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1 THE WAYS AND MEANS OF FRIENDSHIP WERE murderous. In order to navigate its twisty maze, a friend could be called upon to perform inconvenient, irritating, or downright horrifying acts at any given time. The worst, the very worst requirement of friendship, in Eve Dallas’s opinion, was sitting through an entire evening of childbirth classes. What went on there—the sights, the sounds, the assault on all the senses—turned the blood cold. She was a cop, a Homicide lieutenant with eleven years on the job protecting and defending the hard, merciless streets of New York. There was little she hadn’t seen, touched, smelled, or waded through. Because people, to her mind, would always and could always find more inventive and despicable ways to kill their fellow man, she knew just what torments could be inflicted on the human body. But bloody and brutal murder was nothing compared to giving birth. How all those women with their bodies enormous and weirdly deformed by the entity gestating inside th
2 IT WAS A GOOD-SIZED BEDROOM WITH A COZY little sitting area on the street side. She imagined Natalie had sat there to watch the world go by. The bed looked female and fussy. Lots of pillows scattered around the room—some of them bloody now—that had likely been piled on the lacy pink-and-white spread, as some women loved to do. There was a small wall screen angled to be seen from either bed or sitting area, framed pictures of flowers, a long dresser. There were bottles and whatnots on the floor—several broken—that had probably sat in some girlie arrangement on the dresser. A couple of fluffy rugs graced the floor. Natalie was sprawled over one of them, legs twisted and bound at the ankles, her hands bound in front and clenched together as if in desperate prayer. She wore pajamas, blue-and-white checked. They were spotted and streaked with blood. A robe, also blue, was tossed in a corner. The matching tie was wrapped around the woman’s throat. Blood stained both fluffy rugs, and a splo
3 ONCE SHE’D RETRIEVED THE KITS, EVE SEALED her hands, sprayed sealant on her boots. With her recorder engaged, she entered the crime scene. Side window, she noted, facing the neighboring building, and with a narrow balcony. “South-facing window is open,” she said for the record, and moved around the outer edge of the room for a closer look. “Appears to have been forced open from the outside. Emergency evac here, probably used to gain access. Possibly exited by the same route.” Safer that way, Eve thought. No chance of the next-door neighbors catching you coming or going. She turned from where she believed the killer had entered. “The body’s face up, hands and feet bound with duct tape, as previous vic. Second vic is mix-race male, late-twenties, wearing only a pair of white boxers. Woke up, didn’t you, Bick, heard somebody out here. Gave him some trouble. Signs of struggle apparent. Overturned table, broken lamp. Not all of this blood’s going to be the victim’s, so there’s a break for
4 EVE WASN’T SURE WHAT IT SAID ABOUT HER that she was more comfortable in the morgue than in a baby boutique. And she didn’t actually care. The cold white walls, the scent of death under the piney odors of cleansers were the familiar. She pushed through the thick door into Autopsy as Morris, the chief medical examiner, transferred Bick Byson’s brain from his skull to a scale. “A two-for-one sale, I see.” Morris—his spiffy suit of the day protected with a clear plastic cape—paused to enter data. Then he set the brain in a tray. He wasn’t tall, but he was built in a way the chocolate brown suit and dull gold T-shirt exploited. He was oddly sexy with those dark, slightly slanted eyes and the ink black hair scooped back in a tight, intricate braid. “That’s how I see it,” Eve agreed. “You concur. Same method, same killer?” “Physical force and trauma. In technical terms, he whaled away on them. Binding, ankles, wrists. I’d be very surprised if the CSIs don’t find the tape came from the same
5 BECAUSE HER MIND WAS ON OTHER THINGS, Summerset caught Eve off guard as she came in the door. “Do you require change-of-address forms?” “Huh? What?” She yanked herself back to the moment, then immediately regretted it. He was in her moment, the bony, black-suited pain in her ass. “Can’t you find another place to haunt? I hear there’s one available down on East Twelfth.” His lips thinned—if, she thought, it was possible for what passed as his lips to compress in an even tighter line. “I assumed as you no longer appear to live here, you’d need the proper forms.” She pulled off her coat, tossed it on the newel post. “Yeah, get those forms, I’ll fill them out.” She started up the stairs. “How many M’s in Summerset anyway?” She left him behind in the grand foyer. Roarke was probably home, she decided, but she’d wait until she was out of the hearing of those demon ears before she checked on one of the house scanners. She was tempted to go straight into the bedroom, fall flat on the bed for
6 EVE FOUND PEABODY AND THE REST OF THE team finishing up in Byson’s office. “McNab, I want you to go with the officers to transport all these items to Central. I want you with the boxes and their contents every step of the way. You personally log them in. And lock them up—conference room five. I’ve cleared that with the commander. Take the electronics directly to Feeney.” “Yes, sir.” “Those electronics are to be logged a second time into EDD, with your code and with Feeney’s.” He lifted his brows. “We got national security in here?” “We’ve got our asses in there, so if you don’t want yours in a sling, log and document every step. Peabody, you and I are going to get some statements from associates. You take this department, and Byson’s people. Do another round with his supervisor. I’ll take Copperfield’s.” She started out. “Every step of the way, McNab,” she repeated, then took the elevator to Natalie’s department. She knew just where she wanted to start. “I need to speak with Jacob Sl
7 EVE TOOK ONE LOOK AT THE BOXES COVERING the table in the conference room she’d ordered and felt a headache coming on. “Okay, here comes the monkey work. We’re going to go through the discs and hard copies, memo, memo books, appointment books, everything, going back—for now—two weeks. From the wit statements it was two weeks, ten days, when people started noticing something off with Copperfield, and just under two weeks when the transmission went from Copperfield to Byson that she had something she needed to show him.” “We’ll get through the names, the notes—eventually,” Peabody said. “But the accounts? We could probably use a numbers guy on this.” “Probably could,” Eve agreed. “But for now, it’s you and me. We’ll look for repetition, a file or account she went back to repeatedly during the time frame. Any of them copied to her home unit, or any data she copied to Byson.” Eve glanced unhappily at the conference room’s AutoChef, knowing it wasn’t loaded with her personal stash of coffe
8 HIS ANGER HAD TEETH AND WAS GNAWING AT his own throat as he stormed up to his office, closed the doors. And he knew if he hadn’t walked away that anger would have taken more than a bite of Eve. Her goddamn job, he thought. Bloody, buggering cops. Why in hell had he ever deluded himself into believing they could accept who and what he was? He was no innocent and never claimed to be one. Had he stolen? Frequently. Had he cheated? Most certainly. Had he used wit, wiles, and whatever came to hand to fight and claw his way out of the alley to where he was now? Goddamn bloody well right he had, and would do it all again, without remorse or regret. He didn’t ask to be considered pure and saintly. He’d been a Dublin street rat with certain skills and specific ambitions, and had used one to achieve the other. And why not? He’d come from a man who’d murdered in cold blood, and yes, he’d done some of the same. But he’d made himself into more, into better. Into other, in any case. And when he’d
9 IN THE MORNING WITH A SKY THAT LOOKED LIKE soured milk, Eve sat bleary-eyed over her second cup of coffee. It wasn’t the hours, she thought. It was the figures. Roarke plopped an omelette down in front of her. “You need it.” She glanced at it, then looked over at him as he sat. “Are my eyes bleeding? They feel like they’re bleeding.” “Not so far.” “I don’t know how you do it, day after day.” She made the mistake of looking toward the wall screen where he had the morning stock reports running. And slapped a hand over her aching eyes. “Have mercy.” He chuckled, but switched to the morning media. “Had enough of numbers, darling?” “I saw them in my sleep. Dancing. Some were singing. I think some might have had teeth. I’d rather lie bare-assed naked on the sidewalk and be trampled by tourists from South Dakota than be an accountant. And you.” She stabbed her fork in his direction. “You love them. The fives and twenties and the profit margins, overheads, the trading fees and tax-free fuckw
10 FROM CHURCH TO MUSEUM, EVE THOUGHT, THEN through the door into the men’s club. Walter Cavendish presided over an office with wide-armed, port-colored leather chairs and sofas, and dark, heavy woods. The carpets were thickly padded Orientals, likely the real deal, in rich tones and complex patterns. Amber liquid swam in thick crystal decanters that would have doubled as very effective murder weapons. A trim black data and communication center stood alongside leather and brass accessories that were arranged just so on the antique desk where Cavendish sat looking prosperous, tailored—and to Eve’s gauge—nervy. He was in his early fifties, with a good head of the hair people called sandy in men, mousey in women. His face was ruddy, his eyes a light blue that skipped over Eve’s face, then over her shoulder. His suit was a muted brown with just a hint of a gold stripe to show he liked a little pizzazz. He rose, and his not-quite-handsome face set in solemn lines. “I’d like to see some iden
11 IT WASN’T NUMBERS THAT DANCED IN HER dreams, but rainbows and strange winged babies. When the flying babies began to buzz like wasps and form into packs, Eve clawed her way out of sleep. She sat up as if her shoulders were on springs and said, “Whoa.” “Nightmare?” Roarke was already rising from the sofa in the sitting area. “Flying babies. Evil flying babies with evil wings.” He stepped onto the platform, sat on the side of the bed. “Darling Eve, we need a vacation.” “There were balloons,” she said darkly. “And the wings cut through them like razors so they popped. And when they popped, more evil flying babies zoomed out.” He trailed a finger along her thigh. “Maybe you could make an effort to dream about, oh, let’s say, sex.” “Somebody had sex, didn’t they, to create the evil flying babies?” Suddenly she reached forward, grabbed fistsful of his sweater. Her eyes radiated desperation. “Don’t leave me alone with all these women today.” “Sorry. I’m falling back on the penis clause. Wh
12 AFTER SHE LED EVE TO TANDY’S APARTMENT door, Mavis shifted from foot to foot. “Gotta pee again. My bladder feels about the size of a chickpea lately, and what there is of it keeps getting kicked.” “Just…think about something else.” Eve knocked. “Don’t bounce like that. It can’t possibly help, and you might shake something loose.” “She’s not answering. I really, seriously, completely need to pee.” Changing tactics, Eve turned and knocked on the door across the hall from Tandy’s. Moments later, the door cracked open to the security chain, and a woman peered out the crack suspiciously. “What?” “Hey, Ms. Pason! Remember me? I’m Tandy’s friend, Mavis.” “Oh, yeah.” The eyes warmed fractionally. “You’re looking for Tandy?” “Uh-huh. She missed my baby shower, and didn’t answer the ’link, so I was…Wow, Ms. Pason, I really have to pee.” “’Course you do. Come on in and use the bathroom.” She unhooked the chain. “I don’t know you,” she said, pointing a finger at Eve. “This is my friend, Dallas.
13 AT CENTRAL, SHE SPLIT OFF FROM ROARKE, asking him to go straight to Homicide and wait for her in her office while she arrowed off to MPU. “I may need to offer whoever I deal with on this an incentive,” she told him. He cocked his head and those wonderful lips curved in an easy smile. “You mean a bribe.” “Bribe’s such a strong word. Yeah, I may need a bribe. Sports or booze, probably. Those are the usual hot tickets. I’ll keep it within reason.” “Bribing cops not to do work is a time-honored tradition.” “Hey.” He laughed. “Do what you need to do, Lieutenant. I’ll be in your office.” She didn’t know who might have caught weekend duty, or who might be at a desk, but she hoped it was someone she had at least a passing and cordial relationship with. Otherwise, she’d have to start from scratch with whoever had the weekend command—and if things got sticky, and an incentive didn’t make the cut, she’d go straight to Whitney. But that was something she hoped to avoid. She figured she lucked o
14 SHE WENT OVER THE DATA PEABODY SENT TO her computer on like crimes. IRCCA had popped a few for her. Abductions, abduction/murders, rapes, rape/ murders. Abductions where the baby had been delivered then stolen, and the mother left behind. Alive or dead. In the majority of the abductions, the woman had known her kidnapper, or had had previous contact. Eve separated them into known or unknown, into family strife, cases where the abductor had been mentally ill, and those done for profit. She culled out the rapes into a separate file. Then she worked them geographically. There had been cases in New York with similar elements, and those involving family members of the victim she separated out again. She set aside those cases where the perpetrator was doing time, earmarking those to check other family members, and any possible contact with Tandy. She outlined Missing Person cases where the investigator found the woman had gone into a shelter to escape an abusive relationship, or simply wa
15 EVE CAME OUT OF THE BLANK BLACK OF EXHAUSTED sleep into a bright flash of white. There were babies crying, women screaming, and though they seemed to be all around her, she was alone in the white box. She pushed at the walls, but they were strong as steel, and all she managed was to smear bloody handprints against the white. Looking down, she saw that her hands were covered with fresh blood. Whose blood? she wondered, and reached for her weapon. But in her harness was only a small knife, already gorey. She recognized it—of course she did. She’d used that very knife to hack her father to death once upon a time. If it was good enough for him, it would be good enough now. Shifting it to a combat grip, she began to walk along the white wall. Did they ever stop crying? she wondered. She supposed she couldn’t blame them. Babies were squeezed and pushed out of the nice, warm dark and dumped into the cold hard light of reality. With pain, she thought, and with blood. With their mothers scre
16 EVE SHIFTED TANDY ASIDE WHILE ROARKE INPUT data into her unit, and ordered it on-screen. It seemed like a lot of numbers to her, in a lot of columns in a complicated and overly detailed spread sheet. He, apparently, saw a great deal more. “Two accounts were questionable for me,” he began. “The first, McNab and I agree, has gaps, little voids. A precise, methodical accountant such as Copperfield wouldn’t have these voids in one of her files.” “Tampered with?” “Again, McNab and I agree.” “Yeah.” McNab nodded. “I might not get the financial mumbo, but I know when a file’s been diddled with. At least some of that diddling corresponds with the dates you gave me when Copperfield first talked to Byson about finding something, when her assistant claimed she’d logged on after hours. Some of it goes back farther.” “Someone very carefully removed and/or doctored her work,” Roarke continued. “Someone, in my opinion, with a good working knowledge of accounting.” “Inside job. What’s the file numb
17 “HE’S GONE.” EVE HAD TO HOOK JAKE’S ARMS behind his back, hold him against the wall. “You can’t help him.” “Bullshit! Bullshit! That’s my father. It’s my father.” “I’m sorry.” He was young, strong, and desperate, so it took all of Eve’s muscle to keep him from shaking her off and running inside. And compromising the crime scene. “Listen to me. Listen, goddamn it! I’m the one who has to help him now, and I can’t do it if you go in there and screw up any evidence. I need you to go downstairs.” “I’m not leaving here. I’m not leaving him. Go to hell.” And Jake pressed his face to the wall and wept. “Give him to me.” Roarke stepped up beside her. “Downstairs,” he said before she could ask about Rochelle. “I convinced her to stay put when we heard the shouting. Let me take him.” “I need a field kit.” “Yes, I know. Here now, Jake, you have to leave him to the lieutenant now. This is what she does. You come with me. Rochelle’s frightened, and she’s alone. Come downstairs and stay with her.”
18 EVE SET MAVIS DOWN WITH THE LIST, THEN gestured Leonardo to sit down beside her. “Why don’t you be another pair of eyes, another brain on memory mode? You were in on some of the baby talk?” “Sure. Tandy’s having a boy.” He laid his big hand gently on Mavis’s belly. “Tandy wanted to find out, and I talked to her about the baby, and herself, and her plans. I wanted to get a sense of it, not just because I’m her birthing coach, but because I’m designing a few basic—and a couple of special—outfits as a gift for her.” “Is he the sweetest huggie-bear in the universe and beyond?” Mavis cooed. “You bet. Look at the list. Remind yourself of conversations you had with her, about her. Individually and together. One of you may prompt something out of the other’s memory. I’ll be back in a minute.” She moved into Roarke’s office where he sat at his desk running her search. She shut the door. “Problem?” he asked her. “Our house is full of people, one of whom could go off like a bomb of emotionally
19 WHEN SHE CONTACTED BAXTER, HE WAS NEARLY at her gates. “Figured I could give you what I got, you give me yours. In person. I got Trueheart with me. Ought to be something the kid can do.” There was always something, Eve thought, and began to cobble together her notes. Trueheart could play drone and write her report. Despite the months working with Baxter, Trueheart was still fresh as daisies in May and eager as a puppy gamboling through them. He wouldn’t squawk about drone work. “More cops,” Roarke said. “More coffee, then.” “Dancing naked, tropical sun, near future.” “I don’t suppose we could take fifteen minutes in the holo-room to practice.” He set coffee at her elbow. “We’ve been practicing every chance we get the last couple years. I think we’re ready to go pro. Where’s the money they’re washing coming from?” “I thought you were going to let the Feds and Global worry about that?” “Yeah, but it bugs me.” She rose to walk to the board, to study the photos of Bullock and Chase. In
20 ON THE THIRD LEVEL A DROID IN A PALE GREEN lab coat was sprawled on the floor against an overturned chair. “We had to take it down.” Peabody pulled her master out of a lock slot in a door designed to blend into the wall. Trueheart crouched in front of a small comp unit. “The droid must have deactivated this when it heard us come in.” Trueheart shook his head. “I can’t reactivate.” “I’ll have a go at the lock.” Roarke took some tools out of his coat pocket. “Looks like a medical.” Eve gave the droid a light boot with her foot. “Portable birthing equipment, fetal monitor.” She lifted her chin toward a roll cart. “Warming tray. Got your towels, your scale, and so on. I saw this stuff at the birthing class. She’s in there.” “Must have cams on her,” Peabody said. “Droid could sit out here, monitor her on-screen. Suspects?” “Down. McNab and Baxter have them. Call this in, Peabody. I want the suspects taken in. Put an ambulance and OB team on alert. Roarke?” “It’s coming. Complicated littl
21 PEABODY HAD A TUBE OF PEPSI WAITING WHEN Eve came out. “You usually like your caffeine cold after a hot interrogation.” She held one out to Baxter. “Wasn’t sure about you.” “I’ll take it any way I can get it.” “Yeah, I’ve heard that from several women,” Eve said before she took a deep drink. For the first time in hours, Baxter laughed. “Thanks for letting me take that scum down with you, Dallas. I’m going to contact Palma, let her know we’ve got him.” “Dallas, Jacob Sloan came in while you were in Interview. They put him in the lounge.” “Okay, I’ll take him. You can have Bullock brought up.” “Sure you don’t want a break before her? You’ve been at this for nearly six hours, pretty much straight.” “I’m tying it up, wrapping it up, writing it up.” She rubbed at the stiffness in her neck. “Then I’m going home, and so are you.” “Yay. I’ll have her brought up.” Eve carried her drink into the lounge, scrubbed her hands over her face, then walked over to sit at the table across from Jacob S
22 SHE HATED HOSPITALS. IT DIDN’T MATTER IF they put pictures of angelic babies on the pastel walls, arranged small, gardenlike seating areas, and wrapped the staff with rainbows. It was still a hospital—a place where doctors and machines took over your body, and there was usually some sort of pain involved. It was no doubt due to Mavis’s celebrity status that she was taken to a birthing room that was appointed like a high-end hotel suite. Bathed in the spillover glory, Tandy was settled into a plush room across the hall. Eve’s hopes that all she’d be called on to do, for the moment, was get her charges where they were going were quickly dashed. The only way Mavis would release the vicelike grip on her hand was with the promise Eve would go over, check on Tandy, and come right back. “Leonardo and I were going to be with her. And now we’re at countdown, too. She doesn’t have anyone until Aaron gets here.” Since Eve was prepared to treat both women as she would a dangerous, wounded anima
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