Chapter Sixteen
Eve didn’t need the MTs to pronounce him. Dead was dead.
With the beat droids dealing with the crowd, Peabody brought her a field kit.
“Talk to the cabbie, and shit, the fare.”
The fare, she noted, comprised two middle-aged women who clung to each other and wailed.
“See if you can arrange transpo to take those two screamers wherever they need to go. And have the morgue pick up what’s left of this guy.”
“You’re not hurt.”
“I’m not hurt.” Eve pulled the switchblade out of the right pocket of the dead man’s bloody trench coat. She flipped the trigger, snapped out the lethal blade. “Not for lack of trying.”
“Jesus. Let’s hear it for Thin Shield.”
“Yeah, let’s.”
Eve bagged the weapon, dug out the would-be assassin’s wallet. She flipped through his ID, including a driver’s license, both in the name of Timothy Kruger. Age twenty-six.
“Twenty-seven next week. Well, happy fucking birthday.”
She verified his ID with her pad.
“Identity confirmed as Kruger, Timothy, age twenty-six. Mixed-race male, resides at 512 West Twenty-Sixth. Occupation listed as business consultant.
“Yeah, I bet you were. Had some bumps before this last one. Grand theft auto, illegals distribution, fraud, assault. A short and varied career.”
She bagged the wallet, then pulled out his ’link. Since she found it locked and passcoded, she bagged it for EDD.
“Who hired you, Kruger? You didn’t decide to stab me in the back on a whim.”
Thinking ahead, she called for a search warrant for Kruger’s apartment.
She scanned traffic. Uniforms had come to barricade off the scene, routing traffic around the bloody mess of it. The two women got into another cab. With his fares on their way, the cabbie bent over from the waist and puked.
And Peabody, being Peabody, patted his back until he’d emptied his guts.
Eve straightened, stepped back when the morgue wagon pulled up. Peabody crossed to her.
“Cabdriver’s shaken up. Been driving eight years, not even a scraped bumper.”
“Wasn’t a thing he could do.”
“I told him just that. I got his statement, his fares’ statements, names, and contacts. We’re taking the cab in, processing it. Uniforms are taking him home.”
“All right. Timothy Kruger.” She passed the bagged ’link to Peabody. “Have someone take this in to EDD. We’ll go take a look at his place, see what the hell. Next of kin’s his mother, address a few blocks from his, so we’ll notify.”
“You know I can deal with that. You could go home. You got a lot of his blood on you.”
“I need to see his place. He had to be a hire.”
“If he was, they didn’t get what they paid for. Dallas, maybe his mom doesn’t need to see his blood all over you.”
Eve looked down at the blood on her shirt, her jacket, her pants, her damn boots. “Yeah, that’s a point. I’ll take his place, you’ll notify. You’ll need to log the rest into evidence. Write up your separate report.”
Since the uniforms had things under control, she walked the rest of the way to her car.
“He tailed me, goddamn it, and I missed it. Distracted, not paying enough attention.” She gave the steering wheel a sharp smack with the heel of her hand.
“No vehicle registered under his name or the mother’s, but he had one.
Parked along here, you bet your ass. Maybe boosted, maybe borrowed, but it’s close by.
Tailed me, parked, waited for us to come out of the lawyer’s. ”
With a low level of fury simmering, she pulled out into a break in traffic.
“If that’s how it went, and my arrows are pointing there, too, somebody’s worried we’re getting too close. This Kruger, Dallas, they had to hire him for this hit pretty damn quick. Maybe the media conference set it off. Alternatively—”
Peabody gripped the chicken stick as Eve wove in and out of traffic like the car was a thread in a loom.
“Ah, alternately, maybe he’s connected to the thief. Or is the thief.”
“We won’t discount it. He’s got plenty of bumps, but none are for burglary. Maybe he’s better at that than the rest.”
“If you hadn’t had protection, you’d be the one bleeding on the pavement, so he wasn’t all that bad.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t have killed me, but it sure as hell would’ve ruined my day. And slowed me, and the investigation, down. Taking out a cop, and taking out a cop on the street? Ballsy.”
“Risk taker.”
“Yeah, and he panicked when I didn’t go down.
Fast on his feet, but he panicked. Potentially, so did the thief.
So maybe. The mother’s Marcella Kruger, that building,” Eve said as she pulled over.
“Apartment 404. If she’s not in, her employment’s just down the block.
Server at Mama’s Diner. Take the field bag from the trunk so she doesn’t see the weapon or the rest. Take a cab back to Central. You got the fare?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Expense it.”
They both ignored the honks and shouts as Peabody turned to her. “If you find anything, need me, tag me. Either way, go home after and have a big drink.”
She slid out, retrieved the bag. “Glad you’re not stabbed.”
“Pretty happy about that myself,” Eve said, and pulled out again.
This time she didn’t hunt for parking, but slid into a loading zone, flipped on her On Duty light.
And sat a moment.
The attempted murder didn’t bother her overmuch. People had tried to kill her or do her harm before, and would again. That was the job.
But she’d missed the damn tail, and she was good at spotting one. Distracted, she admitted. And with a worry she couldn’t quite shake.
The damn emeralds. Why the hell had they come into Roarke’s clever hands all those years ago, into that specific vault, then those emeralds in that vault become a target?
Add a dead man, and that dumps it all right in her lap. And just for fun, toss in an Interpol agent who continues to see Roarke as a big catch.
So with all that circling in her brain, she’d missed the damn tail, and someone else was dead.
She shoved her hands through her hair, breathed out.
“Fuck it. Work the case.”
She got out, crossed to the building. Decent building, street-level restaurant where it remained warm enough for some early diners to sit outside.
And more than one gave her a wary eye as she walked to the side street door and mastered in.
Blood on her clothes, she thought again. She wasn’t going to think about what Summerset would have to say about it. Instead, she climbed two flights of stairs, then turned her recorder back on.
“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, mastering into DOS Timothy Kruger’s apartment for warranted search.”
She stepped in.
Small, neat, decent street view, decent furniture. Black, fake leather sofa, wall screen twice as big as anyone needed one to be. Framed posters—mostly sports—for art.
Gaming consoles, two-person table for eating, closet-sized kitchen alcove. Hall bath, small, surprisingly shiny.
The bedroom doubled as an office with the workstation and bed taking up about the same amount of space. With a high-end comp system on the desk.
She tried that first, found it locked, passcoded.
He’d made his bed that morning, she noted, even fluffed the pillows. No kicked-off shoes, no tossed-off shirt.
He’d been a careful guy.
She moved to the closet. All-male wardrobe, so he lived alone. Sportswear, trendy guy gear, a couple of higher-end suits.
And every pocket empty.
Nothing in the shoes—good kicks, good boots, good dress shoes.
She tried the dresser, found his underwear neatly folded, his socks the same. T-shirts, sweatshirts, sweaters.
And the bottom drawer was locked.
“Now, that’s interesting.”
She went back to the car, got the set of lockpicks she kept in the glove box. Back upstairs, she sat on the floor and got to work.
She didn’t have Roarke’s skill and never hoped to, but he’d taught her well. When she pulled the drawer open, she decided it deserved an Aha.
“Lookie here, would you? We got more switchblades, hunting and combat knives, three stilettos, a couple of garrotes, two stunners, a handgun—I bet that cost you, Tim—I think it’s a 9mm, which would jibe with the ammo box.
We’ve got a silencer in case you want to kill quietly.
And I’m pretty sure this is a bone saw for dismembering your kill. ”
Shaking her head, she made sure to get it all on record. “You were a very bad boy, or you sure as hell wanted to be. Plenty of Seal-It in here, a couple of clone ’links, and a case full of vials. Handily labeled. We’ve got your poisons, knock-out drugs, hallucinogens.
“And I’ve got a feeling, when I toss this place, I’ll find more of your tools. I don’t believe you were in business consulting, Tim, but I bet you could be bought. So who paid you to do me?”
She did find more—two more stunners, a ghost gun. More knives, and five thousand in cash. Crisp, fresh bills, banded together.
He’d have more than five, she thought. Anyone that well supplied would charge more than that to take out a cop, to take one out right on the street in broad daylight.
She tagged Feeney. He said, “Yo.”
“I need someone to sweep up the electronics at 512 West Twenty-Sixth, apartment 203.”
“You’ve got blood on your shirt.”
“It’s not mine. Some asshole, from the looks of it a hire, tried to put a hole in me. He’s dead. I’m not.”
“Okay then. You figure it’s connected.”
“Yeah, I figure.”
“We’re getting more chatter, no names yet, but we’re closer. They’re calling it the Royal Event, and keeping the doors shut tight. We’re picking at the locks. I’ll send somebody for the e’s.”
“Appreciate it.”
“How’d he get dead?”
“Run over by a cab.”
“Tough way to go. We’ll get back to you.”
She tagged Whitney next, gave him a full update.
His face was stone. “On the goddamn street, and in the back. Go home, Dallas. I’ll send a team to confiscate the weapons and the cash.”
“Yes, sir. Commander, I toyed with the idea Kruger might have been part of Barrister’s murder. Clearly, that doesn’t fit. There’s nothing here to indicate he doubled as a thief, and if he’d been in Barrister House, he’d have been armed.”