“Peabody, talk to the family.” Eve nodded toward the waiting room. “You’re better with the tone they need right now. Maybe one of them saw or heard something they didn’t realize at the time.”
“I’ve got that.” As Peabody went back into the waiting room, Eve stepped over to Roarke.
“I don’t know how long we’ll have to wait until we interview him. When we do, we’re only going to have about five minutes before the medicals boot us.”
“You’ll make the most of the five.”
“Intend to. Meanwhile…” She glanced back toward the waiting room. “If you’re sticking, can you do what you do?”
“I do so many things.”
“Then do the find-a-place-to-work thing you do. Maybe coordinate with Feeney. It’s going to be a connection to Noy—just too specific not to be. But if there turns out to be another, we need it fast.”
“I can do that.”
“I’m going to stay out here, leave the family to Peabody for now, and go over the data on Noy and the cops who went down with him again. I’ll tag you after I talk to the victim.”
Eve simply leaned back against the wall and got started.
She’d barely skimmed the surface when Mina led her two children back.
All of them wept.
Mina paused near Eve, pressed a kiss to her daughter’s head, then her son’s. “Go back in, be with Grandma. I’ll be right there.”
She nudged them both into the waiting area, then turned to Eve.
“He knew me, knew his children. Don and Darcia saved his life, and more, I think, saved him from serious brain damage. Not all the test results are back, but I know my husband. He’ll recover from this, mind and body.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Very glad.”
“I think you are, and maybe not only because he may help you with your work.” She looked down the hall, swiped the drying tears off her face. “The doctor said he needs to rest a bit, and talking is very difficult because…”
Her lips quivered as she touched a hand to her throat.
“It helped him to see us. I felt that. I believe that. He needs to see his mother, his brother and sister.”
“Understood.”
“But I agree with Beth. You’ll talk to him first, when the doctor says he can see someone else. Twice now, they came into our homes. They took a good man’s life, and tried to take another. If not for Don, my children would grieve their father now instead of shedding tears of relief that he said their names and smiled at them.
“You talk to him first. Then you go find the bastard who tried to kill my husband.”
“Ms. Greenleaf, can you tell me where you were when your husband was attacked?”
“In the kitchen, I think. Just coming out of the kitchen. I heard shouting, ran out, and saw Luke and Jed running upstairs. Others ran that way, too. I didn’t see Ben go up. I don’t know if I’d have thought anything of it if I had.”
“Did you see anyone leave, shortly before or after you heard the shouting?”
“No.” She closed her eyes, took another moment to think. “No,” she repeated, and slowly shook her head. “Most had already left before that. I took a kind of head count before I went to the kitchen because we were going to put some of the food away. Leave enough out for those remaining, to be polite.”
Again, she closed her eyes. “I saw … the kids downstairs—mine, Carlie’s, Luke’s, some of the other cousins, a few school- and teammates. Fourteen downstairs. About twenty upstairs—including the family.”
Nodding, she opened her eyes again. “Yes, about that many.” “Okay. That’s helpful. If someone had threatened your husband—”
“He would have told me,” Mina said immediately. “What threatens him, threatens me and our children. He would have told me.”
“All right. If anything comes to mind, no matter how irrelevant it may seem, please contact me.”
“Believe me, I will.”
Mina went into the waiting area; Eve went back to work.
It took another twenty minutes before the doctor walked down the corridor. “I’m going to give you five minutes with Ben.”
“All right.”
“I need to speak with the family first.”
“You’re going to give them good news. It shows,” she added when Ricardi’s eyebrows lifted.
“Good. I’m glad to know it does. I expect in both of our professions it’s easy to harden off. I never want to harden off.”
He moved past her. “Greenleaf family, the tests are back. And it’s all good news.”
Eve listened to the sounds of joy, the sobs of it.
“Now, he’s still a bit confused, and he’s very tired, but he’s cogent, and he’s asked for all of you. Once the police talk to him, I’ll let you go in, small groups, a few minutes only. Then I’m going to suggest you all go home, get some rest—because that’s what Ben needs. Rest.”
“I want to stay with him tonight,” Mina said, and looked toward Carlie. “We’ve got the kids, don’t worry.”
“I can arrange for that,” Ricardi began. “But—”
“A couple of us are going to camp out right here.” Carlie joined hands with Luke. “We’ll rotate shifts, but a couple of us will be here. That’s how the family works.”
“Why am I not surprised? Lieutenant, Detective? After them, groups of two or three at the most. Five minutes each. Work that out.
“He’s a lucky man,” Ricardi told Eve as he walked her and Peabody down the corridor. “The strong family support will go a long way toward his recovery—physical and mental. It doesn’t hurt he’s in prime physical shape, but even that wouldn’t have helped him avoid serious complications if he’d hanged there another minute or two.”
He paused outside wide glass doors. Through them Eve saw Ben, very pale so the raw bruising on his throat stood out in violent contrast. He lay
still on the white sheets in the narrow bed, eyes closed.
Various cords connected him to the monitors that beeped, the screen that flashed, and all the trappings that made a hospital room even worse to her mind than a hospital waiting area.
“He has some expected confusion and memory gaps,” Ricardi told her. “His larynx is severely bruised, so he needs to rest his voice as much as possible. I don’t want him overly stressed or pushed.”
“It’s not our first time interviewing a trauma victim.”
“I don’t suppose it is. Five minutes. You’re on the clock.”
Eve stepped in, gestured Peabody to one side of the bed while she took the other.
“Ben.” She waited until his eyes, also bruised, opened. “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”
“I remember you.” His voice came out raw, as if the words squeezed through a rasp.
“If you can answer with a yes or no, nod your head or shake it. Did you see who did this to you?”
He shook his head.
“Has anyone threatened you?” Another shake.
“Did you have a reason to go upstairs, to that specific room, at that specific time?”
Those bruised eyes lost their focus, blurred as she saw him fight to think through the fog.
“Do you remember going upstairs?”
He lifted a hand, wagged it back and forth. Sort of, she concluded.
“And into the kids’ room—the playroom, game room?” Same response.
“Did you see anyone in there or near there?” No.
“Sorry, I’m going to need more than a yes or no on this one. Why did you go upstairs? A call, a text? Your mother said you had your ’link out, put it away as you went up. And looked upset.”
“I—” He closed his eyes. “Sorry. Hard to think.”
“Before you went upstairs, what were you doing?”
“I … I was going to get a drink. I needed a drink. Long, hard day, almost over. And … Dory texted me. Yeah, that’s right. I remember.”
“Your daughter texted you?”
He nodded. “Can’t quite remember … She called me Daddy—only does that these days when upset or wants something. Please, Daddy, don’t say anything. Come up to the Kid Zone—we call it Kid Zone. Can’t remember … Too many people. Sad. Please. Don’t tell Mom.”
He opened his eyes again. “I thought she was downstairs in the family room with the other kids. She and my dad … Close.”
He lifted a hand, pressed his thumb tight to his finger. “She’s only twelve, never lost … never lost anybody.”
“You didn’t tell anyone, and went upstairs?”
He nodded. “I think. It gets—not blurry, more jumpy after that. I went up. Door’s closed. Privacy. Not like her, so sad, upset. Needs Daddy. Went in. Is it dark? I think … sun blocks engaged. Got them installed to cut glare on the gaming screens. And … I woke up here. They won’t tell me what happened. Nobody will tell me.”
He grabbed Eve’s hand. “What happened?”
She felt the urgency in his grip, heard it in the rapid beeps on the machines.
Ricardi came in.
“That’s all for now. Ben—”
“He needs to know what happened,” Peabody said. “He woke up in the hospital and doesn’t know why. How would you feel?”
The doctor walked around to Eve’s side of the bed. “Ben. I need you to stay calm. Your family needs to see you, and you need to see them. So you need to stay calm.”
He looked at Eve, nodded.
“It wasn’t your daughter who texted you, but whoever killed your father. They set you up, lured you upstairs, knocked you out, and tried to hang you.”
He reached for his throat. “Hang me.”
“Your mother saw you go up, saw you were upset, worried. Asked Don Webster to check on you. He did, found you. He and Darcia Angelo got you down, did CPR, called the medics. So you’re not only alive, but the doctor here—who doesn’t seem to bullshit—says you’re going to be fine.”
“You are and, if you behave yourself, I’m sending you to a step-down unit, then booting you out altogether within forty-eight hours. So behave yourself.”
Ben’s eyes filled, but there was rage burning through the tears.
“In my sister’s house, in the Kid Zone, at my father’s wake. They used my little girl.”
Eve leaned down close so he could look into her eyes. “They won’t get away with it.” She straightened. “I need Ben’s ’link.”
“His wife will have his personal property. He really needs to rest now.” Nodding, she stepped back. “They won’t get away with it,” she repeated,
then walked out.
“What are the chances we recover his ’link or the kid’s?” Peabody wondered.
“Zero, but we follow through. Tag Roarke, will you? Let him know we’re wrapping it up here. Ms. Greenleaf—Mina,” Eve qualified in the waiting area. “Could I see the items your husband had on him when he was admitted?”
“Yes, they gave them to me when we got to the ER.” She opened her purse, took out a plastic bag.
Eve saw a wallet, a silver cash clip, a handkerchief, key swipes. “Where’s his ’link?”
“Ah … not here. He must not have had it on him.”
But he had, Eve thought, and turned to his daughter. “Could I see your ’link?”
The kid’s eyes filled as she hunched her shoulders. “I wasn’t careless. I swear, Mom, I swear!”
Eve crouched down before Mina could speak. “When did you notice you didn’t have it?”
“I don’t know. I guess when we got here, and I was going to tag my friend and tell her my dad’s hurt. And it wasn’t in the stupid purse. I had to carry a stupid purse because Mom said I had to wear this lame dress for respect, and there’s no pockets. Mom—”
“It’s all right, Dory,” Mina told her, watching Eve. “Just answer the questions. It’s all right.”
“When did you last use it?”
Dory blew out a breath. “I dunno. I, yeah, I tagged Olive. My cousin Olive to tell her we were all going downstairs to hang.”
“Did you take it downstairs with you?”
“Well yeah, in the purse because no stupid pockets.” “Did you keep the purse on you?”
“Jeez, no.”
“Dory.”
“No, ma’am,” Dory corrected.
“Where did you put the purse with the ’link when you got downstairs?” “On the bar. I know it was in the dumb purse, and then it wasn’t. I didn’t
just lose it, Mom. I swear I didn’t!”
“It’s all right.” To prove it, Mina wrapped an arm around her. “Can I look inside the purse?”
Dory rolled her eyes, but got up to get the little bag from a table, handed it to Eve.
Inside Eve found tissues, a key swipe, a bright red wallet, gum, and no ’link.
“What does it look like, your ’link?”
“Like a ’link,” she said, then shrank from her mother’s long, hard stare. “Sorry. It’s the Zipcom from two years ago. It was my brother’s, and I can’t get the new one until I prove I’m not careless. But I wasn’t, and—”
“We bought a safety case, because she can be,” Mina interrupted. “Mets colors, Mets logo.”
Eve nodded. “You a Mets fan?” “Check it!”
“Me, too. She wasn’t careless,” Eve said as she straightened. “Yes, I understand that. It’s not your fault, baby.”
“I need the numbers for both ’links,” Eve said.
“But why…” Dory trailed off, glanced at her older brother, who sat, eyes grim, mouth set. Then around the room. “Somebody took my ’link, and used it to hurt my dad. I’m not stupid! Why’s she going to care about my ’link unless…”
After wiggling out from her mother’s arm, she stood, fire in her eyes as she looked at Eve. “I hope when you find them, you hurt them.”
“Dory.” Then Mina sighed. “So do I.”
Hard to blame them, Eve thought as she left them. Roarke joined them at the elevators.
“I’ve got a couple ’link codes,” she told him. “You could try to track. If they’re smart, they ditched or destroyed them. Even if they kept them— trophies, resale—they probably shut them down, took the thing out of them.”
“Yes, of course, the thing. And why am I tracking these ’links?”
“One’s the vic’s, the other’s his kid’s. They used that, sent a bogus text from her to get him upstairs. Anything from Feeney?”
“As you already suspected, nothing fits, not as neatly as Noy.”
“Had to be. Peabody, contact the daughter, the widow. I want them in formal interview, asap. They know something. They may not know they know it, but they do.”
She took her first truly clear breath when she stepped outside. She preferred the summer steam bath to hospital air.
“I’ll remote the car. It’s a bit of a hike.”
Eve shook her head at Roarke. “Walking’s good. Need to think.” “Straight to v-mail on the daughter,” Peabody announced. “Left a
message. Trying her mother’s now. Same thing.”
“Try the new husband. Knew how to get to the kid’s ’link, knew just the tone to use to get the father upstairs. Knew the kid was in the basement. Still risky. Damn stupid risky.”
“V-mail, Dallas.”
“None of them answering their ’links. Son of a bitch.” She yanked out her own. “Webster, I’m sending you three ID shots. I want to know if you saw any of them at the memorial, at the house.”
She scowled as Roarke steered her to the left. “A couple hours after Ben Greenleaf gets strung up, none of them answer their ’links?”
“I can track those ’links as well,” Roarke told her.
“That’s a negative, Dallas. Same from Darcia,” Webster responded. “And I showed them to Carlie, Jed, Shawn. Luke’s with Ben, with his mom, but if none of us saw them—”
“Okay. Dallas, out. Track ’em,” she said to Roarke. He unlocked her DLE. “Take the wheel. First code?”
When she’d given it, plugged in Taylor Noy’s address, Roarke settled back.
“Well now, that was absurdly simple. People really should shield their devices better than they often do. She’s in Vegas.”
“What the hell is she doing in Vegas? There’s no indication of gambling in her data.”
She reeled off her mother’s code.
“And so is her mother—same precise location, which is … Ah, the Get Hitched wedding venue.”
“For fuck’s sake.” She gave him the last number.
“And the stepfather is also in attendance. Or his ’link is.”
“Maybe Taylor Noy decided to elope to Vegas,” Peabody suggested.
Or … he’s got a daughter. I remember he’s got a daughter.” “Check it.”
“I—Oh, you mean check it out, not like check it. Give me a second. Here she is, Sasha, age thirty-three, cohab Milli Yarsborough, age thirty-six— together five years. I’ll get their contacts.”
“No need,” Roarke said as he worked. “According to the Get Hitched registry, Sasha and Milli should be getting hitched right about now. That’s romance.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Peabody, leave another message, add the stepfather and the frigging newlyweds into it. Contact Dallas, asap. Just to round it off, Roarke, check on their travel. Let’s find out when they left for Vegas.”
“Already on that, Lieutenant. They left, all five of them, on a private shuttle, from Long Island direct to Vegas. Wheels up at noon. Ah, I see they checked into one of my hotels, and the father put the honeymoon suite for the happy couple on his card. Another suite—two bedrooms—also on his card. Since it’s my place, it’s simple for me to verify.”
“No need. They’re connected—somehow—but not suspects. I need to talk to them. Need to dig into it. Peabody, I’m dropping you at home. Go over the Noy data—every inch. I’m going to do the same. Two pair of eyes on it.”
“Make it Central. I can pick up my painting, grab McNab. We’ll have three pairs of eyes on it.”
Roarke shifted to look back at Peabody. “You bought some art?”
“The first of the street art for our collection. Remember how we talked about doing a sort of gallery?”
To save her sanity, Eve tuned them out.
When she dropped off Peabody, she sat a moment longer. “I want to go by, hit Arnez and Robards with Ben Greenleaf, gauge their reaction. But if I’m right, they’d be prepared for that.”
“Prepared to hear he’s dead, not alive and on the way to recovery.”
“Yeah, so why not let them believe what they’re prepared for? Let them think they won, let them lie low. If they’re part of it.”
“Do you think they—or alternately someone else—would try again?” “I’m not taking chances.” She stifled the need to get in Arnez’s face, and
headed for home. “I’ve got guards on Ben, a unit on the sister’s house, the brother’s place, and will add one on the mother’s apartment when she goes home if I haven’t closed this.”
“You think you will—I can see that. You think you’ll close it before she goes back to her apartment.”
“I’m going to shake loose whatever Noy’s daughter and widow know that they don’t know they know.”
She slapped a hand on the wheel.
“Because they fucking do. The connection’s there. Something’s there, you keep looking until you find it.”
“Until that happy event, why don’t I look over the Noy file as well? Four pairs of eyes on it.”
She thought it over as she pushed and shoved her way through the snarling traffic that signaled the end of a standard day shift.
“Let’s try this. You take the widow, Peabody takes the daughter. If McNab’s in it, he takes the stepfather. I’ll take the dead son. That’s in addition to pushing on Noy. When we’ve dug down as far as it goes, we shift to the cops who went down with him, split them up.”
“Efficient time management.”
“Maybe. More efficient would be to talk to the widow and the daughter.
Now.”
She used her wrist unit to update Peabody on the strategy.
At yet another snarl, Eve tapped her fingers on the wheel. Tried to will away the tension at the back of her neck.
No luck there.
“Why haven’t you come up with something that just poofs us from here to there?”
“Poofs?”
“You know, like we’re here. We want to be there. We push a button or something, and we’re there.”
Intrigued, Roarke shifted toward her. “Just us, or the entire car along with us?”
“You can’t just leave a vehicle in the middle of the street. Come on.” “What was I thinking? So we, humans, animate—flesh, blood, water,
bone, chemicals, organs—transport through time and space from one location to another, along with a vehicle, inanimate, and which consists of entirely different materials.”
“Yeah, that.”
He tapped a finger on her shoulder. “You, Lieutenant, would never push the button.”
Since she wasn’t going anywhere, she gave him a long look. “Why wouldn’t I? I could be home right now, at my command center.”
“In your car?”
“No. You poof the car into the garage.”
“I see. Bloody clever of me. You still wouldn’t push the button.” She sneered at the traffic. “Right now I would.”
“You wouldn’t, darling Eve, because you’d start thinking of the what-ifs. What if, along this strange, poofing journey, your organs, bones, what have you, mixed with mine? You could end up with three arms, or my rib cage.”
“Or your dick.”
“I’d certainly miss it. Or this malfunction—they do happen—caused your molecules to merge with the car’s. Now you’ve got tires for legs, perhaps a steering wheel for an ass. Or the program missed your feet. Now you’re sitting at the command center footless, and your feet are stuck on Sixth Avenue.”
“Now I’m going to have nightmares.” “You did ask.”
“Yeah, I asked. They do it on those vids you like. The space vids. They’re always poofing from the starship to the planet, wherever. And the wherever up out there most always has breathable air, and temps that don’t fry your eyes in their sockets. Which makes no sense. Still, they poof.”
“Beam,” he corrected, “not poof, beam. It’s why it’s called science fiction, darling. But since you’re interested, I’ll look into it.”
“Really?”
He smiled at her. “The concept is something science has toyed with for generations. But those what-ifs are profound.”
She spotted a gap in the snarl and zipped into it, through it.
“I’ve got one. What if you’re poofing and somebody else is poofing in the same direction at the same time, and you collide?”
She slapped her hands together.
“Now you’re stuck together with a complete stranger.
“I wouldn’t push the button,” she decided. “But that doesn’t mean traffic’s not a bitch from hell.”
“Yet it’s given us time to have this fascinating conversation.”
“Always an upside.” She glanced at him again. “Would you push the button?”
“I rarely find myself in that much of a hurry, and find myself fond of my molecules just as and where they are.”
“And because you could lose your dick.” “That would top the list of my concerns.” She finally reached the gates.
“Since the human body’s made up of blood, bone, and all that, how come when they poof—beam—their clothes, which aren’t, poof with them? Why aren’t they naked when they get there?”
“It’s a mystery,” Roarke concluded. “But now, the next time we watch one of the Star Trek oeuvre, I’m going to imagine them all naked.”
“Bet there’s a porn vid that already does that.” Now he laughed. “I’ll look into that as well.”
