J. Robb - Chaos in Death

“As in botched?” Roarke twirled some seafood linguine on his fork. “As in mad science?”

“Mad, bad. Maybe. It’s something to poke at. Maybe the vics knew him from before, and found out he was there, confronted the mad-bad scientist, or threatened to tell people on the outside.”

“You don’t like that very much.”

“Not as much as one of them slapping gunk on their face, pumping themselves full of a Zeus cocktail, and whaling away, but it’s another route to take.”

She took it, working angles, running probabilities, reformulating, juggling through the pieces. When Roarke finally tugged her out of her chair hours later, she was more than ready to give it up for the night.

Clear her head, she decided. Let it simmer for a few hours.

Shortly after midnight, Eton Billingsly coded himself into Justin Rosenthall’s lab using a cloned key card and a recording he’d made of Justin’s voice.

He thought himself very clever.

It was time—past it—to prove to Arianna she was wasting her time and resources on Justin. The man was obsessed with this serum, and far too secretive about it in the last weeks.

Because he was getting nowhere, Billingsly concluded. The financial resources Justin wasted had become intolerable, particularly since they could and should be redirected to his own department. Once Arianna saw the truth, she’d rethink the relationship, and this wedding business.

He went directly to the main comp station, noted Justin had locked it down for the night.

But no problem, or very little of one. He’d worked with Justin long enough to know the man kept such things simple, so his assistant and interns could access data when needed.

Justin called it teamwork. Billingsly called it naivete. One day one of those underlings would steal data and take credit for whatever advance Justin managed to stumble onto.

But in this case, it simply made the job easier.

He tried various names as passwords, working patiently. At one point he thought he heard a sound, froze, turned to look around. Then shook his head at his own foolishness.

He continued until, inspired, he tried Ari102260 . The date they’d chosen to be married. Sentimental fool, Billingsly thought as access was granted.

Quickly now, he scanned through file names.

UNQUIET. Justin’s term for the core of addiction. Before he could call it up, something crashed behind him. “What the devil—?”

He whirled, then froze.

“Some might call me that,” the voice ground out, like rocks beneath a boot heel. “But I prefer Chaos. Dr. Chaos.” The creature issued a deep, cape-swishing bow. “At your service.”

“What kind of sick joke is this?”

“My kind. Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, aren’t you, Billingsly? Well, we’ll just have to take care of that.”

“I have every right to . . .” But he backed up as he spoke, with his heart hammering in his dry throat. “I’m contacting Security.”

“Wanna bet?”

As Billingsly began to run, the creature let out a delighted laugh. Strength, speed, excitement poured through him as he leaped. Billingsly went down under him, screaming.

Chaos used the knife. But before the knife, he used his teeth.

And continued long after the screaming stopped.

The signal of her communicator pulled Eve out of a dream where she chased her killer while he danced down an empty street juggling an ear, an eye, and a tongue.

“Gross,” she mumbled, then called for the lights at ten percent before she answered. “Dallas.”

Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Report to the Whitwood Center. See building security and officer on the door for access to Laboratory Six.

“Justin Rosenthall’s area.”

Affirmative. Possible homicide.

“Acknowledged. Inform Peabody, Detective Delia. Request that she meet me on scene as soon as possible. Has the victim been ID’d?”

Victim identification is not confirmed.

“I’m on my way. Dallas out.”

She shoved at her hair, saw Roarke was already up, getting dressed. “Shit. Shit. You don’t have to come. That’s hovering, isn’t it?”

“In this case it’s sheer curiosity. The likelihood is it’s your man, and since I’m awake now in any case, I’d like to see for myself.”

It was quicker not to argue. Besides, he had an eye as good as most cops she knew. And drove faster and better.

“Inside job, what did I tell you?” She watched buildings whiz by on the way downtown. “It’s one thing to break into the place on Twelfth, but it takes a lot more to get through the security they have at the Center.”

At his noncommittal sound, she gave Roarke a narrowed stare. “For most people. Rosenthall’s lab. He works late a lot. Shit, shit, shit .”

She was out of the car the instant Roarke parked, flashing her badge at the NYPSD uniform and the building security officer.

“Lieutenant. Security Officer Tweed will take you to the scene. My current orders are to remain on the door.”

“Has Detective Peabody arrived?”

“No, sir.”

“Send her in when she gets here. She knows the way. Tweed?”

“This way.”

“I know the way, too. Who found the body?”

“I did. I was doing a standard cam sweep, and I saw . . . a figure.”

“Green, deformed face, red eyes, wearing a cape?”

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself.”

“And you’ve got him on disc.”

“Yeah. He was heading down from the second level, east, moving fast in a kind of—boogie. Part of me was spooked, I admit. The other part figured somebody was playing a joke. But we have to check out any unauthorized activity. By the time I got to that sector—along with the other guard I’d alerted—he was gone. I went up, saw the lights were on in Dr. Rosenthall’s lab, so I keyed in, and I saw . . . The place is wrecked, Lieutenant, and there’s a body. It’s male, but I couldn’t tell who it was. The face, it’s, well, wrecked, too. And there’s blood everywhere.”

“Okay.” She nodded to the uniform outside the lab doors. “Key me in, Tweed, then I’m going to want those discs. The originals.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“And stand by,” she told him.

Wrecked was a mild word for it, Eve thought as she scanned the area. Smashed comps lay on the floor on a sea of broken beakers, dishes, specimen bowls. The body lay faceup—what was left of the face. Blood stained the hacked and ripped clothes, spread over the floor, left its obscene abstract art on the sides of a counter.

And on the top, in blood, his message.

Memo to: Lt. Dallas.

Nobody liked him anyway.

You’re welcome!

Sincerely, Dr. Chaos.

“It’s Billingsly.”

“How can you be sure?”

“That’s the suit he had on this morning.” She took a can of Seal-It out of her kit, used it, tossed it to Roarke. “This takes him off the suspect list.”

“I doubt he’d feel grateful.”

“What was he doing in here? He doesn’t strike me as the type who’d come by for a late-night visit with Rosenthall, and this isn’t his area. He’s another floor up, in the other wing.”

“He might have been lured here.”

“Yeah, maybe. But it’s late, way after hours. Why is he in the building, and where’s Rosenthall? I need to know who keyed in before Security.”

“Would you like me to see to that area?”

“Yeah, that would save time.”

“His nose is gone.”

“It sure is. What does that mean? Smell no evil? No, that’s just stupid. To me it says nosy. You’re nosy, Billingsly; now you’re dead.”

She turned as Peabody came in.

“Wow. Another day, another slaughter.” Peabody eased out a breath. “McNab’s with me. I had him start on Security. I thought maybe Roarke would be here, so we’d have two e-men on it.”