Random in Death, page 11
“There’s a rabbit over there. Where did a rabbit get those clothes?”
One look at her friend’s eyes had Nikki’s heart thumping.
“Dawn, call nine-one-one. Call an ambulance.”
“Is she allergic to bees?”
“No, but I think it’s a needle stick. Nine-one-one, Dawn. Fucking now. Here, Arlie, lie down.”
“I don’t feel right. I can’t breathe right.”
She gagged. Nothing much came out before she went all the way down. “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”
“Take it slow. Dawn, go up there, have them use the mic to see if there’s a doctor.”
Because her friend’s lips were turning blue, and she began to seize.
“Hurry! Hurry!”
With thoughts of the media reports of the girl at Club Rock It, tears spilled as she started CPR.
“We need help.” She shouted it as she continued compressions. “We need a doctor!”
One came even before the MTs arrived.
But it was too late.
Chapter Eight
On-screen, the main character, kick-ass woman, kicked ass as she battled both bad guys and the clock. The other main, nerdy guy, raced against that clock, leading hostages—including tiny, innocent children—out of the target building seconds before it exploded.
Though wounded by shrapnel, he proved his mettle, emerged from the clouds of smoke with a toddler in his arms.
Given the distance, Eve figured they’d all—including said toddler—have gone up in pink mist. But she put that aside as she enjoyed the visual.
Just as the music swelled, Eve’s communicator signaled.
“God. Goddamn it.”
Saying nothing, Roarke rose from the sofa to walk to her closet.
“Dallas.”
Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the officers at Memorial Park. Minor female, DOS, apparent OD.
“Do we have an ID on the victim?”
Nine-one-one caller ID’d victim as Arlie Dillon. Dallas to confirm.
“Notify Peabody, Detective Delia. I’m on my way. Dallas out.”
He’d taken out lightweight gray trousers and a sleeveless top, with a waist-length jacket the color of the smoke the nerdy guy emerged from.
He’d added the boots, the belt, and had already begun to change himself.
“It’s going to be another late one,” she began. “You don’t have to—”
“I’ll drive.” He pulled on a fresh T-shirt. “You’ll want to run the victim, hoping to find some connection to Jenna Harbough. Otherwise, it’s random, isn’t it?” His eyes met hers. “And that’s worst case.”
“Don’t get bitchy when I say you think like a cop when you think like a cop.”
After strapping on her weapon, she grabbed her badge, her ’link.
He heard her mutter another curse as she shoved things into her pockets.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Let’s move.”
“A bit short, are you?”
As she walked out, she gave an irritable shrug. “I didn’t expect to work Saturday night through Sunday. Through freaking Monday morning. I had other things on my mind besides pulling out more cash.
“I can tap Peabody until I hit a machine.”
“Stop.” As they went down the stairs, he took out a money clip, peeled off bills. When she didn’t stop, he just stuffed them into her pocket.
“Don’t get bitchy when you run out of the ready, and I haven’t.”
“As if you ever could.”
She wanted to fight about it—again—but she couldn’t spare the time or energy.
Instead, she got in the passenger seat of the waiting car, started her run.
“Need a connection,” she muttered. “Same school, same neighborhood, same something.”
“They may have frequented the same places. Clubs, arcades. Had a mutual interest.”
“Unlikely on the places, as the first victim lived Lower West and this one’s Upper East. Damn it. Maybe a connection through the parents, friends.
“Why was she in Memorial Park at, what, around eleven on a Sunday night?”
She did a search there for events.
“Battle of the Bands. Music. Maybe they knew each other through that mutual interest. Music. Arlie Dillon’s next of kin, Tisha Dillon, mother. Single, never married, a tailor, her own business. No father on record, no other offspring. The Harboughs might use a tailor, though I can’t see why they’d go that far for one, any more than I see the Dillons going downtown for a doctor. But maybe.”
Since she had the drive time, she dug deeper.
“No bumps on the victim. Seventeen, just a couple weeks ago, so nearly a year older than Jenna. Medical … nothing major, but confirmation Julia Harbough isn’t the family doctor. Works part-time at her mother’s shop, impressive grades in school.
“Got some social media here.”
After a scan, she shook her head. “Music’s not her thing. It’s fashion. Designing. Damn it. Got a boyfriend. She’d already posted pictures from this band thing. Ready for the battle! with her and a guy, tall, white, about the same age. And another group shot with two other minor females. A couple, from the body language. So a group of four.”
She put her PPC away as they approached the park. “We’ll hope one of them saw something.”
What she saw when they walked toward the police barricade were Jamie Lingstrom and Quilla Magnum.
Jamie, college boy e-genius, stood with his hands in his pockets. He’d let his fair hair grow just long enough for a stub of a tail.
Quilla, Nadine’s teen intern, reporter in training and student at Roarke’s An Didean, stood beside him in hot red shorts, purple high-tops that matched the current color of her hair, and a T-shirt featuring a guy with hair down to his ass manhandling a guitar.
Eve badged her way through, said, “What’s this?”
“We were here.” Quilla burst out with it. “A bunch of us from the school. Crack and Ms. Pickering came. We’re going to put a band together for next year, and we got to come if we wanted to see how it all works.”
Eve shifted to Jamie. “Don’t you go to Columbia, when you’re not interning in EDD or for Roarke?”
“Well, yeah. I tagged along. We weren’t near the incident, Lieutenant.”
She gave him credit for using her rank, and the carefully modulated cop tone.
“While we didn’t witness the assault, we were moving in that direction. Quilla and I were, as she took videos.”
“So we could study them,” Quilla added. “And so I could write a story about the event.” She offered Eve a disc. “I made a copy for you. In case there’s something, um, relevant.”
“Okay.” Eve took an evidence bag out of her pocket. “Where are your adults?”
“They took everybody back. I mean they were over there.” Turning, Quilla pointed. “And it happened over there. Nobody could’ve seen anything. But Ms. Pickering said everyone would be available for interview.”
“All right. Why are you still here?”
“I got permission, because Jamie’s with me, and you were coming. And I tagged Nadine, and she said to document, and she’s coming.”
“Do you think it’s connected to the murder at Club Rock It?”
Eve gave Jamie one long, flat look. “You’re too smart to ask me that question at this time, in this place.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stay here.”
“Ah, sir, I could assist if—”
She cut Jamie off with that same look. “This is a minor female. She is in your charge.”
“Bogus” was Quilla’s opinion. And the opinion got her a swift elbow jab from Jamie. Which resulted in a massively exaggerated eye roll from Quilla.
Rather than dignify any of it, Eve walked away.
“They’re dating, aren’t they?” The idea made her twitchy. “How can they be dating?”
“Well now, that usually begins with mutual attraction, perhaps a mutual interest.”
“Shut up.”
She saw the body on the grass, gauged its proximity to the now-empty stage. Far enough back, she judged, there would have been people in front of them.
She stepped up to the two uniforms near the body.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Sir. The call came in at twenty-two-forty. The MTs, standing by for the event, responded within two minutes. A witness, Nikki Lieberman, was performing CPR on the victim, and a doctor, Dr. James Marcell, took over from her. The MTs attempted to resuscitate the victim, but weren’t successful. Several uniforms assigned to the event, including myself and Officer Danby, also responded. Danby and I arrived just as the MTs took over. We secured the scene, while other officers moved the crowd clear.”
“How much of a crowd?”
“Estimate about twenty-two hundred, Lieutenant,” Danby told her, “not including the performers, judges, vid crew, concessions, souvie stalls.
“We have the three individuals who came with the victim, Lieutenant. We’ve also secured the performers and the vid crew, and others who worked the event. Most of the crowd disbursed. A lot of kids, Loo,” he added. “And if they came with adults, the adults got them gone. We had some panic to deal with, but felt securing the scene had priority.”
He’d have been long gone anyway, Eve thought.
“Where are the people she came with?”
“They’ve got a couple tents behind the stage. Their parents gave permission for the interviews. There’s an officer with them in one of the tents. They’re pretty shook.”
“All right. Let’s get some shields around the body. I don’t want to see this dead girl on the morning media.”
She looked to the skirted table—judges’ table—and concluded from that vantage point they’d have seen nothing to help. “I want someone to interview the judges, get their contacts. Release them. Anyone who was back of the stage, in one of the tents, the same. Hold the video crew, and whoever was onstage. Either my partner or I will talk to the victim’s friends as soon as possible.”
With her field kit, she crouched by the body. A pretty girl, her hair in long braids with blue woven with the black. Blue, like the undertone in her skin, like her mouth.
Eve took out her Identi-pad.
“Victim’s ID confirmed as Arlie Dillon, mixed-race female, age seventeen. Resides 1205 Third Avenue. Victim’s skin, mouth have a blue cast. The only visible wound, an apparent needle mark, reddened and raw, left biceps. My on-scene concludes the same method, same drug cocktail, administered without her consent as Jenna Harbough.”
She took out her gauges. “TOD, twenty-two-forty-two. Two minutes after the nine-one-one. How much longer from the injection? Not much. It won’t be much.”
Arlie also wore a cross-body bag, a larger one than Jenna’s. Opening it, Eve read off the contents for the record.
“Purse contains victim’s ID, twenty-six dollars in cash, a ’link, two key swipes, some makeup, a roll-on scent, a toothbrush, two condoms sealed in their packs, a change of underwear.”
Roarke handed her an evidence bag.
“Weren’t going home tonight, were you, Arlie?”
“Peabody and McNab are coming.”
“About damn time.”
She took out microgoggles to get a closer look at the injection site.
Same damn thing.
“Dallas, sorry, sorry. I didn’t put the comm by the bed like I always do. We were dead asleep. Neither of us heard the comm for I don’t know how long.”
In the big scheme, Eve thought, it didn’t really matter.
Another teenage girl wouldn’t go home again.
“Bring in the morgue, the sweepers. Got a little puke there, so mark it. Sweepers aren’t likely to find much in this mess. Over two thousand people stomped around.”
“Media’s swarming,” Peabody told her.
“Yeah, I bet they are.”
“Nadine’s out there with Quilla and Jamie. Jamie asked us to ask you if he could assist, since Nadine’s here.”
As she rose, Eve let out a sigh. “Go ahead and bring him in, McNab. He sticks with you. Take whatever group was onstage at the time of the attack. They’re holding them behind the stage in tents. Tell him to keep his mouth shut, his ears and eyes open so he can learn something.”
She stepped around the shield the uniforms had set up.
“Peabody, with me. She came with three people, and one of them was trying CPR. Are you sticking?” she asked Roarke.
“Can I be useful?”
“You could review whatever footage the vid crew has. They’d have panned over the crowd a few times. You see the angle here, and you know what we’re looking for. That would be useful.”
“All right then.”
Peabody lengthened her strides to keep up with Eve’s. “I’m really sorry for the delay. I should’ve been here before you. We hung around the house longer than we should have, then we just crashed.”
“I’m not pissed. I was going to be, but we’ve been on with hardly a break for twenty-four. I ran the victim on the way here. No connection I can find to Jenna Harbough other than age. Even then, this vic’s about a year older.”
“He hit them both downtown. Not in the same sector, but that may say he lives or works downtown.”
“It may. Hold on.” She stopped at the stage, climbed the short steps to it. Then looked out.
“She wasn’t as close as Jenna, but if you’re standing up here, you could see her if you looked that way. You could see someone moving in on her, or dooser-walking away.”
She jumped off. “We’ve got her boyfriend and two female friends. They’re not suspects, so we’ll take them together. One might jog something out of another’s memory.”
Well behind the stage she found three tents that had probably once been white. She stopped a uniform.
“Which one has the people who were with the victim?”
“That one there. Officer Casey’s with them.”
“Thanks.”
She’d barely gone another three feet before she heard the weeping.
“Shit.”
“I can take them, Dallas.”
“No, no, just do what you do to try to settle it down.”
She pushed aside the tent flap.
One boy, two girls sat close together on a ragged-looking sofa. A folding table on the side held mostly decimated platters of food—little sandwiches, fruit, cheese, some raw veg. Soft drinks and water poked out of ice melting in a tub.
A circulating fan did very little to dispel the heat.
Eve showed the uniform her badge. “We’ll take this now, Officer.”
“Yes, sir. Nikki?” The uniform put her hand on the weeping girl’s shoulder. “You’ve got my card if you need to talk. That goes for you, too, Moses, and you, Dawn. Lieutenant, if I could have just one minute outside?”
Eve stepped out again.
“Sir, Nikki—Nikki Lieberman—has known the victim the longest, and she’s the one who attempted CPR, told Dawn, her girlfriend, to call nine-one-one when she saw the wound. They’re all very shaken, but it’s hit her the hardest at this time. She’s planning to go to medical school, or has planned, and now feels she’s already failed. I thought it might help for you to know.”
“What division are you in, Casey?”
“The one-five-three. Sir, if I overstepped—”
“You didn’t. You stepped just right. Locate civilian consultant Roarke. You can assist him by doing preliminary interviews of the vid crew while he reviews their footage.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
Eve stepped back in where Peabody crouched in front of Nikki and held both her hands.
The boy had wept, too, Eve noted. A good-looking kid, Caucasian, his white-blond hair worn in a skullcap. While red rimmed his light blue eyes, they now looked shell-shocked more than tearful.
The girl on the other side of the weeper had a tear spilling out fresh, had her arm around Nikki. She had dark skin over sharp bones and her glossy black hair in long dreads.
Nikki’s hair hit somewhere between maroon and Quilla’s current purple, and she wore it nearly as short as the boy beside her.
Her eyes, miserably swollen, tipped up at the corners. Her face, blotchy from crying, made Eve think of Leonardo’s burnished copper.
“I’m Lieutenant Dallas,” she began, and Nikki pressed her face into the other girl’s shoulder.
“Oh God, it’s really happening.”
“Nikki.” Eve tried to get somewhere in the vicinity of Peabody’s I-feel-for-you tone. “This is hard, I know. We’re sorry for your loss, but we need your help.”
“I tried to help her. I didn’t.”
“I’m going to tell you differently. You recognized she needed medical attention and directed Dawn to call for it. You attempted CPR.”
“I must have done it wrong.”
“You didn’t, and a doctor wasn’t able to revive her. The MTs weren’t able. All of you did what you could. Someone injected her, and that injection was lethal and fast-acting. But you did all you could, and because of that we’re here quickly.”
“Why would somebody stick a needle in her?” Dawn demanded. “She didn’t use. Maybe I’ve only really known her a couple months, but I know she didn’t use. I know what it looks like. My uncle’s been in rehab three times. I know what it looks like when somebody’s using.”
“Anything and everything you tell us will help us find out why, find out who.”
“I wasn’t even with her.” Moses’s lips trembled, and Nikki reached for his hand. “I wasn’t even with her. I went to get ice. She said a wasp stung her, and when I looked, it was all red, so I went to get ice for it. And when I came back…”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have your name.”
“I’m Moses, Moses Rowe.”
“Moses, it’s hard, but can you tell me exactly what was happening when Arlie said a wasp stung her?”
“We were watching the band.”
“Which band?”
“Sisters. Girl rock band.”
“They were on their third song,” Dawn added. “Every finalist gets three.”
