J. Robb - Portrait In Death

"You can try."

"I won't just try," she said evenly. "You know me, and you know I'll stand for her now, no matter what it takes. Even if it means locking you away until I do what's right for her. She's mine now, too. Mine as much as yours."

He tried to hold back the tears. "Any other cop said that to me, I wouldn't believe it. Any other cop said that to me, I'd say whatever I needed to say to shake him loose so I could do what I wanted to do. But you're not any other cop, white girl. You take care of my baby sister. You're the only one I'd give her to."

"What can I do?" Roarke asked her when they stood at her car outside the morgue.

"You got any pull at the East Side Health Center?"

"Money, Lieutenant, always has pull."

"Here's what I'm thinking. Maybe he tagged her from the files at Portography. That's a link. Maybe he tagged her from the data club. It pops every time. But, if he's sick, and I think he's sick, she might have recognized him from the health center. If he uses it, or has used it, the staff might not notice him hanging around. If he took her out there, it was because people are used to seeing him, or recognized his face and didn't think anything of it. I've got Louise asking around, but she's going at it from the doctor angle-no names, patient privacy, and blah blah."

"And you'd like someone who isn't so particular about privacy."

"Three dead kids. Yeah. I don't give a flying fuck about privacy. Grease whatever palms you need to grease and see if you can find me somebody-male, twenty-five to sixty-no, forty. He's younger. That age span, with a serious, perhaps fatal neurological condition. Get me a name."

"Done. What else?"

"Isn't that enough for you?"

"No, I'd like to keep busy right now."

"Summerset-"

"I've spoken to him via 'link. What else?"

"You could use that twisty brain and those clever fingers to dig me up all you can on Javert. Any combination with Henri or Luis. Anything that pops around the dump sites, the data club, the colleges, Portography and the suspect names I'm going to give you that I shouldn't be giving you."

"Smells like drone work."

She smiled. "So?"

"Happy to be of assistance, Lieutenant."

"Question. You own parking ports, garages, lots, undergrounds."

"I believe I have a few in my vast empire, why?"

"Get me the ones that do sidelines?"

His brow lifted. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you're insinuating."

He was back, she thought. Slick as ever. "Save it, pal. I especially want ones within a ten-block radius of Eighteenth and Seventh. He saw us roust Billy. He knew we were there, watching the van, so he found alternate transpo. He plans, so he had a backup already earmarked, and I'm betting he had it close. I'm looking for a backdoor rental, nondescript vehicle in good condition, probably another van. You pop me something good, and you'll get a reward."

"You, naked, and a large quantity of chocolate sauce?"

"Pervert. Round up your own transpo, pal. I've got to scoop up Peabody and get into the field."

He grabbed her for one hot kiss first. Oh yeah, she thought as the top of her head flew off, he was definitely back.

"Nice being in tandem with you again, Lieutenant."

"Is that what we are?" She paused, studying him as he stood on the sidewalk. "You get Summerset on his feet and out of the country, and I'll bring the chocolate sauce."

"There's a date," he murmured as she slid into her vehicle and drove away.

"I'm sorry about Crack, Dallas."

"So am I."

Seated in the passenger seat, Peabody lifted her hands. "I didn't even know he had a sister. It feels like I should've."

"She'd still be dead," Eve said flatly.

"Yeah, she'd still be dead. Do you think we should, I don't know, send flowers? Something."

"No, not flowers." She thought of Siobhan's cherry tree. "Put it away, Peabody. We do the job."

"Yes, sir." Peabody struggled against the resentment. Crack was a friend. You didsomething for a friend. "I just want him to know we're thinking about him, that's all."

"The best thing to do for him is to close the case, see that the person who did his sister is locked away. Flowers aren't going to comfort him, Peabody. Justice might, at least a little."

"You're right, it's just hard when it hits this close."

"It's supposed to be hard. When you start thinking it's easy, turn in your badge."

Peabody opened her mouth, insulted by the tone, then saw the fatigue, and the anger just under the shield. "Where are we going? I should know, I should be able to figure it out." The detective's exam loomed over her head like an ax. "But I can't."

"How did he transport her?"

"We don't know. Yet," she added.

"Why don't we know?"

"Because he didn't use the van we had under surveillance."

"Why didn't he use the van we had under surveillance?"

"Because… because he knew we were watching it." At the last minute she managed to change the tone from a question to a statement. "Do you think Billy tipped him?"

"Do you?"

She struggled with it for a moment, worked it through. "No, sir. At least not deliberately. Billy's small-time. He's not holding hands with a serial killer. He copped to the sideline, he cooperated. He's got a kid and the kid matters. He doesn't want this kind of trouble."

"So, how did our guy know to steer clear of Billy's garage?"

"Somebody else could have tipped him." But that didn't gel for her. "He might've gotten nervous, using the same van. But no," she continued, working it out, "he sticks to pattern. He likes his routine. So he had to know we'd made the van and were waiting. He had to see us there. He saw you. Recognized you from the screen, knew you were primary on this case, spotted my uniform. Jig's up on the gray van."

"And how did he see us?"

"Because… shit. Because he lives or works in the area! You already said you figured he did, and this adds weight. He spotted us from the street, or a window."

"Gold star for you."

"I'd settle for a gold shield."

Eve pulled up a half-block from the parking port. She'd wanted to see the area firsthand rather than on a computer screen. She wanted the feel of it, the rhythm of the sector, the viewpoints.

Not too close, she mused. He'd be careful about picking his transpo from a port right next door. But close enough so he could watch it, see the deals being made, the operation. Scope it out, choose his mark.

Yeah, the nice gray van driven by the old lady. Runs like a top, no special features. Blends. Plenty of space if things start going south and he has to muscle his mark into the back.

"He lives here," Eve said. "Not his work space. He sees the van go out on Sundays. He watches the port at night to see how the deals go through. He lives around here, keeps to himself, doesn't bother his neighbors. Low profile. Blends, just like his vehicle of choice."

She climbed back in her unit and prayed the climate control would hold back the heat while she worked. "Start running the buildings for residents. I want single males first."

"Which buildings?"

"All of them. The whole block."

"Going to take some time."

"Then you'd better get started." Eve scanned the buildings a block west, and zeroed in on the upper floors. Guy with image equipment probably had some nice long-range lenses, she speculated.

Using her 'link, she began a run of her own.

Nothing popped for her, and when the climate control began to waffle, she ignored it and kept working. Ugly clouds rolled in, shooting the street into a sludgy gloom. Fat, mean splats of rain began to pound the windshield, heralded by a long growl of thunder.

"Storm looks nasty." Peabody mopped at the back of her neck and shot a glance at her lieutenant's profile. There was a light dew of sweat on Eve's face, but it could have been the result of that vicious concentration as much as the heat. "Maybe it'll cool things off."