Creation in Death (In Death #25)(100)

“I backtracked a little, then crossed the street so they wouldn’t know I’d been close. Give them privacy, you know. Fucking little privacy back then. And I saw him, on the other side of the tent, listening to them.”

“Lowell,” Eve realized. “The younger one.”

“He looked like he was in a trance. I’d heard he had a mental condition. There were whispers, but I thought it was just the excuse they used to keep him out of the fight. But when I looked across the street, when I looked at him, there was something not right. No, not right at all. I need water.”

Once again, Eve lifted the cup and straw to his mouth.

“He turned them in.”

“He must have. There was nothing I could do, not with him there. I was going to warn them later, warn the lieutenant about the kid. But I never got the chance. I went up the block, debating with myself on what I should or shouldn’t do—wanted to talk to Therese about it first. They were gone when I came back. The soldier off on assignment, and Edwina back home. I never saw either of them alive again.”

“What happened to them?”

“It was more than a week later.” His voice was tiring, genuinely, she judged. She wouldn’t get much more. “The soldier was listed as AWOL, and she hadn’t been back. I thought they’d gotten away. Then one night, I went out for sentry duty. She was on the sidewalk. No one would ever say how whoever had tossed her there had gotten through the posts. She was dead.”

A tear slid out of his eye, tracked around the side of the breather. “I’d seen bodies like that before, I knew how they came to be like that.”

“Torture?”

“They’d done despicable things to her, then tossed her, naked and mangled, on the street like garbage. They’d shorn off her hair, and had ripped up her face, but I knew who she was. They’d left her wearing the Tree of Life necklace she always wore. As if to make certain there would be no mistake.”

“You thought the Lowells did it? Her husband, father-in-law, stepson.”

“They said she’d been taken and tortured by the enemy, but it was a lie. I’d seen that kind of work before, and it had been on the enemy. The old man was a torturer. Everyone knew it, and everyone was careful not to speak of it too loudly. If they believed a prisoner had information, they took him to Robert Lowell—the old one.

“When they came to get her, he wept like a baby, the one you’re looking for now.” Pella’s eyes opened, and they were fierce despite his flagging voice. “When he saw her under the sheet we covered her with, he wept like a woman. Two days later, I lost Therese. Nothing mattered after that.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police this nine years ago when these murders started?”

“I didn’t think of a dead woman from a lifetime ago. I never thought of it, nor of her. Why would I? Then, I saw that sketch. A long time ago, but I thought there was something familiar. When you came yesterday, I knew who he was.”

“If you’d given me this yesterday, given me his name, you might have spared Ariel twenty-four hours of pain.”

Pella just turned his head away and closed his eyes. “We all have pain.”

R iding on disgust, Eve stormed out of Pella’s town house. “Miserable bastard. I need any and all properties owned by the Lowells, or Edwina Spring, during the Urbans. Get out that damn golden shovel and dig.”

“You drive, and you’ll have it,” Roarke told her, already working with his PPC.

She got behind the wheel, then tagged Callendar at Central. “Any more data?”

“Data, yes, property, no. I can tell you Spring retired—with great lamentations from opera buffs, at the age of twenty when she married the wealthy and prominent James Lowell. There’s society stuff after that. This gala, that party, then interest in her seemed to fade out some.

“But I found her death record. She’s listed as Edwina Roberti. Data reads opera singer, and that she was survived by her spouse, Lowell, Robert. COD is listed as suicide. There’s no image, Lieutenant, but it’s got to be her.”

“It’s her.”

“And, Lieutenant, Morris has something.”

“Put me through.”

“Dallas, the Manhattan Family Center on First. There’s a children’s psychiatric wing that was funded by the Lowells in the late twentieth. Endowment continues through a trust. I’ve spoken with the chief of staff. Saturday they received an unexpected visit from the Lowell Family Trust’s representative. A Mr. Edward Singer. At his request, he was taken through the facility. Their drug count’s off.”

She calculated the distance. “I’ll send somebody over to get a statement.”

“Dallas, they keep their security discs, in full, for seven days. They have him on disc.”

“We’ll pick ’em up. We’ll have sweepers go over the drug cabinet. Maybe we’ll keep getting lucky. Nice going, Morris.”

“Felt good.”

“Know what you mean. Out.” She clicked off, looked over at Roarke as she switched over to Peabody’s communicator. “We’re building the cage. All we have to do is throw the bastard in it.”

21

SHE WAS BUILDING A GOOD CASE, LINING UP her connections, her motives, her pathology. She had no doubt that when they found and arrested Robert Lowell, they’d be handing the prosecuting attorney a slam dunk.