Vengeance in Death (In Death #6)(42)

“Goddamn it. He’s been here. Maybe he’s still here.” She pulled out her weapon. “We take a floor at a time, knock on doors. Anybody doesn’t answer, we go in.”

Roarke opened a drawer under the droid’s head. “Master code.” He held up the thin card. “It’ll make it easier.”

“Good. Use the stairs.”

Nearly every room on the first floor was empty. They found one groggy-eyed LC sleeping off a long night. She’d heard and seen nothing, and made her displeasure at being roused by cops obvious. On the second floor they found the remnants of a wild party, including a fistful of illegals scattered over the floor like abandoned toys.

On the graffiti-strewn stairway heading toward three, they found the child.

He was perhaps eight, thin and pale, with his toes poking out of his ragged sneakers. There was a fresh bruise under his right eye, and a scruffy gray kitten in his lap.

“Are you Dallas?” he wanted to know.

“Yeah. Why?”

“The man said I should wait for you. He gave me a two-dollar credit to wait.”

Her heart picked up rhythm as she crouched down. The aroma there told her the kid hadn’t seen bathwater in a number of days. “What man?”

“The guy who told me to wait. He said how you’d give me another two if I did, and I told you the thing.”

“What thing?”

His eyes scanned her face slyly. “He said how you’d give me another two.”

“Sure, okay.” Eve dug in her pocket, made certain to keep her tone light, her smile easy. “So, what’s the thing?” she asked as the boy took the credit and fisted it in his grubby hand.

“He said…” the boy closed his eyes and recited, ” ‘It’s the third but not the last. You’re quick but not too fast. No matter how much flash, no matter how much cash, no bastard son of Eire can ever escape his past. Amen.’ ” He opened his eyes and grinned. “I got it right, told him I would.”

“Good for you. You stay right here and I’ll give you another two. Peabody.” She waited until they’d reached the landing. “Take care of the kid. Call Child Protection Services, then see if you can get any kind of description out of him. Roarke, you’re with me. Third victim, third floor,” she said to herself. “Third door.”

She turned to the left, weapon raised, and knocked hard. “There’s music.” She cocked her head to try to catch the tune.

“It’s a jig. A dance tune. Jennie liked to dance. She’s in there.”

Before he could move forward, Eve threw up an arm to block him. “Stand clear. Do it.” She opened the locks and went in low.

The barmaid who had liked to dance was hanging from a cord from the stained ceiling. Her toes just brushed the surface of a wobbling stool. The cord had cut deep into her throat so that blood trickled down her br**sts. It was still fresh enough to carry that copper penny smell, still fresh enough to gleam wet against white skin.

Her right eye was gone, and her fingers, bruised and bloodied from dragging at the cord, hung limp at her sides.

The music played, bright and cheerful, from a small recorder disc under the stool. The statue of the Virgin stood on the floor, her marble face turned toward violent death.

“Fucking, filthy bastard. Bloody motherf*cking son of a whore.” Roarke’s vision went black with rage. He bulled forward, shoving Eve aside, nearly knocking her to her knees when she fought to muscle him back. “Get out of my way.” His eyes were sharp and cold as a drawn sword. “Get the hell out of my way.”

“No.” She did the only thing she could think of, and, countering his weight, knocked him back against the wall and rammed his elbow to his throat. “You can’t touch her. Do you understand me? You can’t touch her. She’s gone. There’s nothing you can do. This is for me. Look at me, Roarke. Look at me.”

Her voice barely punched through the thick buzzing in his head, but he dragged his eyes away from the woman hanging in the center of the room and stared into the eyes of his wife.

“You have to let me try to help her now.” She gentled her tone but kept it firm, as she would with any victim. She wanted to hold him, to lay her cheek against his, and instead kept her elbow pressed lightly to his windpipe. “I can’t let you contaminate the scene. I want you to go outside now.”

He got his breath back, though it burned his lungs. Cleared his vision, though the edges of it remained dark and dull. “He left the stool there. He stood her on the stool so that she could strain just enough to reach it with her toes. She could stay alive as long as she had the strength to reach the stool. She’d have been choking, her heart overworked, the pain burning, but she could stay alive as long as she fought for balance. She’d have fought hard.”

Eve lowered her elbow, laid her hands on his shoulders. “This isn’t your fault. This isn’t your doing.”

He looked away from her, forced himself to look at an old friend. “We loved each other once,” he said quietly. “In our way. We had a careless way, but one gave the other what was needed, for a time. I won’t touch her. I’ll stay out of your way.”

When Eve stepped back, he moved to the door. He spoke now without looking at her. “I won’t let him live. Whether you find him or I do, I won’t let him live.”