New York to Dallas (In Death #33)(92)

“Camera?”

“He made her get it out of the closet. It was on a stand, a vid cam on a stand. He made me drink something, and I could move. But my hands. They were tied.” She held her arms up and back. “I screamed. I was crying and trying to get away and she slapped me. Really hard. She told me . . .” Darlie glanced toward the door. “She said, ‘Shut the f**k up.’ But he told her he liked hearing the bad girls scream. And then . . .” Tears flowed again.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to think about that or talk about that, unless you’re ready. Tell me about the camera.”

“Um . . . He had it so he could take a vid of what they were doing. When—when he was—” She shut her eyes, reached up. Understanding, Eve stepped closer, gripped her hand.

“When he was raping me,” Darlie said, eyes still closed, “he told me to scream ‘help,’ to scream, ‘Help me, help me.’ I did, but he didn’t stop. He said to cry, cry, sweetheart, and to scream ‘Dallas’ over and over. I did, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop.”

So, Eve thought, sickened with rage, he’d thought of her when he’d raped Darlie. Even then he’d thought of her.

“Were you ever alone with him? Did the woman ever leave the room?”

“I don’t—yes. I think. It was after the first time, or the second. It gets mixed up.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t think I could scream anymore. It hurt to scream. They were lying on the bed with me. She said she was hungry, and she wanted some candy, so he told her to go help herself. When she went out, he said maybe he’d keep me, his first new bad girl. Maybe he’d take me with him when he was done.”

“Where? Did he tell you where?”

“He wasn’t really talking to me. He was looking up at the ceiling, sort of talking to himself, I think. He said he’d find us another mommy, and we’d live it up for a while with Dallas at our feet. But he missed New York and all the bad girls. Couldn’t wait to go back home.

“Then he turned the camera back on.” Her breath started to hitch. “And he got on me. I could still scream.”

“Give it a rest awhile. You gave me a couple of things I might be able to use to catch him.”

“I did?” Darlie swiped at her cheeks. “Really?”

“What’s the point of telling you if you didn’t?”

“To make me feel better.”

“Hey, you’re getting ice cream. You’re already going to feel better.”

Whether it was surprise or genuine humor, a smile ghosted around Darlie’s lips. “You’re funny.”

“I’m a barrel of monkeys, kid, though mostly I figure monkeys stuck in a barrel are just going to be pissed off.”

The laugh tripped out, a little rusty, a little weak, but it fell into the room just as Darlie’s parents came back in. At the sound of it, Mrs. Morgansten’s eyes filled.

“Good timing.” Eve got to her feet. “We’re just finished here.”

“We got you a cone.” Mr. Morgansten lurched forward, holding out a cone topped with a scoop of chocolate goo.

“Now you’ll feel better, too,” Darlie told her.

“Looks like. Thanks.”

“Lieutenant Dallas?” Darlie took the cone her father gave her, but continued to stare at Eve. “Will you tell me when you catch him and put him back in jail?”

“You’ll be the first. That’s a promise.”

She stepped outside, leaned against the wall a moment, just to breathe. She studied the door across the hall, but just couldn’t face going back in. Enough, she told herself. Just enough for now.

She took out her ’link, noted the goo dribbling down the cone. What the hell, she thought, and licked at it.

Roarke came on screen.

“I’m done here, and have a couple things to follow up on. Where—”

“You have ice cream?”

“Yeah, it was a gift.”

“I wouldn’t mind ice cream.”

“Anybody who does is just sad. I’m heading back to the car, so—”

“Why don’t I walk with you,” he said, coming out of a room on the right as she walked to the elevator. “And share your ice cream.”

“I think it’s Fudge Sludge.”

“An unfortunate name.” He leaned down, sampled. “But tasty. How’s the girl?”

“Wounded, fragile, and stronger than she thinks she is. Between her and Melinda I got matching brown leather shoes and belt—both with silver buckles, a leather knife sheath, monogrammed I.M., and a vid cam with tripod. He never used a cam before. None of the other vics mentioned being recorded.”

“A recording can be found, and would incriminate. From what I read in his file, he didn’t need that kind of thing. He doesn’t have to relive what he can simply live again.”

“Exactly. He had the girls. If he wanted a replay, he could just pick one. He didn’t document because he’s smart.”

“But he’s not attempting to hide what he’s doing this time. He’s already convicted. So he needs the vid to relive the moment, at least between victims?”