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The morgue team pulled in, bagged and tagged the body.
In Morris’s hands soon, she thought, and then they’d have some answers.
She waited for the sweepers, had a conversation. Eve didn’t expect they’d find anything outside the limo itself, but they’d sweep and scan.
With Peabody, she got back in her car, then sat another minute, studying the scene, and the white-suited sweepers got to work.
“Not a lot of people who’d cut through here, at least not after dark. Still, a risk somebody sees the killer getting out of the car. Even in New York, people are going to notice a big-ass limo sitting here. If nothing else, they’re likely to do just what what’s-his-name did.”
“Trevor Stash.”
“Clearly you want the body found, want me called in on it. Don’t care about the limo—it’s done the job. Had to take some time with it first. Locked down the back seat. Windows are tinted, and that’s usual, so people can’t gawk at the passengers. Did he scream?” she wondered, and started the car.
“Could he scream? Seems likely enough with the evidence he beat on the glass hard enough to bleed.”
“Poisoned the wine, most probable,” Peabody put in. “But what if Rossi didn’t drink it?”
“Italian guy, after a flight from Rome, sitting in the back of a fancy limo? Odds are pretty good. Not absolute, but good. The killer knew him, or whoever hired the killer knew him. Banked on him sitting back, enjoying a glass of Italian red.”
The traffic had kicked up, but Eve didn’t mind it. Plenty of early birds on the sidewalks, walking dogs, heading to work, getting in a run or a trip to the gym.
“Not a lot of luggage, so maybe a quick trip. Enough for a few days. You can start checking hotels, see if he booked a room. Limo treatment, so hit the upscale ones, start with the East Side. I’ll do the notification. He’s got a wife—an almost-fifty-year deal—four adult kids, and eleven grandkids. Somebody ought to know where he planned to stay, what he came to do.”
“Coffee, please?”
“Coffee, right. Two. Let’s get the vic’s ’link and the tablet I found in his shoulder bag to EDD after we check at the shuttle station. The killer wasn’t worried about that, either, but you never know. You never know,” she repeated, and used the in-dash to contact Roarke.
He sat at his desk in his home office, and lifted his eyebrows.
“Case closed already?”
“Nowhere near. Do you know a Giovanni Rossi, out of Rome?”
“The name doesn’t strike.”
“Seventy-nine, retired, cybersecurity. Gray and brown, big mustache. Wife—more than four decades—Anna Maria née Adolphi.”
“Your victim, I assume, and no. But let me check on retired employees in Rome. Why do you think I know your victim?”
“Just covering a base. He had a facsimile of my cop card in his fist. With a message printed on the back.”
Roarke’s eyes went hard. “A threat to you?”
“No. It called Rossi the Wasp. Does that mean anything?”
“It doesn’t, no.”
“Okay. Long shot anyway.”
“I’ll run that check before I leave for the office. If I find anything, I’ll tag you.”
“Thanks. Later.”
“You mind my cop.”
“I already am.”
“A good hunch,” Peabody said. “He could’ve done some work for Roarke, and that connects you. Otherwise, it stays weird.”
“The other angle’s the cybersecurity. Maybe he played a part in sending someone over, and this is a revenge killing. A team,” Eve speculated, “of twelve. Which seems like a lot to work a single cyber case, but we’ll consider a big one. Maybe busted a syndicate.”
“What was it? Fawn, Hawk, Rabbit,” Peabody remembered. “Already dead? That leaves the eight. And the message said there’d only be one. Why leave one if you’re on a vendetta?”
“The killer, or the one who hired the hit, is the one who’ll be left.”
“Someone the victim worked with then. Maybe on the take, and the others helped bust him?”
“It’s a theory.” A reasonably solid one, Eve thought. “Picked him up on the West Side, but drove across town to dump the limo and body. Maybe needed that much time for the poison to do the job. We’ll get a look at the security feed, and whoever picked Rossi up.”
At the international shuttle station, she left the car, On Duty light flipped on, at the curb. Inside, a group of travelers had the glazed look of red-eye passengers. Others standing in the waiting areas let out squeals, calls of greeting.
People hugged, kissed, and some got teary.
Others in suits or uniforms held up passenger names.
“Could’ve got the vic that way. Hold up his name. ‘Hello, Mr. Rossi, I’m Chuck with Deadly Limo Service. How was your flight?’”
Peabody let out a half laugh. “Or ‘I’m Suzanne with Murders R Us.’”
“Yeah, could be a woman. Women go more for poison.”
Eve made her way to Security, held up her badge.
“I need to see the feed for disembarking and pickup from the flight from Rome that landed about midnight. Twelve-eighteen landing.”
“I’ll need to verify your IDs.”
The dark-suited male with broad shoulders and a waving gray streak through ink-black hair ran the scanner over the badges.
“Lieutenant, Detective, come with me. Bonnie, I need to go to the hub.”
“Got you covered.”
He led them through a warren, used his swipe on a door, then through another warren and another door.
Inside, the many screens showed people disembarking, others clipping their way down tunnels for their flight to wherever.
Another screen, and people, looking antsy, bored, or exhausted, shuffled through the line at Customs.
Still others showed people slumped in seats, some sleeping, others scrolling on ’links or tablets.
Other camera angles displayed luggage areas. Shops, bars, restaurants.
“Barry, NYPSD. Need to see security from last night.”
“Arriving from Rome,” Eve supplied. “Zero-eighteen. We need to see who picked up a passenger.” She pulled Rossi’s passport photo.
“Take half a sec with face rec.”
“I’d like to see him from when he disembarked to when he left the terminal.”
“Cover that.”
And in about half a sec, she watched Rossi walking up the slope of the tunnel, the shoulder bag on his arm, his wheeled case rolling behind him.
He looked a little tired around the eyes, Eve noted, but she saw excitement in them. More, she thought, than end-of-the-journey pleasure.
She watched him breeze through Customs, give the officer there a cheery smile before he pocketed his passport.
The screen shifted as he came out of Customs.
And there he smiled again. At the man in the black uniform, complete with cap, holding a sign with his name.
“Freeze on the pickup,” Eve ordered.
Mid-fifties, she gauged, around six feet, and a trim one-seventy. Brown hair, blue eyes, mixed race. Smooth-shaven, square-jawed.
And obviously not concerned about showing his face on the security cameras.
“Okay, roll it from there.”
Without audio, she couldn’t be sure of the words exchanged, but she saw no recognition in Rossi’s eyes, nothing in the brief conversation to indicate the men knew each other.
Just a driver meeting a client at the airport, taking his wheeled case, shoulder bag, and leading him out.
“We need a copy.”
“Cover that.”
“The driver. Can you run face rec there? See when he came in, what he did?”
“Gotcha.”
In about a sec and a half, Barry had the driver entering the terminal at twenty-three-fifty-six. After a brief scan of the terminal, he walked to the waiting area. He sat, then took a card out of his breast pocket.
He looked directly at the camera, held the face of the card up. Smiled.
No, Eve corrected. Smirked.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Want I should zoom in on what it says?”
“I know what it says.”
“Got balls,” Peabody commented when they left the terminal. “He knew we’d check, and wanted you to see.”
“Arrogant fucker” was Eve’s opinion. “We’ll run our own face rec when we get to Central. Pro or not, he’s an arrogant fucker. Arrogant fuckers make mistakes.”
“He pissed you off. That’s a mistake.”
“Yeah, it damn well is.”
She sat behind the wheel a moment to let the pissed off fade some.
“Heading to Central. Go ahead and take the ’link and tablet to EDD when we get there. Rossi should have his hotel confirmation on there. If not, next of kin might know. And if not, we start contacting hotels. Or you do. I’m going to dig into the limo. Did Rossi order it? Did the person he came to meet—if he came to meet someone—send it?
“He didn’t recognize the driver,” Eve continued. “So maybe a pro hit. But I’d bet your ass and mine, if a pro, Rossi would’ve known who hired the hit. It’s personal, and expensive.”
“You’re thinking whoever got him to come to New York hired the hit.”
“It plays. Someone he knew. Someone he trusted.”
“And shouldn’t have.”
“He came alone,” Eve pointed out. “That says something, too. Why not bring his spouse? Spend a few days in New York, catch a play, whatever. But he came alone. He looked excited when he got off the shuttle. Business, sure, maybe. But he was happy. Going to see an old friend?”
“Maybe a female-type old friend?”
Eve shook her head. “He had a framed photo of his wife in his luggage. No sex toys, no sex meds. He didn’t travel a few thousand miles to bang another woman.”
She pulled into the garage at Central, then into her slot.
“Old friend,” she repeated. “Or old colleague.”
They walked to the elevator. “We’re going to do a deep run on the victim. Whoever wanted him dead went to a lot of trouble. Got him over here from Italy to do it.”
“You’re not in Italy.”
“And Italy has cops,” Eve said as they stepped into the elevator. “So it’s specifically me. That smirk on his face on the feed? Yeah, that was aimed at me. So they had to get Rossi here instead of just sticking a knife in his gut in Rome. Instead, they steal a limo, know enough about mechanics to make the adjustments, or again hire someone who does. Pick him up, have the wine all ready for him. Drive to the Upper East.”
The elevator stopped, let a couple of uniforms on.
“It didn’t have a scent. The wine, the glass, the spill, the bottle. Smelled like wine. Fast-acting, no scent. Vic’s eyes were bloodshot—and they weren’t on the security feed. He had a faint, just faint tinge of blue on his lips.”
She checked the time as the elevator stopped again. The uniforms got off. More got on.
“He doesn’t care we’ll find COD. And I bet it won’t be usual. Some weird-ass, exotic poison like… tarantula venom.”
Peabody’s opinion was “Eeww.”
“‘Yeah, I personally squeezed the poison out of this big, nasty spider. Aren’t I a clever bastard?’ Take the electronics up to EDD.”
When she got off on Homicide, she realized the pissed off hadn’t faded much at all.
She moved through the bullpen and straight into her office. Into the quiet. And went straight for more coffee.
Needed a minute, she admitted. Just a minute.
So she stood by her skinny window, looking out at New York. The sky trams carried the morning commuters to work, the night shift workers home.
Under the streets, the subways did the same. On the street, maxibuses hauled more.
Everyone had somewhere to go, something to do.
Giovanni Rossi had had somewhere to go, and undoubtedly something to do.
Now he didn’t.
Was he dead because of something he’d done, didn’t do? Something he knew, or someone?
Fawn, Hawk, Rabbit.
Wasp.
Who were the other eight, and how the hell did they connect to her?
Turning away, she sat at her desk. She’d get the worst over before setting up her board, opening the murder book.
She’d notify the victim’s wife of nearly fifty years.
In Italy. What the hell time was it in Italy?
Jesus, she hated the whole planet turning on its axis.
“Computer, damn it, what time is it in Rome, Italy?”
The current time in Rome, Italy, is twelve hundred hours and forty-one minutes.
“Great. Ah, Computer, engage translation program, English to Italian for my audio, Italian to English for receiver’s audio.”
Acknowledged… program engaged.
She made the call.
The woman who answered may have been seventy-five by the record, but she wore those decades well. She had sparkling brown eyes in a face where the lines and creases somehow added an allure to age. Her hair, a waving mane to her shoulders, wasn’t white, wasn’t gray, but a glorious mix of both.
“Ms. Rossi, I’m Lieutenant Dallas with the New York City Police and Security Department.”
The sparkle in those brown eyes went to full alarm. “Gio! Gio is in New York City!”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m very sorry to inform you that your husband was killed last night.”
“No, no, no. He only arrived last night! He texted me! He’d be sleeping now. He’s to call when he wakes.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Rossi. His body was found last night, shortly, I believe, after his arrival in New York.”
“But no. No.” Even as she shook her head, her tears streamed. “My Gio is full of health! An accident?” Her hand pressed to her throat. “There was an accident?”
Eve hedged with the truth. “We haven’t yet determined the cause of death. Ms. Rossi, I know this is a difficult time, but—”
Rage cut through shock like a sword. “You say my Gio is dead, and this is difficult? Where is my husband?” And as grief drenched rage, she began to sob. “Where is my Gio?”
“Ms. Rossi, is anyone with you?”
“No, no, no. Gio is in New York. He goes very quickly.”
“Can you tell me why he came to New York?”
“He said he must, but couldn’t say. Not until he saw his friend.”
“What friend?”
“He couldn’t say.” She covered her face with her hands. “Only that he must go. He’d taken an oath, and must go. He asked me to trust him, and I do, of course.”
“Do you know where he planned to stay?”
“With his friend. And he would tell me all he could tell me when he could. He’s a good man. A good husband and father. A grandfather. It would only be a few days, and he was happy to see his friend, but worried. I know when my husband has worry.
“Where is my husband?”
“He’s with our chief medical examiner.”
“Oh, no, but—”
“Dr. Morris is the very best. And he’s very kind. I can promise you your husband is in good hands, caring hands.”
“They are not my hands. I must come there. I must come to New York and to Gio.”
“I can make arrangements for your travel, for a hotel.”
“No.” She snapped it, then sighed. “You will excuse me, this is kind of you to offer. I know how to do such things.”
“If you contact me when you arrive, I can arrange for you to see your husband.”
“Yes. I must see Gio. I must tell our children. Oh, how do I tell them? Tell our grandbabies?”
“I can—”
“No. This is not for you. This is my duty. I will do my duty. You are a policewoman?”
“Yes. Lieutenant Eve Dallas.”
“You will find out why my husband is dead in New York City?”
“Your husband is my duty, Ms. Rossi. I’ll do my duty.”
It was the best she could offer, Eve thought, and after the call pressed her fingers to her eyes.
Then rising, she started her duty by putting Giovanni Rossi’s crime scene shots on her board.
When Peabody came in, she looked up from her desk and the murder book.
“McNab wasn’t in yet—arrived there before I left. But they got the ’link and tablet open. We went through. No hotel confirmation.”
“He didn’t book one. He told his wife he was going to stay with the friend he came to New York to see.”
“Who? We didn’t find any communications with New York.”
“She doesn’t know. He said he couldn’t tell her, that he would when he could. That he had to go. He’d taken an oath.”
“Well, shit.” Peabody glanced at Eve’s ass-biting visitor’s chair. Opted to stand. “I guess she doesn’t know what oath.”
“He asked her to trust him.”
Marriage Rules, and four-plus decades, required trust.
“She said he was happy to see his friend again, but worried. Conclusion? Either the friend lured him here to kill him—motive unknown. Or the friend’s in trouble, and someone took Rossi out before he could help.”
Eve pointed to the computer. “I started the face rec on the driver, no hits. Yet.”
“Did you do global?”
“There’s a reason I’m the LT, Peabody.”
“Sorry, it’s just… Going through his ’link? No contacts in New York in there. No communications, either, like I said. He tagged his wife when he landed. Just to let her know he arrived safe. His sign-off, translated? ‘I love you more, my own, every minute of every hour of every day.’ And hers? ‘And I’ll love you more tomorrow than today.’ It was so… sweet, romantic, true. It choked me up a little.”
Did it make it harder or softer, she wondered, that the widow had had that last sweetness?
Because she had to, Eve set the question aside.
“She’ll be in New York in a few hours. She’ll let me know when she gets here. When I finish the book, I’ll see if EDD can monitor the face rec if we don’t get a hit. You start a deep run on Rossi. He had a friend, or someone he thought was a friend, in New York. Let’s find him.
“When I’m done here, we’ll go see Morris.”
“I’ll get started.” Peabody glanced at the board. “He and his wife really had a bond. A tight, loving bond.”
When Eve finished the book, wrote up her report with still no hit, she pushed the face rec on EDD.
In the bullpen, the full complement of detectives manned their desks. And Jenkinson’s tie of the day struck her eyes like an atomic blast.
It might have represented one, she decided. Just a screaming mass of violent colors without pattern, without mercy.
She dug the sunshades she somehow hadn’t lost or broken out of her pocket.
“Peabody with me.”
“Half a sec,” she said, and took several before she popped up.
Eve bypassed the elevators for the glides.
“I think—don’t give me the pooh-pooh.”
Eve simply stared at her partner. “The what?”
“You know, the pooh-pooh.” Peabody waved her hand dismissively to demonstrate. “But I think, maybe, Rossi was a spy.”
“Please note, I’m not saying your incredibly silly word that’s not an actual word. Why do you think, maybe?”
“Well, it’s all so pat, so ordinary, and then, when you go way back, there’s the Urbans, and just a mention of him working with the Underground.”
“In New York?”
“In Europe. As a cyber tech. But they had spies in the Underground. And after? He’s listed as working for this Italian company, in IT, and in cybersecurity. Way ordinary. And for decades. Same job, same place, and same position. It just seems so pat.”
“People live ordinary lives, Peabody. And given his age and tech skills, it’s not a shock he was part of the Underground. We’re talking forty or fifty years ago, easy, right?”
“Things began going to shit in Europe in about 2016. Started earlier, lasted longer there, in some places, than here. Don’t you think his wife would know?”
“If so, we’ll find out in a few hours. Meanwhile, we’ll keep your spy-guy deal under consideration.”
“Maybe he didn’t actually retire. It’s just a smoke screen.”
“Under advisement,” Eve said, and they clanged down the metal steps to the garage.
“There are all kinds of frosty vids about spies during the Urbans.”
“Vids are vids, not real life.”
Peabody got into the car. “The Icove vid is pretty true to life. We lived it.”
“Don’t remind me. And you know what? You know what the hell? Maybe this arrogant fucker decided he wanted the cops who had a couple of damn bestsellers detailing their cases, and a vid about one of those cases, chasing his ass. So he can prove how goddamn smart he is.
“It wouldn’t surprise me a damn bit.”
“But that would be his mistake,” Peabody pointed out. “Because we’re the cops who busted the Icove case, and the cops who kicked Red Horse’s ass.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Eve zipped out of the garage. “You know Nadine’s working on another freaking book.”
“The Natural Order investigation. I know. I bet it rocks.”
“I worry about you, Peabody. I don’t want to, but I worry about you.”
“I want two minutes.”
“Oh God.”
“Two minutes, Dallas. We’re spending the weekend in the new house! We bought a new bed. McNab and I splurged, because bed. We’re putting the one from the apartment in one of the guest rooms. Mavis and fam are going to spend the weekend there, too. Roarke says three weeks and it’s done. But we get a whole weekend! Our office is done, and my craft room, and the main suite. We have a suite!”
Peabody pumped her fist in the air.
“The kitchen. Oh, it’s just everything. And we’ve started outfitting the living room. Oh, oh, Bella’s room! It’s a dream. And the nursery for Number Two is really taking shape. I’m building that toy box to match the chair you’re giving her. She doesn’t know. Leonardo knows because he designed the fabric for the chair. We’re going to have a party. A big, giant party as soon as it’s all done. Which is almost now!”
“That’s two minutes, plus.”
“I know. But I’m so happy. And you don’t mind, not so much.”
She didn’t really. Not so much. Especially since it was nearly done, and she wouldn’t have to hear regularly about tiles, paint colors, refurbished tables.
“And here we are at the house of the dead.”
Relieved, Eve pulled up.
“Let’s go see what Rossi told Morris.”