in his domain, and certainly not afraid of her temper.
Eve knew better. She could … she stopped the thoughts. Trying for indulgences, she reminded herself. Sacrifices. The devil wasn’t going to take Summerset as a sacrifice. She couldn’t get that lucky. “All right, we’ll compromise.” She drew back a little, went to the sink and filled a glass with water. Drank. Looked at him. “He’s having a good time in Florida. Let’s not interrupt that. You can tell him after he comes home.”
She saw the protest coming. Whether it was his sense of duty to Roarke or simple contrariness, he opened his mouth to deny her that compromise. Eve jumped in, using one of her markers. “You owe me. Until Roarke comes home, you don’t tell him about these nightmares.” Because if I don’t find out more while he’s gone, I may not get any more chances.
“I most certainly cannot be blackmailed,” Summerset told her. “Nor would I be when it comes to not breaking Roarke’s trust in me. I –“
“Stop!” Eve held up her hand. “Just stop, you fucking idiotic mannequin. I’m not going to spend what’s left of the night doing this. If you refuse to compromise, you refuse to be blackmailed, then you’ll listen to the truth. His soul is in trouble. You and he believe in that happy horseshit, so you’d better believe it’s bad when I tell you I’m afraid for his soul.”
He watched her now. “You’re nightmare, from a week ago. You said you’d trade your soul for his." It had shaken him nearly as much as Roarke.
“That’s right. And I’m in negotiations right now. So keep your mouth shut, Summerset. Or I’ll fucking kill you.” Eve thought she heard one of the angels she’d been studying up on laugh.
Summerset sniffed, chin rising so he could look down on her. “I might be able to forget this happened. For a time.”
Satisfied, Eve turned on her wet, muddy and cold heels, and headed to her room.
Peabody smiled as she fixed McNab a heaping plate of French Toast with syrup and whipped topping. She’d set the table with the beautiful bouquet of brown daisies as the centerpiece, using the really nice place settings from Mavis, the coffee mugs from McNab’s mother. Humming, she put the steaming plate, fresh from the Autochef, on the table and called to him. “Honey, breakfast’s ready,”
He came out of the bathroom, looking spiffy and yummy, wearing a handful of her earrings. His hair was slicked back, green eyes shining. Damn he was pretty, Peabody thought. “What smells so good? Smells like Dallas and break – hey! French Toast?” He bounded to the table, looked from the plate to her, to the plate, to the table, back to her. The big grin slipped off his face. “Did I forget some anniversary?”
Peabody thought her heart would just jump up and choke her. She went to him and gave him a hard hug. “No, you didn’t forget an anniversary. I’m just showing you I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have you. Now eat before it gets cold.” She shoved him onto his chair.
Without any problem, she watched him shovel the food in, sipping her soy coffee and nibbling at her breakfast yogurt. He was enough sugary breakfast goodness for her, Peabody thought in amusement. Was this how Dallas stayed so skinny? She watched Roarke eat and instead of feeling hungry for food, she felt hungry for him? It would explain a lot, Peabody decided.
“What?” McNab looked at her suspiciously.
“Nothing, honey.” Still feeling mushy, she reached out to pet the flowers. So beautiful. She hadn’t even known there was such a thing as Chocolate Daisies. How sweet of him to track them down and actually buy them for her. She’d been a little uncomfortable with that Brown Eyed Girl song from the killer or killers on this case. It was just so sweet of Ian to reassure her this way. “Huh?” He’d said something.
“I said I really like those brown flowers. Where’d you get ‘em?”
“Oh, shit.”
Eve considered the flowers as they sat on Dr. Richard Berenski’s stainless steel countertop. She had made this little stop to look at the flowers and see her colleague before heading in to Central to check for herself that Peabody was alive and well. Talking by link just hadn’t offered the reassurance she needed today. She heard a sound and turned to watch Dickie come scurrying in. He all but screeched to a halt when he saw her. She took a breath, feeding her hungry lungs.
“Don’t start, Dallas. It’s my top priority. Get out so I can get what we all need.” He pointed to the doors of his lab.
Eve blinked, let her lungs take another shot at the air. “Ok.” Some days people just did themselves proud. She used her fist on the swinging doors just to keep in practice when she left.
At Cop Central, she went to her office, sent the entire batch of media messages to Kyung Beaverton, the media liaison for her … and Peabody. He was actually Chief Tibble’s Media Liaison, but since he was the only one of his species she had ever been able to work with who hadn’t inspired physical violence, Eve had broken down and asked Commander Whitney to make some inquiries, perhaps some arrangements. She’d pushed how much better everyone would look if she could use him, how much smoother all those bothersome press conferences would go if she had a relationship with the NYPSD PR department, how much more of her time could be used on actual homicide cases versus those she created by stunning to death the press department. She’d actually had a list of twenty things. Whitney had agreed after the first five to talk with Tibble. Hence, she got to forward all those media messages to Kyung.
That done, she headed for the conference room. Peabody was working, organizing the murder board with new information, a pot of coffee on the table, a cup near her hand. McNab was bouncing nearby, his headset on private, working his system by remote. He caught sight of her, gave her a pleading look. Eve sighed, put all ten fingers in the air, then jerked her thumb over her shoulder. As soon as he bopped out, she coughed, loudly. Peabody about jumped out of her skin, glared at her.
“What? I didn’t hear you come in.” It was almost a snarl.
Eve hid a smile. “You ok, partner?”
“I’m fine, Dallas. Son of a bitch thinks he can scare me, he’s way wrong. I’m bringing Baxter and Trueheart in on this, the rest of the team’s coming for a briefing at nine. I spoke with Mira and she says all four of the survivors are a wash right now. Not one of them is coherent enough to tell us their names, much less details. Get anything off the necklace?” Peabody resumed updating the now almost full second board.
“Feeney traced it to one of six jewelry stores in the city. I’ll bet you it was a fake credit card buy, but it needs checked out. Guess I’ll use Sparilou’s squadron for the footwork.” She got a cup of coffee, sat down, put her feet on the conference table. She needed a new pair of boots like she needed a hole in her head. Eve frowned at the saying that had entered her thoughts; one of Roarke’s old-fashioned guns with bullets as the weapon. What had the man done to her that she was using that kind of language in her brain? Why had the man bought her these damn boots? Which reminded her … she used her PPC to order a Saint Nicholas of Myra medallion. Who would have thought thieves and murders have their own Catholic Saint? If she had to wear St. Jude, Roarke could wear St. Nicholas. At least until … well, until.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
I have started a new experiment with ten. Each one stands for one thousand. Because my beauties are looking for me, I do not bring my subjects from nearby. These ten have been selected by the Internet, ordered from countries that still could care less if women and men are bought and sold. So easy. Several have luscious creamy mocha skin I believe will look so perfect when spattered in blood. Like a painter’s tarp. Delia liked her flowers. I watched as she accepted them at her door. The smile of pleasure that lit that charming face, those beautiful deep dark eyes glowing.
Ah, well. Back to work. I have supplied them with twenty water bottles. Six knives, all from a set that I found at an auction in Brazil. That is all. Just the knives and water. And of course the cots. I am fascinated how these experiments can sometimes lead to sex. I have left the words running on the walls. They flicker in the half-light I have given the ten. kill one to save nine. I will come back tomorrow to see what has happened.
I am so angry. The first temple is unspoiled. The three will be terminated. Now. Foolishness! One could have lived. Now I must activate a droid to dispose of them all, clean up the mess. Wasted effort! I need my students. Lovely Eve and Charming Delia. They would have provided me with sustenance when I weep at this failure. They understand human nature, as I do. The need to kill, survive, learn, and grow. What if I were to father children with them? I could have a class to teach. To help me in my studies. Oh, yes. Yes! What man, what teacher, could fail with students who are of his own flesh? With enough children, an actual test of one thousand would be possible. Control would be possible. Eve and Delia could think of a way.
I need them with me.
Soon.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
