J. Robb - Delusion in Death

So she grabbed her coat, walked out to the bullpen.

“I’m not finding anything off on the financials,” Peabody told her. “The Callaways live within their means, have a small, but steady nest egg. No major income or outlay in the last year. And no purchases of weird chemicals. They’re organic farmers.”

“Let that go for now. I want to talk to Cattery’s wife, get a feel. If there’s time, we’ll do the same with Fisher, talk to her roommate.”

“I’m all about it.” Peabody popped right up. “I feel like I’m swimming in the data stream and getting nowhere. Hey, I talked to Mavis,” she added, pulling on her coat as they headed out. “She couldn’t reach you so she tagged me last night.”

“I talked to her this morning.”

“They’ve got Belle swimming.”

“I heard.”

“I talked to my parents, too.” Peabody jumped on the glide behind Eve. “They’re worried, you know, just getting all that bullshit from the media. I told them enough to calm them down some, and to make sure they didn’t decide to rev up the camper and drive to New York. They were out of the Urbans, you know.”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, they were young, really just getting started when all that went on. Just a couple of Free-Ager kids doing their commune thing. They made clothes, grew food for people who needed it, but they were never in the hot areas.”

“It’s good they were.”

“My dad said he can’t remember hearing about Red Horse at the time. It was after, like a history book footnote. A lot of people barely heard of them, or not at all. I bet everyone’s heard of them now.”

Eve paused before they transferred to the garage elevator. “That’s a point, isn’t it? It could, maybe should’ve been a major deal, but it not only got crushed, it got buried. Some footnotes for historians and researchers, but no big play. Until now.”

“Do you think that’s what he’s after?”

“I think he’s a selfish, bastard coward, but it’s a factor. His grandfather might have been up there with Hitler given more time, more exposure. The powers that be snatched away his infamy. Recognition’s part of it.”

“Jeez, who’d want to be Hitler’s grandson?”

“People who think white’s right, lunatics, and selfish bastard cowards who want recognition.”

“Yeah, I guess there are those, but …”

“Your Free-Ager’s showing, Peabody. A lot of people are no damn good, and a lot of those people are proud of it.”

She got in the car. Maybe that was an opening, she thought as she programmed Cattery’s address.

“You should know what went down in Dallas.”

“With McQueen?”

“With McQueen’s partner.” She drove out of the garage, concentrated on traffic. It might be easier to lay it out if she had to pay attention to the external. “She was no damn good, and I’d say she was proud of it.”

“She was as fucked up as he is. Maybe more.”

“Yeah.” It tightened her belly to hear it, but she could live with it. That was the key, she reminded herself. Just living with it. “When we were looking for his partner, running the list and images of women who’d visited him in prison, something about her—as Sister Suzan—kept pulling me back. I thought maybe I’d busted her sometime, or interviewed her. Same deal with her other IDs. Just something that tugged, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

Curious, Peabody shifted toward Eve. “Had you busted her?”

“No.”

“Maybe you just recognized the type. Instinct kicking in.”

“That’s what I thought, but that wasn’t it. Or not all of it. You read the reports. You know we had her and her place covered. We were right there when she walked out of that townhouse, going to meet up with McQueen. Bad luck. A kid on a bike, a little dog, oncoming car. She made us, took off.”

“I wish I’d been there. I probably wouldn’t have at the time, flying down the streets after her van, crashing. You got banged up.”

“Not bad, it wasn’t bad.” A little bloody, a little bruised, Eve thought. The bad came later.

“She got banged up more—no air bags, safety gel in that clunky van. And she hadn’t taken time to hook her seat belt.”

“Good. She deserved to get banged up.”

“I was so pissed,” Eve continued. “Afraid she’d been able to tag McQueen during the chase, knowing damn well, we’d lost the best chance to find him and get the kid and Melanie back safe. So fucking pissed.”

All that rage, Eve thought, gushing through her like an open wound. And then …

“I yanked her out of the van, got her blood on me. I spun her around. Stupid pink sunglasses, crooked on her face. Pulled them off her … I looked at her face, into her eyes. And I knew her.”

It was Eve’s tone that had a chill working up Peabody’s spine. She spoke carefully. “You didn’t put that in your report.”

“No. It didn’t have anything to do with the case. It’s personal. She went by Stella back then, where I remember her from. She’d changed her eyes, her hair, had some work done, but I knew her. I knew Stella. She was my mother.”

“Jesus.” Peabody laid her hand on Eve’s arm, just a light touch though her fingers wanted to tremble. “You’re sure? I guess I thought she was dead. I mean, had been dead all along.”

“I had the blood. Hers, mine. I had Roarke run DNA to verify, but I knew. I don’t remember much about her, she left me with him when I was about four or five. I’m not sure; it’s vague. But I remember enough.”

“She left you with … did she know?” Even the thought of it had sickness coating Peabody’s throat. “Did she know what he did to you?”

“She had to know. She didn’t care.”

“But …”

“There’s no bittersweet aside here, Peabody. She didn’t care and never had. I was a commodity, and the investment was taking too long, was too much trouble to suit her. That’s what I figure.”

The sickness faded. It its place rose a vicious disgust, icy hot. “Did she recognize you?”

“No. I wasn’t that important. All she saw was the cop who’d fucked up her plans with McQueen, who put her in the hospital, who was going to put her in a cage. I’d’ve put her in a cage. Maybe I should’ve put two men on her.”

“Dallas, I read the reports. You had her restrained, and under guard. There were still cops in the hospital when she escaped.”

“She wouldn’t tell me where McQueen was. I couldn’t flip her, and I went at her hard. Maybe too hard.”

“Stop.” Peabody’s voice roughened and firmed. “You did the job. If you weren’t sure you could do it, you’d have gotten somebody else to sweat her. But you did the job.”

It helped to hear it. She’d gone over every step, every move, every decision countless times, and believed she’d done everything she could. But it helped to hear it. “I was going to go back at her again. I’d bought some time, wanted to let her think about it, then go back at her. But she got out, went to McQueen, and he killed her.”

“And you found her.”

“She was still warm. We hadn’t missed him by much.”

“You got Melinda Jones and Darlie Morgansten out, safe. I can’t imagine what it was like for you.” Peabody took a quiet, unsteady breath. “What it’s been like since. You had Mira,” Peabody remembered. “Thank God you had Roarke and Mira.”

For a long moment, Peabody stared out the side window. “Dallas, you could’ve called me down. You shouldn’t have had to work that alone. I’d’ve had your back.”

“I know it. I had to work it alone. And I’ve had to work through it. You deserve to know, but I had to work through it before I told you.”