Page 14
Eve picked up her tube, drank again.
“We’re both going to write all this up. Different takes maybe. You can do that at home. I’ll get you transpo.”
“Really? Can I check with McNab? If he’s still at Central, they can drop me there. Or pick him up if he’s ready.”
“Whatever.”
“This was a lot, but I think this was the way to do it. Interview one after another. You got overlaps, and that’s what everyone remembers. Then you have what one remembers, or some byplay with Potter, what someone else focuses on. Yancy does it with faces, Mira with profiles. But we’re sort of building a person. His interior.”
“It’s a good day’s work. It might strain the brain, but it’s a good day’s work. I’ll get your transpo. Go home, take a break, get a meal, then write it up from your angle. I’ll write it from mine.”
“French restaurants,” Peabody began as she rose. “Theater boxes, fitness equipment, barber shops.”
“Yeah, we’ll hit on that and more tomorrow.”
With Peabody off, Eve walked down to her office.
She turned in, stopped, and blinked at her board.
Roarke stepped through the adjoining door.
“You updated my board.”
“As best I could. I had the time, and you certainly didn’t. So take a moment now.” Walking over, he put his arms around her. “You’ll have a glass of wine.”
“I’ll have a glass of wine.”
He kissed the top of her head, then walked over to choose a bottle. “And a meal. Take the time to let it all settle.”
“Some of it’s hindsight with them, but I wonder if some of it wasn’t British manners. But they’re not all Brits, are they? European manners? They tolerated what they disliked about him. Plenty to dislike.”
“Intense and urgent circumstances. You’d need to put personal feelings aside for the greater good.” He brought her the wine.
“Summerset twisted his naked dick and threatened to break it. That’s pretty fucking personal.”
Now Roarke blinked. “That’s… I can’t quite think of the word.”
“Scary Roarke tactics—maybe you got some of that from him. Anyway, he didn’t mention that in his initial interview. I got it out of him today. Potter put moves on Alice, Alice handled it, and Summerset polished it off.”
“If you have more revelations like that, I think we should sit down. I’ll get the meal.”
“Where’s the cat?”
“Busy being fawned over by our guests.”
“Figures. I’m going to check in with EDD.”
“I did that.” He spoke from the kitchen. “We were just finishing up when you came in.”
“What’ve you got?”
“I’ll tell you, won’t I?”
He came in carrying two domed plates to set them at the table by the open balcony doors.
“Sit,” he said, and lifted the domes.
“What is this?”
“Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and mushy peas. Very British. No, they’re not all Brits, but they worked together in London, so very suitable as a reunion dinner.”
“I don’t see any pudding.”
Roarke pointed, then sat. “And no, I don’t know why it’s called pudding.”
She decided on a bite of the beef first. “Okay, I was going to say that’s pretty good, but it’s way beyond ‘pretty.’ What did you finish up?”
“Feeney’s man was nearly there. He’s more than pretty good himself. He’d determined it wasn’t flesh.”
“What wasn’t?”
“The driver—and I’m convinced along with you it was Potter. The face, the back of the hands. Hands will show age.”
“A mask? But—”
“More than a mask. A process. Time-consuming, expensive, meticulous process. The material—a silicone base—has to be blended and formed, thinned and shaped. Measurements must be exact. The machine required to do this, as well as the tinting, is easily ten thousand. The mask is then carefully applied, smoothed, adjusted. If all this is done correctly, painstakingly, it can look quite real for a limited amount of time.
“It doesn’t breathe,” he explained. “They’ve yet to formulate a material that does. And it won’t feel like skin. While it has the appearance, once you magnify and begin to analyze, it doesn’t.”
“It could change his face, take the years off?”
“It could, yes, for three or four hours. Five at the very most. After two, discomfort would be an issue.”
“He wouldn’t take it off in the limo. Too risky.”
“And your sweepers would’ve found traces of it, flaking off during removal.”
“Okay, he has to drive to the shuttle station, wait. Sometimes flights are delayed, he has to factor that possibility into his time. Rossi didn’t have luggage checked, but he could have. The wit wasn’t affected by the gas. He opened the door, saw the body. If there’d still been gas, he should’ve felt it.”
She ate some pudding that wasn’t pudding. Also way beyond “pretty.”
“Garage. Drive around while Rossi’s dying, then take the limo into the garage. You can ditch the mask there, air out the limo. Stick the card in Rossi’s fist. Drive to the dump spot. Now you walk away. You’ve either got a vehicle stashed nearby, or you walk a few blocks, hail a cab.”
She picked up her wine. “And the first leg of your mission is complete and successful.”
“It will be a mission to him.”
“It will. It’s more than revenge, though that’s part of it. They beat him, Roarke. They won, and that can’t be tolerated.”
She took a chance on the peas, and rated them sort of all right.
“He said you fight a war to win it. That’s it. Not for a cause, not for a country, not for the innocent or the persecuted. Just to win.” She went back to the beef. “He lost.”
“What can I do? You have to give me a task, an assignment.” He reached across the table for her hand. “This is mine as well as yours.”
“I know it. You can find where he could’ve gotten the face machine, and the material. Even with that, we don’t know how long he’s had it. A couple months, a couple years. But if we can narrow that down…”
“I’ll start on it, and you’ll get a report from EDD, with visuals.”
“I need to write up the interviews, then we’ll start a lot of cross-references. Fancy French restaurants. You can’t eat that every night, so fancy Italian. Or high-end delivery. Prime seats for serious theater, for opera, ballet. High-end men’s shops. Probably tailored. Bootmaker.
“Fancy-ass.”
She considered Roarke. Though he’d taken off his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves, he still looked fancy-ass.
“You could take those. The fancy-ass men’s clothes and footwear. He’s going to want good materials, good lines, but on the conservative side. He wants to blend, not stick out. Nothing too bright, nothing edgy. Golf. Golf shirts, golf pants, golf shoes.”
“I take it he golfs.”
“He told everybody he did, bragged about it. He had clubs in his flat. He works out—routinely. I figure him for his own home gym. No pets, he doesn’t like them. Especially cats. If he wants sex, he’d hire it. Top-of-the-line there.”
She picked up her wine and found it, along with the meal, went a long way to soothing rough edges.
“I think he has a house. Could be an apartment, a townhouse, but I think a house, with garage.”
“He’d want the space after so long with so little.”
“Yeah, and because he’s got a lot of work. He had to store the gas canister. And maybe he has more, and likely does. He had weapons, so storage. No live domestics. They might get nosy. So droids.”
“It’s a lonely life you’re describing.”
“Lone wolves aren’t lonely. Once his mission’s accomplished, he can pick up and build a new life. New ID, new place. Somewhere warm and sunny, that’s what he… Wait.”
“I’m going nowhere.”
“He didn’t like British food, British weather.”
“I dislike having an area of agreement with a murdering war criminal, but—”
“When it was over, he wanted somewhere warm, somewhere sunny. Costa Rica was one place—and that’s where Pierce set up.”
“Ah, now I follow. And you think he already has that place.”
“Why come to New York straight off? He needs time to recoup, to rest, to plan. He needs face work, and a place to recover from it. Warm, sunny, maybe tropical. But somewhere where the rich go to play, because he wants that.
“Where do the rich go to play?”
“Anywhere they like, darling.” Then he shrugged. “The Maldives, the Canary Islands—you’re not looking for private islands.”
“No. He needs restaurants, shops, the face guy.”
“Belize. Australia’s Gold Coast, French or Italian Rivieras.”
“Stop. He goes for French food, he talked about Paris. French Riviera. That’s a good start point. He bribed Pierce with enough for solid fake ID and background, a face job, a fancy house and boat. So he’s got plenty left. Probably a different name for that. One for there, one for here.”
She nudged her plate away. “This is good.”
“This time you don’t mean the food.”
“It was, too. But this is good. This is logical. Get the face work, establish yourself, work on your tan, get some good meals in you. Plan and plan some more. Do your research. Where is everyone, and how do you get to them?
“Take your time. A year, maybe two. No one’s looking for you. You’re dead.”
“But the first strike has to be here, in New York,” Roarke continued. “Using Summerset to lure Rossi here, and you into the mix.”
“Summerset hurt him, humiliated him, left him naked and blubbering in the shower, so use him to kill his friend. He’ll be last on the list, Summerset. The, you know, crescendo. Rossi caught him first, beat him, so he had to die first. The others? I’m sure he has an order and a method to fit. That’s organized, tidy, everything in place.
“He wants them here, Roarke. We brought them here.”
“And here they’re safe, no matter how good he is.” Of that, he had not a whisper of doubt. “He’s dead, after all, and can’t know you’ve already disproved that.”
“Not a hundred percent until the DNA results. But no, he’s not dead.”
Because he understood his cop, Roarke turned it on her.
“How would you do it? You know him now. How would you do it?”
“I’d find a way to lure one or two of them out. A message from a friend. Keep it to daylight. Just a little catch-up visit with a pal. What’s the harm? The others will be harder when that’s done, so he’d need leverage. Abduct a family member.”
“Their families are secure. I’ve seen to it.”
“Let’s make sure of it.”
She pushed away from the table.
“He can’t get them all that way. If he hadn’t left the card, he’d have a better chance of picking them off. But he let us know it went back to The Twelve.”
“That wouldn’t have been enough. For full revenge,” Roarke continued, “for the satisfaction. To win? They had to know why. They all had to know why while it happened. You’re ahead of him, Lieutenant.”
She looked at Rossi’s photos. “You’re never ahead when there’s a body in the morgue.”
He walked to her, stood behind her. He rubbed her shoulders while they both studied the board.
“He could have been free and clear. Living in the warm and sunny, a whole new life with all the French pastries he wanted. Killing’s more important to him. Lose the battle, but win the war. That’s what this is to him. His personal war game.”
“He won’t win.” Roarke kissed the top of her head. “I’ll start on my assignments.”
She reached back, covered his hand with hers. “You’re a family member. Keep that in mind.”
“He won’t use me. I can promise you that.”
She turned, gripped his face in her hands. “Take an oath on it. They’re popular right now.”
“I swear on my heart, and that’s you, he won’t use me.”
“Okay. Okay. I need to get started, too.”
She dealt with the dishes, as that was part of the deal, then sat at her command center.
Downstairs in the dining room, the remainder of The Twelve gathered. Though he’d prepared the meal himself, and with pleasure, Summerset took Roarke’s advice. The droid would serve, clear, and clean.
What had brought them together once more was tragedy, and the grief would wind through again and again. But he could and would prize this time with old friends, good friends, for as long as he had it.
“Well, this is brilliant.” After sampling the beef, Marjorie gave Summerset an easy smile. “And where was this brilliance when it was your turn at the pot at HQ?”
“Yet to be born.”
“He made a good lamb stew,” Harry recalled. “When I could scavenge the makings. Now you, my beauty.”
On a laugh, Marjorie waved a hand in the air. “Was rubbish in the kitchen, and still am. I have other talents.”
“And always did,” Cyril added.
“None of us lack, or lacked, in other talents.” Ivanna patted a hand on the back of Cyril’s. “And how good it is to sit here and see what each of us has made with those talents.”
“You’ve built a fine life for yourself, Summerset.” Iris raised her glass. “After loss, profound loss, you built a life of strength, beauty, purpose. We all have, and that, I think, is a wonder.”
“I had a child, and a chance to make a life for her. And when I lost her, I had the boy. I don’t choose to think where or what I might be without the boy.”
“So here we are,” Marjorie said, “together, after far too long.”
“Far too long,” Ivan murmured. “I wonder… I’m grateful to the lieutenant for allowing me back in New York.”
“She’s for justice. It runs through her veins like blood. Whatever conflict she deals with, justice will always win.” Summerset shook his head. “She knows you need to be here.”
“This time. But I wonder, as I don’t wish to cause that conflict for her again, if we could meet again. Somewhere. Not in far too long.”
“I think that’s a marvelous idea. The world’s a very big place,” Marjorie pointed out. “We’ll pick a spot, gather every year or so rather than that far too long.”
So they ate, drank, talked about old times and new. It struck Summerset that the old times seemed another life, distant, then like a sheet of glass turned so the sun struck, they were yesterday.
They finished with trifle, then brandy in the parlor.
“Tell me you’re not going to feed us like this every night.” Marjorie pressed a hand to her stomach. “In my line, I have to keep my figure.”
“I’ll surprise you. I thought we’ll do a buffet for breakfast, so everyone can come and go as they please.”
“If it wasn’t for the circumstances, I’d feel I was on a lovely, indulgent holiday.”
“Behind the gates.” Legs stretched out, Harry sipped his brandy. “The old instincts say get out there, hunt the bastard down.” He held up a hand before Summerset could speak. “No worries. Leave it to your cop, and right enough. She’s a sharp one, she is. There’s a look in her eye that tells me if I were still in my old game, she’d have me nicked before I blinked.”
“Potter’s a different creature,” Cyril pointed out. “I know how you feel, Harry. It brings on an itch not having a hand in.”
“And being shielded.” Ivanna gave Summerset’s hand a pat. “Being protected when we once did the protecting. But different times.”
“We don’t cross her. She has my word.”
“She has yours,” Iris said, “so she has all of ours.” She glanced down when her ’link signaled.
“Oh, it’s Darlena, Darlena Corning.”
“Oh dear,” Marjorie said with a laugh.
“Oh dear, as some of you know. A cousin, for those who don’t, who will ring a dozen more times if I don’t answer.”
“Block video,” Summerset told her.
With a nod, Iris put her finger to her lips, and answered.
“Darlena, darling.”
“There you are. Or you’re not! This bloody ’link’s giving me nothing but trouble. The screen works half the time at best. I’d toss it, but it’s such a bother to have a new one all set up. They always lose something, don’t they?”
“Not if—”
“But, Iris, my favorite cousin, how could you come to New York and not tell me!”
Her eyes flicked to Summerset’s, held. “Why would you think I’m in New York?”
“Darling, I spoke with that handsome assistant of yours. I got it out of him—took some work. So very discreet, but he understood I was simply desperate to reach you.”
“And why is that?”
“I somehow volunteered to head one of the committees for the holiday gala at the Palace Hotel. I must have your input, Iris, and your presence, of course. I don’t know how I let myself get over my head this way, but I’ve done it again! I’m beseeching you! And since you’re right here—”
“Only briefly, Darlie, and I’m actually rather tied up while—”
“Oh, surely you can make just a little time for me? It’s dire. I was going to contact Ivanna—she’s so clever. But you know her better, so if you could just ask if she might give some time?”
“Ivanna?”
Across the room, Ivanna arched her brows, nodded.
“I suppose I could.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant! I’m so grateful. You must plan to see her while you’re here. We could have lunch tomorrow. My treat! And I could pour out all my woes. Roger’s no help at all. He’s just ‘Why do you stick your oar in, Darlie, when you can’t paddle?’ Not helpful at all.
“Why are you here? Who are you meeting? Anyone else clever?”
Marjorie held up a hand, pointed to herself.
“As it happens, I’d planned to have a drink with Marjorie. Marjorie Wright.”
Darlena squealed. “Oh, good God, Iris, you must bring her. You simply must! If I could add her to the guest list! What a coup! They’ll coronate me. Please, please, it’s life-and-death for me. You must bring them both to lunch. Chez Robert. They do a superior martini. I’ll book a table. Twelve-thirty!”
“Darlie, I can’t confirm that. I need to check my schedule, then see if they’re available.”
“Yes, yes, of course. But I’ll book the table because I have absolute faith in you. You never let me down, Iris, no matter what tangle I get into. You’re a brick.”
“I’ll ring you back, one way or the other.”
“Pins and needles here. Kiss, kiss!”
Iris clicked off. “It sounded exactly like her, including getting over her head and begging for help.”
“A bit convenient, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Cyril, more than a bit. But Darlena… If he’s somehow compromised her.”
“We’ll take it to the lieutenant.” Summerset rose. “Right away.”
“Stings a bit.” Harry pushed himself up. “Not to work it ourselves, but here we are, old dogs not able to do our tricks.”
“Mind who you’re calling old,” Marjorie told him as they started upstairs.
Deep in the work, Eve lifted her head when she heard any number of footsteps, and thought: What the hell?
Summerset led the whole damn group into her office.
“I apologize for the interruption,” he said before she could snarl, “but we may have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“My cousin Darlena Corning rang me up.” Iris stepped forward. “It certainly sounded like Darlena. I blocked video, and on her end she complained her ’link wasn’t working properly. That wouldn’t be unusual. She and her husband, Roger, live in New York. She said— Well, I made sure the conversation recorded, so.”
She handed the ’link to Eve as Roarke walked in from his office.
Eve hit replay, listened all the way through.
“And she just happens to contact your assistant, after hours, right? And he tells her you’re in the city?”
“Again, not unusual for Darlena. But…”
“Coincidence equals bollocks.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“She brought up Ivanna, and then you told her Marjorie was in New York.”
“That’s on me,” Marjorie said.
“And do you tend to come to your cousin’s rescue?”
“She has a good heart, a good and generous heart. And a very chaotic brain. So yes, and I’m concerned. If she didn’t contact me on her own, he may have forced her. He may have hurt her. He may—”
“You’d have heard it in her voice.” Eve cut off the rising worry. “He hit on you next because you’re a woman, and therefore less. Less bright, less cautious, less capable. Your cousin calls, you help. That’s your pattern. He’s using your pattern.”
“But my cousin…”
“We’ll check on her. What’s the address?”
“I—I need to go through my address book.”
“I have it. Roger and Darlena Corning,” Roarke said. “It’s not far.”
“Bring a car around,” Eve told Summerset. “Not mine. If he’s watching, he’d make it. What kind of building?”
“Luxury high-rise,” Roarke told her.
“Yours?”
“As it happens.”
“Handy. Underground parking?”
“Yes.”
“Fancy car,” she said to Summerset. “And not one of Roarke’s usuals.” As she swung on her jacket, she turned to Iris. “If she contacts you again, tell her you left a v-mail for Ivanna, and Marjorie’s checking her schedule.
“How far?” she asked Roarke.
“Five minutes.”
“Keep her talking as long as you can.”
“This isn’t a problem with Darlena.”
“Good. Stay in the house. Let’s go.”
“Thinks on her feet, that one.” Harry picked up the cat, who’d followed them up. “We could’ve used her back in the day.”
“I’m happy to make use of her now.” Marjorie laid a hand on Iris’s arm. “If he has Darlena, he needs her until we confirm. But I think the lieutenant’s right, darling. Darlena would never pull off that act.”
Eve took one look at the low-slung bold red sports car and gave Summerset points. If you were trying to go unnoticed, it was the last vehicle you’d pick.
So they’d go unnoticed for that reason alone.
“We didn’t have anyone on Corning.”
“She’s actually a third cousin.” Roarke took the wheel.
“Third cousin. How do people keep track? But he knew about her. She didn’t make the contact. Not a single waver in her voice, no hesitations. Just plowed right through.”
“He could’ve lifted her ’link, fed recordings of her voice into a simulator. Complicated, but he appears to like the complicated.”
He slid right into the underground parking of a steel and glass tower.
“He could have a place here, minutes from the house. But it doesn’t fit. Too many people coming and going, no garage, not enough room to work.”
“Penthouse B for the Cornings.”
The elevator required a swipe for that level. Roarke took one, suspiciously blank, out of his pocket, and accessed the floor.
“Do they have a vehicle?”
“Ah.” He pulled out his PPC. “A 2061 black Majestic. Four-door sedan.”
“We’re here making inquiries about an accident involving same. Quiet building.”
“I swiped in express.”
“Still more handy.”
When the doors opened, she stepped into a wide hallway carpeted in quiet blue with walls of the palest of pale golds. Flowers, fresh and bride-white, stood on a polished table. Their rich scent followed her down the hallway to Penthouse B.
Top-of-the-line security, she noted. Palm plate, swipe code, security cam. Eve pressed the buzzer.
And recognized Darlena Corning’s voice through the intercom.
“Yes? Corning residence.”
“Ms. Corning.” Eve held up her badge. “NYPSD. If we could have a word.”
“Goodness gracious! The police! Roger, it’s the police!”
Locks thumped before the door opened to a woman in a stylish black cocktail dress with every blond hair in place. Her eyes, more gray than blue, held a kind of giddy anticipation.
“Has there been a burglary? An assault? A murder! Roger!”
“No, ma’am. If we could step inside?”
“Of course, of course.”
Like the woman, the entranceway and the living area beyond had everything in place. A man, his tie loosened, his feet in house skids, wandered in with two snifters of brandy.
“Oh, company.”
“They’re the police! I called you.”
“Did you? My, my, Darlie, will I have to make your bail?”
“Don’t be silly.” But she giggled. “You should sit down.”
“We’ll only take a moment of your time. You own a 2061 four-door black Majestic sedan?”
“Is that what it is? Roger?”
“Yes. We do.”
“A vehicle of that description was involved in an accident about an hour ago on Third Avenue.”
“Oh goodness! While we were having dinner with friends. We only just returned home. We didn’t drive at all, did we, Roger? There would be cocktails and wine, so we took a cab there and back again. Baritello’s.”
Eve nearly followed up with the standard questions, but cut things off. “We appreciate that information. Did you use your ’link this evening, Ms. Corning?”
“My ’link. How odd you’d ask. I misplaced it sometime today. So annoying. I honestly think someone stole it!”
“She’s always misplacing her ’link,” Roger said.
“Maybe we could help with that. Do you remember where you last used it?”
“I do! I had brunch today with a dear friend at Czarina’s. Their blinis are lighter than air! Another dear friend rang me up just as I was going in. I arranged a salon date with her for… How can I remember! It’s on my ’link! Then I set the ’link down on the table. Or put it back in my bag. I’m not sure. But when I changed bags for our dinner, it wasn’t there!”
“We’ll see what we can do. We appreciate the time.”
“I do hope you can locate my ’link. Such a bother getting a new one.”
She was still talking when the door shut behind Eve and Roarke.