Echoes in Death (In Death #44)(104)

McNab had been right about the security screens in every room—and the audio.

She stepped out again when she heard Kyle shouting.

He looked up as two uniforms gripped his arms. “I’ll make you pay.”

“You know what we’re going to find when my e-guy gets through that door, Kyle. We both know. You’ll be the one paying for the rest of your miserable life.”

When the uniforms hauled him out, Olsen shut the door behind them. “Whew, listen to the quiet.”

“McNab, how much longer?”

“Nearly got it! This bitch is slick, she is crazy slick.”

“Peabody, the battering ram, and this time I mean it.”

“Come on, Dallas!” A kind of panic hit McNab’s voice. “It’s a matter of pride now. Five minutes. Five more.”

It took ten, but he let out a war whoop. “She’s down.”

He glanced back as Eve walked to him. “Could be booby-trapped inside.”

“He’s the best, remember? He’d never believe anybody would get this far. But … stand back.”

Eve eased the door open, shoved it clear, stared into pitch dark. “Lights on full,” she ordered.

The dark remained.

“Probably cued to his voiceprint,” McNab told her. “I can fix that, but—”

“It’ll take a minute.”

“I’ve got a flashlight.” Tredway stepped behind her, turned on his flash, swept the area slowly.

Eve thought: Aladdin’s Cave.





21

While McNab worked, Peabody handed Eve another flashlight from a field kit. Eve walked into the room.

Larger than the master bedroom and bath, she noted on her first scan. More a priority, she supposed, as he’d spend the biggest chunk of his time in this space. The long work counter of comps and comms and screens and other e-toys would likely give McNab a small orgasm—and whatever EDD dug out would surely add to the prosecution’s case.

She might not understand the geeky wonders of electronics, but she damn sure knew a stack of hard drives and motherboards when she saw them tidily stored on shelves.

She’d bet her magic coat they’d find the victims’ security equipment among them, waiting to be stripped for parts or used in builds.

She left that for the time being, angled her light to the left. She heard Peabody’s quickly indrawn breath, understood it. The droid looked very human, very beautiful. It wore the red cocktail dress and sparkling shoes, carried the red bird evening bag Nina Washington had described after the last murders.

Miko’s jewelry as well, Eve observed. Then she shined the light on a square-cut diamond and diamond-encrusted band on the third finger of the droid’s left hand.

All of the victims’ wedding rings had been stolen, but none matched this set.

“He put those rings on her finger. In his head, he married her. Replicated his aunt,” she said, “played dress up, and God knows what else with it. McNab, once you get those lights on, see what you can do with this droid.”

“Kept it all.” Tredway shined his beam over a large display table holding jewelry, three open cabinets carefully arranged with objets d’art and expensive dust catchers.

“Not only organized, boss,” Baxter pointed out, “but labeled. By victim. Jesus, the PA’s going to have a cakewalk.”

“Why walk in cake when you can eat it?” Eve queried, then lowered her flash after the lights snapped on.

“Trueheart, do a three-sixty record of this room before anybody touches anything.” When he didn’t respond, she turned toward him. He stood, staring at the droid.

“Detective Trueheart.”

“Sir. Sorry. I was just … It’s going to come out. How’s she going to feel when it comes out he used her to do all this? She’s probably a nice person, and it’s her own nephew. How’s she going to feel when all this comes out?”

“She’ll have to accept it had nothing to do with her. She’s as much an object to him as the stuff on those shelves. Get the three-sixty.”

As he did, Eve walked to the display table. He’d designed it in sections, with room for more. And had brass plates made. Every section, filled with shiny, glittery things, bore a name.

Rosa, Lori, Daphne, Miko.

Curious, she opened a drawer, found a collection of other plates, recognized several names of women on the list they’d created.

Future victims, she thought. Safe from him now.

“Dallas. Special little table over here.”

Eve crossed to Olsen. Under the glass top of a small, ornate table, one polished to a high gloss, a few pieces of jewelry rested on deep blue velvet. A single earring, a slim bangle bracelet, a pair of small hoop earrings, a necklace formed with multicolored beads.

“This is the sort of jewelry I can afford,” Olsen pointed out. “Everyday stuff—and the necklace is like something a clever kid might make. Like for his or her mother for a birthday or Mother’s Day.”

“Hers, the aunt’s. Maybe things he pocketed, during visits, things she’d think she lost or misplaced. Just a few tokens, probably from his childhood.”

“That’s my take. I recognize some of the things on the shelves from the stolen items, the insurance photos and descriptions.”