Payback in Death, page 7
“He went for me.” She patted his hand. “And it was nice, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was. They’re nice. I found out he’d been a cop. I never figured on getting friendly with a cop, even a retired one. Um, no offense.”
“None taken,” Eve assured him.
“But Martin, he was okay. And he did some gaming. I like gaming to relax, and he was up on all that because of his grandkids.”
Elva dabbed at her eyes. “He beat you sometimes.”
“Well, not often. But yeah, sometimes.”
“You were home last night when Ms. Arnez and Ms. Greenleaf went out?”
“Yeah, I kicked back, watched some screen. A bang-and-boom vid—Elva’s not big on those, so I had my chance. Popped some corn, had a brew. And when she comes back, she’s crying and telling me Martin’s dead, and there’s police, and she doesn’t know what to do.”
He put an arm around her, pressed a kiss to her hair.
“Did you see or talk to anyone while she was out?”
“No, just a solo hang for me. Put in a long one at the shop.” He lifted Arnez’s hand, pressed his lips to it. “Just wanted to stretch out and wind it down with a vid. Why?”
“It’s just routine.”
“Yeah, but … Elva said you never said what happened. How Martin died, and with all the cops, and the questions … We thought maybe he had like a stroke or a heart attack or something and couldn’t get help, but…”
“An unattended death requires procedures.” Eve decided to push the next button and see. “At this time we need to determine if his death was a result of foul play or self-termination.”
“You think someone…” Arnez groped for Robards’s hand. “Or he—he killed himself? Why? Why would he— Oh, this just makes it worse somehow, worse for Beth.”
Peabody picked up the ball. “Do either of you have any reason to believe he would take his own life? Did you notice any change of mood, any signs of depression?”
“No.” After the briefest hesitation, Arnez repeated, “No. I didn’t really pay much attention last night, then I went in with Beth, and we left. But he seemed fine. He seemed like himself to me. Denzel?”
Robards shifted, drew Arnez closer. “Well, I mean, he’d go nostalgia time some on the old days. Sometimes when we were gaming he’d talk about going after the bad guys. And he said like it wore you down some when the bad guys you went after were other cops. But he was retired and everything.”
“If someone broke in—but they have a door cam,” Arnez said. “And Martin always said the building had good security. And he was a cop. He knew how to defend himself. Are you sure it wasn’t just—what do you call it—natural causes? I know he wasn’t that old, but it happens.”
“It wasn’t natural causes.” Eve changed tack. “Did you notice anything unusual when you were in the bedroom with Ms. Greenleaf?”
“In the bedroom? No. Beth had some things scattered around like she does when she’s making up her mind, which means she has to put it all away again. She’s a little obsessive about that. Everything looked just the way it does.”
“Okay, thank you for your time.”
As Eve rose, Arnez and Robards got to their feet.
“Can you tell me if I can—or should—contact Beth? I know she has family,” Arnez added. “A close family. Martin was head of a lovely family, and we’ve gotten to know them. I don’t want to intrude or anything, but I want her to know we’re thinking of her. And if there’s anything we can do.”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate a text,” Peabody told her. “That way she can answer it when she feels able to.”
“Okay. I’ll do that. I hope … Honestly, I don’t know what I hope.”
“If you think of anything, any small detail, contact me.” Eve walked to the door, stopped. “I notice you have some windows open.”
“When we’re home, yeah.” Robards moved to the door to open it. “Utilities aren’t included in the rent, so we save where we can.”
“Thanks again.” Eve walked out, heading to the stairs with Peabody. “Just wanted to put the window deal in their heads. Impressions?”
“First, they seem good together. A good rhythm between them. And their reactions, questions, statements seemed genuine.”
“They seem good together,” Eve agreed as she unsealed the door on three. “Add he takes care of her—he’s a protector. Their reactions, questions, statements seemed genuine. Right down the line,” she added, and went inside. “Almost like they’d practiced.”
“You’re really looking at them? The window—I get that. She had the means and opportunity to unlock it. But why? What’s the motive?”
“I’m looking at them because right now and, until we dig deeper, they’re the only ones to look at. The motive, when we find it, and whoever we find, is going to be personal. So.” She picked up her field kit. “Let’s start digging.”
They found keys to a safe-deposit box from a local bank and arranged for a warrant to access. Memo books for each of them containing the names and contacts for various doctors, dentists, lawyers, a financial planner, the building landlord, and others.
Greenleaf had an appointment for a hearing check the following week. She had an eye check the day after.
They’d both noted down their upcoming anniversary.
Eve found three herbal cigarettes carefully tucked away in a case inside one of Beth’s handbags.
OTC meds, vitamins, two first aid kits—one in the kitchen, one in the bathroom. Heating pads, ice bags, a small, curated coin collection.
Plenty of the bits and pieces of daily life, of long lives in one place, and nothing relevant to murder.
“If he kept a threat file here, past or present, it’ll be somewhere on his comp. EDD will find it. Let’s leave that to them. I want to talk to Morris, and we need to get into that box when the bank opens.”
“It’ll be open now.”
Eve glanced at her wrist unit as they packed it up. “Shit. I have Webster coming in. You take the bank, I’ll take Morris. Meet me at Central. Book a conference room. Better than my office for Webster’s interview, and I don’t want to put him in a box.”
“It really is a nice place.” Peabody took another look around. “And you can feel as much as see a lot of nice memories. You know what you don’t feel?”
“What’s that?”
“Much cop. Maybe it’s just some Free-Ager vibe, but I don’t feel much cop. More like he really left the job behind when he turned in his papers.”
“I’m no Free-Ager, and I got the same sense—refusing to call it vibe. It jibes with Webster’s statement.” Eve resealed the door. “He said Greenleaf would come by, kept in touch with him and other cops he’d worked with, but he wasn’t one of those can’t-let-it-go types.”
“How many years did he have on the job?”
“Forty-five,” Eve said as they started down. “All but the first twenty in IAB.”
“You’d make a lot of enemies, cop enemies, in a quarter of a century on the rat squad. Cops who’d know how to set up murder to look like suicide.”
“Yeah, you would. And if that’s the case, they should’ve done a better job of it.”
They parted ways on the street, and Eve drove to the morgue.
Her bootsteps echoed in the white tunnel, and the air smelled of chemical lemons with a death undertone.
She could never decide if the fake lemon made it worse.
When she pushed through Morris’s doors, he stood, his clear protective cape over a somber black suit paired with a black shirt and tie.
He’d coiled a long braid into a tight circle at the base of his neck.
At first she worried the grief over the woman he’d loved had rolled back on him, then she realized he wore the black out of respect for Greenleaf.
Music played low, something that struck her as between tribal and military, as he closed the Y-cut with precise stitches.
“Closing him up?”
“Yes. I came in early. I didn’t want him to wait too long.”
“Did you know him?”
“We only met once, in here. One of the officers he’d investigated and was subsequently dismissed, as well as facing charges of felony assault—multiple counts—extortion, witness intimidation, opted for self-termination rather than prison.”
“When was this?”
“Six, maybe seven years ago as I recall. I believe the captain retired a couple years thereafter.”
“Do you remember the dead cop’s name?”
“I don’t, but I can find it for you.”
“I’ll find it. Tell me about Greenleaf.”
“He took care of himself, and would likely have enjoyed a few more decades. Good muscle tone for a man in his seventies. A strong heart and lungs, no disease in his organs. No sign of deterioration in the brain, none of drug or alcohol abuse.”
Stitching complete, Morris stepped over, washed his hands, then pulled tubes of Pepsi for both of them out of his cold box.
“A recent dental implant replacement, lower left molar—I’d say within the last four weeks. He’s had four. A bit of arthritis in the left hip and the left knee that may have troubled him on occasion, but nowhere near the time for replacements. Normal wear and tear, Dallas. A healthy man.”
“No marks but the stunner’s?”
“A slight, healing bruise on the left buttocks.” Morris called the view up on-screen. “It’s neither an offensive or defensive wound. He bumped his ass a couple of days ago. Older skin, thinner skin. And you bruise more easily.”
“Okay. Tell me about the stunner marks.”
He got them both microgoggles.
“Direct contact, on highest level. You can see it’s not directly on the carotid, but close enough to do the job.”
“Yeah, I noticed that when I examined the body on scene.”
“And I assume you also noticed the force of the contact lacerated the skin slightly. Thin skin, as I said, but to actually scrape as well as burn?”
“Jammed it there. Hard. Unnecessary, as the direct contact alone would send the nervous system into overdrive, then shut it all down. He’d know that.”
“He would, of course. It’s possible the forceful contact came from emotion. However.”
“I’ve been waiting for the however.”
“Which I assume you also concluded, on scene.”
“Not concluded. Wondered.”
“If you wondered how the burn marks are so deep and distinct, you wondered well.”
He brought the marks on-screen, zoomed in close.
“If the captain had held the stunner to his own throat, they wouldn’t be so distinct. Couldn’t. The instant the stunner is fired, the body would convulse—most particularly with direct contact. His hand simply couldn’t hold anything, much less continue to press a weapon to the point of contact and firmly, for, by my calculations, between five and six seconds.”
“It’s homicide.”
“As you already concluded, but I can confirm. It’s unquestionably homicide. Captain Greenleaf didn’t take his own life. Someone ended it.”
“He had a glass of something on his desk.”
“Tea, herbal.”
“The lab’s running tox?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I want everything covered, right down the line.” She cracked the tube as she paced. “The stunner was police issue, but not one of the newer models. There are ways to get them. I want the lab to date it, get me as much on it as possible. It wasn’t Greenleaf’s. He turned his in when he retired. That’s confirmed. No serial number on it, filed off. The serial number would be recorded, when and if it was issued, and to whom, when it was turned in, reassigned.
“Fucking window.”
“Sorry?”
“He kept the windows locked. It was a thing. One window unlocked last night, bedroom window. Direct access to a fire escape.”
“Ah.” Morris’s lips curved. “A clue.”
“Yeah, a freaking clue.” She turned back. “He only came into the morgue that one time?”
“Actually, no. I only met him that once, but I was curious enough to check at the time. He’d been logged in three or four times before, as I recall. It could be more.”
“Okay, I’ll check on that. Appreciate the fast work.”
“For him.” Morris looked down at the body again. “I remember him coming in, specifically, because there was grief in his eyes. The man on the slab had disgraced the badge, but there was grief in Greenleaf’s eyes.”
She filed that away. She needed to get into Central, deal with Webster, report to Whitney.
And maybe something in the bank box would reveal another freaking clue.
* * *
Ad blimps blasted now, so Eve tuned them out. She went over everything she had as she drove to Central. She wanted to write it down, get her murder book started, her murder board up.
But Webster came first.
She pulled into the garage and managed to take the elevator all the way up. She’d missed change of shift—always a plus—and the cops and techs and perps and vics who piled on mostly piled off again quickly enough to leave her air.
She walked into Homicide, and was immediately assaulted by Jenkinson’s tie.
Though she’d suffer the torture of the damned before she admitted it, it felt like home.
A home for the terminally insane, maybe, with pink elephants cavorting over a grass-green field, but home nonetheless.
“Hey, boss, welcome back.”
She took the sunglasses she’d somehow hung on to and put them on for form.
Jenkinson just showed his teeth in a mile-wide grin.
“Hey, LT.”
Since Santiago wore his cowboy hat, he’d obviously lost another bet with Carmichael.
She let the welcomes run their course.
“Baxter, Trueheart?”
“Caught one,” Jenkinson told her. “Window diver on Avenue C.” He slapped his hands together to indicate splat.
“Detective Webster’s due in. Send him to—crap—Peabody booked a conference room.”
“You got One.”
“Send him there, and let me know.”
“Heard about Greenleaf. Didn’t strike as the kind to take himself out.”
“He didn’t,” Eve said as she walked to her office.
Coffee first, she thought, then stepped in.
A big black balloon floated over her desk. Instead of a smiley face, this one had exes for eyes and what looked like a dribble of blood out of the corner of the down-turned line for its mouth.
It read:
BAD GUYS BEWARE!
DALLAS IS BACK IN TOWN.
She shook her head and let the balloon float while she programmed coffee.
“Yeah, be-fucking-ware.”
She sat to write up a brief update for Whitney, confirming homicide. As she sent it, she heard Peabody’s familiar clump. Wearing skids, she thought, and still manages to clump.
She stepped in carrying a small evidence box.
“Contents of the bank box.” And she grinned up at the balloon.
“Whose idea?” Eve asked.
“I guess the general idea was sort of mine, but it was a group effort, which included debate on the image and the wording.”
“I like it.”
She bounced on her toes. “I knew you would.”
“Contents.”
“Hard and disc copies of both their wills to start.” She set the box down. “I skimmed through, and it’s pretty standard. A few specifics left to kids and grandkids—more like mementos—and the rest to surviving spouse. In the event they go together, split in equal shares among the kids.”
She took them out, laid them on Eve’s desk.
“There’s two thousand in cash, a wedding ring set—I think her mother’s, because in the will the maternal grandmother’s wedding ring set is bequeathed to their daughter. Insurance policies. They each had a quarter-million life insurance policy, money goes to surviving spouse or divided among the kids.
“A really cool old pocket watch—that would be his great-great-grandfather’s—goes to oldest son. Their passports, his badge. He kept his badge in here with important papers. And that’s it.”
“Okay, put everything back in, seal it before we go to the conference room.”
“Webster walked in with me. I sent him down there.”
“Good. Let’s get going on this. I want to give Whitney a full oral report once we’re through with Webster. Morris confirmed homicide.”
“Not surprised.”
“When I’m with Whitney, access the victim’s files. We want a list of cops he investigated. Separated into resulting in discipline, in demotion, in dismissal. Any who were charged, any prosecuted, any incarcerated as a result. And from those, any who self-terminated thereafter, were killed or died under any circumstances.”
“Let me lead with holy shit. That’s going to take awhile.”
“Ask Feeney for e-geek assistance. Pull in a tech-savvy uniform if needed.”
She paused outside the conference room door. “The investigation may lead us to motives outside Greenleaf’s work in IAB. If so, we follow that. Right now, we follow this.”
Inside, Webster sat at the conference table, staring into a cup of coffee.
He’d changed into a suit, but it didn’t disguise the fatigue or pallor that comes from a sleepless night.
“I’m sorry about Captain Greenleaf, Webster,” Peabody began.
“Yeah. His family’s just shattered. We finally convinced Beth to take a sleeping pill about four this morning.”
Eve took a seat. “You stayed there last night? At the daughter’s?”
He nodded. “Until a couple hours ago. I’ll go back today. I want to be able to tell them whatever I can.”
“You can start by informing them the captain’s death has been officially designated as homicide.”
He nodded again. “It had to be. There was no other way. I’ve gone over it and over it. I had to just miss whoever did this. Just miss them. It had to be that bedroom window. Unless you found something on the door cam. Did—”
“Detective Peabody’s going to take your statement,” Eve interrupted.
