Chapter One
She stood in Purgatory and studied death. The blood and thegore of it, the ferocity of its glee. It had come to this placewith the willful temper of a child, full of heat and passionand careless brutality.
Murder was rarely a tidy business. Whether it was craftilycalculated or wildly impulsive, it tended to leave a mess forothers to clean up.
It was her job to wade through the debris of murder, topick up the pieces, see where they fit, and put together a pictureof the life that had been stolen. And through that pictureto find the image of a killer.
Now, in the early hours of morning, in the hesitant springof 2059, her boots crunched over a jagged sea of brokenglass. Her eyes, brown and cool, scanned the scene: shatteredmirrors, broken bottles, splintered wood. Wall screenswere smashed, privacy booths scarred and dented. Priceyleather and cloth that had covered stools or the plusher seatingareas had been ripped to colorful shreds.
What had once been an upscale strip club was now a jumbledpile of expensive garbage.
What had once been a man lay behind the wide curve ofthe bar. Now a victim, sprawled in his own blood.
Lieutenant Eve Dallas crouched beside him. She was acop, and that made him hers.
"Male. Black. Late thirties. Massive trauma, head andbody. Multiple broken bones." She took a gauge from herfield kit to take the body and ambient temperatures. "Lookslike the fractured skull would have done the job, but it didn'tstop there."
"He was beaten to pieces."
Eve acknowledged her aide's comment with a grunt. Shewas looking at what was left of a well-built man in hisprime, a good six-two and two hundred and thirty pounds ofwhat had been toned muscle.
"What do you see, Peabody?"
Automatically, Peabody shifted her stance, focused hervision. "The victim ... well, it appears the victim wasstruck from behind. The first blow probably took him down,or at least dazed him. The killer followed through, withrepeated strikes. From the pattern of the blood splatter, andbrain matter, he was taken out with head shots, then beatenwhile down, likely unconscious. Some of the injuries werecertainly delivered postmortem. The metal bat is the probablemurder weapon and was used by someone of considerablestrength, possibly chemically induced, as the sceneindicates excessive violence often demonstrated by users ofZeus."
"Time of death, oh four hundred," Eve stated, then turnedher head to look up at Peabody.
Her aide was starched and pressed and as official as theycame, with her uniform cap set precisely on her dark chin-lengthhair. She had good eyes, Eve thought, clear and dark.And though the sheer vileness of the scene had leachedsome of the color from her cheeks, she was holding.
"Motive?" Eve asked.
"It appears to be robbery, Lieutenant."
"Why?"
"The cash drawer's open and empty. The credit machine'sbroken."
"Mmm-hmm. Snazzy place like this would be heavier incredits, but they'd do some cash business."
"Zeus addicts kill for spare change."
"True enough. But what would our victim have been doingalone, in a closed club, with an addict? Why would he let anyonehopped on Zeus behind the bar? And ..." With her sealedfingers she picked up a small silver credit chip from the riverof blood. "Why would our addict leave these behind? A numberof them are scattered here around the body."
"He could have dropped them." But Peabody began tothink she wasn't seeing something Eve did.
"Could have."
She counted the coins as she picked them up, thirty in all,sealed them in an evidence bag, and handed it to Peabody.Then she picked up the bat. It was fouled with blood andbrain. About two feet in length, she judged, and weighted tomean business.
Mean business.
"It's good, solid metal, not something an addict wouldpick up in some abandoned building. We're going to findthis belonged here, behind the bar. We're going to find,Peabody, that our victim knew his killer. Maybe they werehaving an after-hours drink."
Her eyes narrowed as she pictured it. "Maybe they hadwords, and the words escalated. More likely, our killeralready had an edge on. He knew where the bat was. Camebehind the bar. Something he'd done before, so our friendhere doesn't think anything of it. He's not concerned,doesn't worry about turning his back."
She did so herself, measuring the position of the body, ofthe splatter. "The first blow rams him face first into the glasson the back wall. Look at the cuts on his face. Those aren'tnicks from flying glass. They're too long, too deep. He managesto turn, and that's where the killer takes the next swinghere, across the jaw. That spins him around again. He grabsthe shelves there, brings them down. Bottles crashing. That'swhen he took the killing blow. This one that cracked hisskull like an egg."
She crouched again, sat back on her heels. "After that, thekiller just beat the hell out of him, then wrecked the place.Maybe in temper, maybe as cover. But he had enough controlto come back here, to look at his handiwork before heleft. He dropped the bat here when he was done."
"He wanted it to look like a robbery? Like an illegalsoverkill?"
"Yeah. Or our victim was a moron and I'm giving him toomuch credit. You got the body and immediate scenerecorded? All angles?"
"Yes, sir."
"Let's turn him over."
The shattered bones shifted like a sack of broken crockeryas Eve turned the body. "Goddamn it. Oh, goddamn it."
She reached down to lift the smeared ID from the cool,congealing pool of blood. With her sealed thumb, she wipedat the photo and the shield. "He was on the job."
"He was a cop?" Peabody stepped forward. She heard thesudden silence. The crime scene team and the sweepersworking on the other side of the bar stopped talking.Stopped moving.
A half dozen faces turned. Waited.
"Kohli, Detective Taj." Eve's face was grim as she got toher feet. "He was one of us."
Peabody crossed the littered floor to where Eve stood watchingthe remains of Detective Taj Kohli being bagged fortransferal to the morgue. "I got his basics, Dallas. He's outof the One twenty-eight, assigned to Illegals. Been on thejob for eight years. Came out of the military. He was thirty-seven.Married. Two kids."
"Anything pop on his record?"
"No, sir. It's clean."
"Let's find out if he was working undercover here or justmoonlighting. Elliott? I want those security discs."
"There aren't any." One of the crime scene team hurriedover. His face was folded into angry lines. "Cleaned out.Every one of them. The place had full scope, and this son ofa bitch snagged every one. We got nothing."
"Covered his tracks." With her hands on her hips, Eveturned a circle. The club was triple-leveled, with a stage onthe main, dance floors on one and two. Privacy rooms ringedthe top. For full scope, she estimated it would need a dozencameras, probably more. To snag all the record discs wouldhave taken time and care.
"He knew the place," she decided. "Or he's a fuckingsecurity whiz. Window dressing," she muttered. "All thisdestruction's just window dressing. He knew what he wasdoing. He had control. Peabody, find out who owns theplace, who runs it. I want to know everybody who workshere. I want to know the setup."
"Lieutenant?" A harassed-looking sweeper trudgedthrough the chaos. "There's a civilian outside."
"There are a lot of civilians outside. Let's keep them there."
"Yes, sir, but this one insists on speaking to you. He saysthis is his place. And, ah ..."
"`And, ah' what?"
"And that you're his wife."
"Roarke Entertainment," Peabody announced as she readoff the data from her palm PC. She sent Eve a cautioussmile.. "Guess who owns Purgatory?"
"I should've figured it." Resigned, Eve strode to theentrance door.
He looked very much as he'd looked two hours before whenthey'd parted ways to go about their individual business.Sleek and gorgeous. The light topcoat he wore over his darksuit fluttered a bit in the breeze. The same breeze that tuggedat the mane of black hair that framed his poetically sinfulface. The dark glasses he wore against the glare of the sunonly added to the look of slick elegance.
And when he slipped them off as she stepped out, the brilliantblue of his eyes met hers. He tucked the glasses in hispocket, lifted an eyebrow.
"Good morning, Lieutenant."
"I had a bad feeling when I walked in here. It's just yourkind of place, isn't it? Why do you have to own every damnthing?"
"It was a boyhood dream." His voice cruised over Ireland,picked up the music of it. He glanced past her to the policeseal. "It appears we've both been inconvenienced."
"Did you have to tell the sweeper I was your wife?"
"You are my wife," he said easily and shifted his gazeback to her face. "A fact which pleases me daily." He tookher hand, rubbing his thumb over her wedding ring beforeshe could tug it free again.
"No touching," she hissed at him, which made him smile.
"That's not what you said a few hours ago. In fact—"
"Shut up, Roarke." She glanced around, though none ofthe cops working the scene was outside or close enough tohear. "This is a police investigation."
"So I'm told."
"And who told you?"
"The head of the maintenance team who found the body.He did call the police first;' he pointed out. "But it's naturalhe'd report the incident to me. What happened?"
There was no point in griping because his business hadtangled around hers. Again. She tried to console herself thathe could and would help her cut through some of the muckof paperwork.
"Do you have a bartender by the name of Kohli? TajKohli?"
"I have no idea. But I can find out." He took a slim memobook out of his breast pocket, keyed in a request for data. "Ishe dead?"
"As dead gets."
"Yes, he was mine," Roarke confirmed, and the Irish inhis voice had taken on a cold note. "For the past threemonths. Part time. Four nights a week. He had a family."
"Yes, I know." Such things mattered to him, and it alwaystouched her heart. "He was a cop," Eve said. This time hisbrows lifted. "Didn't have that data in your little scan, didyou?"
"No. It seems my personnel director was careless. Thatwill be fixed. Am I allowed inside?"
"Yeah, in a minute. How long have you owned the place?"
"Four years, more or less."
"How many employees, full- and part-time?"
"I'll get you all the data, Lieutenant, and answer all pertinentquestions." Annoyance gleamed in his eyes as he reachedfor the door himself. "But now, I'd like to see my place."
He pushed inside, scanned the destruction, then focusedin on the thick black bag being loaded on what the deathattendants called a stroller.
"How was he killed?"
"Thoroughly," Eve said, then sighed when Roarke simplyturned and stared at her. "It was ugly, okay? Metal bat." Shewatched Roarke look toward the bar and the spray of bloodsparkling on glass like an incomprehensible painting. "Afterthe first few hits, he wouldn't have felt anything."
"Ever had a bat laid into you? I have," he said before shecould answer. "It's not pleasant. It seems far-fetched to thinkit's robbery, even one that got well out of hand."
"Why?"
"There'd have been enough prime liquor, easily fenced, tokeep anyone cozily fixed for some time. Why break the bottleswhen you could sell them? If you hit a place like this,it's not for the bit of cash that might be copped, but for theinventory and perhaps some of the equipment."
"Is that the voice of experience?"
She teased a grin out of him. "Naturally. My experience,that is, as a property owner and a law-abiding citizen."
"Right."
"Security discs?"
"Gone. He got all of them."
"Then it follows he'd cased the place carefully beforehand."
"How many cameras?"
Once again, Roarke took out his pad, checked data."Eighteen. Nine on this floor, six on two, and the other twoon the top level for full scope. Before you ask, closing is atthree, which would have staff out by half past. The lastshow, and we've live ones here, ends at two. The musiciansand the entertainers—"
"Strippers."
"As you like," he said mildly. "They clock off at thattime. I'll have names and schedules for you within thehour."
"Appreciate it. Why Purgatory?"
"The name?" The ghost of a smile flirted with his mouth."I liked it. The priests will tell you Purgatory's a place foratonement, rehabilitation perhaps. A bit like prison. I'vealways seen it as a last chance to be human" he decided."Before you strap on your wings and halo or face the fire."
"Which would you rather?" she wondered. "The wings orthe fire?"
"That's the point, you see. I prefer being human." As thestroller wheeled by, he ran a hand over her short brown hair."I'm sorry for this."
"So am I. Any reason a New York City detective wouldhave been working undercover in Purgatory?"
"I couldn't say. It's certainly likely that some of the clientelemight dabble in areas not strictly approved by theNYPSD, but I've not been informed of anything overt. Someillegals might change hands in privacy rooms or undertables, but there's been no large transactions here. I wouldhave known. The strippers don't turn tricks unless they'relicensed, which some are. No one under age is allowedthrough the doors—as client or staff. I have my own standards,Lieutenant, such as they are."
"I'm not coming down on you. I need a picture."
"You're pissed that I'm here at all."
She waited a minute, her short, choppy hair disorderedfrom its dance outside in the early breeze. As the morguetechs opened the door to transfer Kohli, the sounds of theday punched into the club.
Traffic was already thickening. Cars crammed irritably onthe street, air commuters swarmed the skies. She heard thecall of an early-bird glide-cart operator call to the techs andask: "What da fuck'?"
"Okay, I'm pissed that you're here at all. I'll get over it.When's the last time you were in here?"
"Months. It ran well and didn't need my direct attention."
"Who manages it for you?"
"Rue MacLean. I'll get her information to you as well."
"Sooner than later. Do you want to go through the placenow?"
"No point in it until I've refreshed myself on how it was.I'll want to be let back in once I've done that."
"I'll take care of it. Yes, Peabody'?" she said, turning asher aide inched forward and cleared her throat.
"Sorry, sir, but I thought you'd want to know I reached thevictim's squad captain. They're sending a member of hisunit and a counselor to inform next of kin. They need toknow if they should wait for you or see the wife alone."
"Tell them to wait. We'll head over now and meet them. Ihave to go," she said to Roarke.
"I don't envy you your job, Lieutenant." Because heneeded it, he took her hand, linked their fingers firmly. "ButI'll let you get back to it. I'll have the information youwanted to you as soon as I can."
"Roarke?" she called as he started for the door. "I'm sorryabout your place."
"Wood and glass. There's plenty more," he replied as helooked at her over his shoulder.
"He doesn't mean it" Eve murmured when he'd shut thedoor behind him.
"Sir?"
"They messed with him. He won't let it go" Eve heavedout a breath. "Come on, Peabody, let's go see the wife andget this particular hell over with."
The Kohlis lived in a decent, midlevel building on the EastSide. The kind of place, Eve mused, where you found youngfamilies and older retired couples. Not hip enough for thesingle crowd, not cheap enough for the struggling.
It was a simple multiunit, pleasantly if not elegantlyrehabbed post-Urban Wars.
Door security was a basic code entry.
Eve spotted the cops before she'd double-parked andflipped her On Duty light to active.
The woman was well turned out, with gilt-edged hairthat curved up to her cheeks in two stiletto points. She woresun shades and an inexpensive business suit in navy. Theshoes with their thin, two-inch heels told Eve she worked adesk.
Brass. Eve was sure of it.
The man had good shoulders and a bit of pudge at themiddle. He'd let his hair go gray, and there was a lot of it.Currently, it was dancing in the breeze around his quiet,composed face. He wore cop shoes—hard-soled and buffedto a gleam. His suit jacket was a little small in the body andstarting to fray at the cuffs.
A long-timer, Eve judged, who'd moved from beat tostreet to desk.
"Lieutenant Dallas." The woman stepped forward butdidn't offer her hand for a polite shake. "I recognized you.You get a lot of play in the media." It wasn't said withrebuke, but there was a hint of it in the air, nonetheless. "I'mCaptain Roth, from the One twenty-eight. This is SergeantClooney out of my house. He's here as grief counselor."
"Thanks for waiting. Officer Peabody, my aide."
"What is the status of your investigation, Lieutenant?"
"Detective Kohli's body is with the ME and will have priority.My report will be written and filed subsequent to notificationof next of kin."
She paused to avoid shouting over the sudden blast of amaxibus that pulled to the curb half a block down.
"At this point, Captain Roth, I have a dead police officerwho was the apparent victim of a particularly brutal beatingin the early hours of this morning while he was in a club,after hours. A club where he was employed as a part-timebartender."
"Robbery?"
"Unlikely."
"Then what is the motive, in your opinion?"
A little seed of resentment planted itself in Eve's gut. Itwould, she knew, fester there if she wasn't careful. "I'veformed no opinion as to motive at this stage of my investigation.Captain Roth, do you want to stand on the street andquestion me, or would you prefer to read my report whenit's filed?"
Roth opened her mouth, then sucked in a breath. "Pointtaken, Lieutenant. Detective Kohli worked under me for fiveyears. I'll be straight with you. I want this investigation handledout of my house."
"I appreciate your feelings in this matter, Captain Roth. Ican only assure you that as long as I'm primary, the investigationinto the death of Detective Kohli will receive mycomplete focus."
Take off the damn shades, Eve thought. I want to see youreyes. "You can request the transfer of authority," Eve continued."But I'll be straight with you. I won't give it up easy. Istood over him this morning. I saw what was done to him.You couldn't want his killer any more than I do."
"Captain." Clooney stepped forward, laying a hand lightlyon Roth's arm at the elbow. There were lines fanning outfrom his pale blue eyes. They made him look tired andsomehow trustworthy. "Lieutenant. Emotions are runningpretty high right now. For all of us. But we've got a job to dohere and now."
He glanced up, homing in on a window four storiesabove. "Whatever we're feeling doesn't come close towhat's going to be felt upstairs."
"You're right. You're right, Art. Let's get this done."
Roth turned to the entrance, bypassed the code with hermaster.
"Lieutenant?" Clooney hung back. "I know you'll want toquestion Patsy, Taj's wife. I have to ask if you could go a littleeasy just now. I know what she's about to go through. Ilost a son in the line of duty a few months back. It rips a holein you."
"I'm not going to kick her while she's down, Clooney."Eve shoved through the doors, caught herself, turned back."I didn't know him," she said more calmly, "but he was murdered,and he was a cop. That's enough for me. Okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, okay."
"Christ, I hate this." She followed Roth to the elevator."How do you do it?" she asked Clooney. "The counselingthing. How do you stand it?"
"To tell you the truth, they tapped me for it because I havea way with keeping the peace. Mediation" he added with aquick smile. "I agreed to survivor counseling, to give it a try,and found I could do some good. You know what they feel—everystage of it."
He pressed his lips together as they stepped onto the elevator.The smile was long gone. "You stand it because maybeyou can help ... just a little. It makes a difference if thecounselor's a cop. And I've discovered in the last few monthsit makes a bigger one if the counselor's a cop who experienceda loss. You ever lose a family member, Lieutenant?"
Eve flashed on a dingy room, the bloody husk of a man,and the child she'd been, huddled broken in a corner. "Idon't have any family."
"Well ..." was all Clooney said as they stepped off on thefourth floor.
She would know, and they were all aware of it. A cop'sspouse would know the minute she opened the door. How thewords were spoken varied little, and it didn't matter a damn.The minute the door opened, lives were irrevocably changed.
They didn't have the chance to knock before it began.
Patsy Kohli was a pretty woman with smooth, ebony skinand a closely cropped thatch of black curls. She was dressedto go out, a baby sling strapped across her breasts. The smallboy at her side had his hand clasped in hers as he dancedfrantically in place.
"Let's go swing! Let's go swing!"
But his mother had frozen in place, the laughter that hadbeen in her eyes dying away. She lifted one hand, pressing itto the baby, and the baby to her heart.
"Taj."
Roth had taken off her sunshades. Her eyes were coldlyblue, rigidly blank. "Patsy. We need to come in."
"Taj." Patsy stood where she was, slowly shaking herhead. "Taj."
"Here now, Patsy." Clooney moved in, sliding an armaround her shoulders. "Why don't we sit down?"
"No. No. No."
The little boy began to cry, wailing yelps as he tugged onhis mother's unresponsive hand. Both Roth and Eve lookeddown at him with stares of sheer, hot panic.
Peabody eased inside, crouched down to his level.
"Hi, pal."
"Going swing," he said pitifully, while great tears spilleddown his chubby cheeks.
"Yeah. Lieutenant, why don't I take the boy out?"
"Good idea. Good thinking" Her stomach was busilytying itself into knots at the rising sobs. "Mrs. Kohli, withyour permission, my officer will take your son outside forawhile. I think that would be best"
"Chad" Patsy stared down as if coming out of a dream."We're going to the park. Two blocks over. The swings"
"I'll take him, Mrs. Kohli. We'll be fine." With an easethat had Eve frowning, Peabody lifted the boy, set him onher hip. "Hey, Chad, you like soy dogs?"
"Patsy, why don't you give me your little girl there." Gently,Clooney unhooked the sling, slipped the baby free.Then, to Eve's shock, he passed the bundle to her.
"Oh listen, I can't—"
But Clooney was already guiding Pasty to the sofa, andEve was left holding the bag. Or so she thought of it. Wincing,she looked down, and when big, black eyes stared curiouslyup at her, her palms went damp.
And when the baby said, "Coo" she lost all the spit in hermouth.
She searched the room for help. Clooney and Roth werealready flanking Pasty, and Clooney's voice was a quietmurmur. The room was small and lived-in, with a scatter oftoys on the rug and a scent—one she didn't recognize—thatwas talc and crayons and sugar. The scent of children.
But she spotted a basket of neatly folded laundry on thefloor by a chair. Perfect, she decided and, with the care of awoman handling a homemade boomer, laid the baby on top.
"Stay" she whispered, awkwardly patting the dark,downy head.
And started to breathe again.
She tuned back into the room, saw the woman on the sofagathered into herself, rocking, rocking, with her handsgripped in Clooney's. She made no sound, and her tears felllike rain.
Eve stayed out of the way, watched Clooney work,watched the unity of support stand on either side of thewidow. This, she thought, was family. For what it was worth.And in times like this, it was all there could be.
Grief settled into the room like fog. It would, she knew, bea long time before it burned away again.
"It's my fault. It's my fault." They were the first wordsPatsy spoke since she'd sat on the sofa.
"No." Clooney squeezed her hands until she lifted herhead. They needed to look in your eyes, he knew. To believeyou, to take comfort, they needed to see it all in your eyes."Of course it's not."
"He'd never have been working there if not for me. Ididn't want to go back to work after Jilly was born. I wantedto stay home. The money, the professional mother's salarywas so much less than—"
"Patsy, Taj was happy you were content to stay home withthe children. He was so proud of them and of you."
"I can't---Chad:' She pulled her hands free, pressed themto her face. "How can I tell him? How can we live withoutTaj? Where is he?" She dropped her hands, looked aroundblindly. "I have to go see him. Maybe there's a mistake."
It was, Eve knew, her time. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kohli, there'sno mistake. I'm Lieutenant Dallas. I'm in charge of theinvestigation:'
"You saw Taj." Patsy got shakily to her feet.
"Yes. I'm sorry, very sorry for your loss. Can you talk tome, Mrs. Kohli? Help me find the person who did this?"
"Lieutenant Dallas," Roth began, but Patsy shook herhead.
"No, no. I want to talk. Taj would want me to. He'dwant ... Where's Jilly? Where's my baby?"
"I, ah ..." Feeling sticky again, Eve gestured to the hamper.
"Oh" Patsy wiped tears from her face, smiled. "She's sogood. Such a love. She hardly ever cries. I should put her inher crib."
"I'll do that for you, Patsy." Clooney rose. "You talk to thelieutenant." He gave Eve a quiet look, full of sorrow andunderstanding. "That's what Taj would want. Do you wantus to call someone for you? Your sister?"
"Yes." Patsy drew in a breath. "Yes, please. If you'd callCarla for me."
"Captain Roth will do that for you, won't you, Captain?While I put the baby down."
Roth struggled, set her teeth. It didn't surprise Eve to seethe annoyance. Clooney had essentially taken over, gently,And this wasn't a woman who liked taking orders from hersergeant.
"Yes, of course." With a final warning look at Eve, shewalked into the next room.
"Are you with Taj's squad?"
"No, I'm not."
"No, no, of course." Patsy rubbed her temple. "You'd bewith Homicide." She started to break, the sound comingthrough her lips like a whimper. And Eve watched with admirationas she toughened up. "What do you want to know?"
"Your husband didn't come home this morning. Youweren't concerned?"
"No." She reached back, braced a hand on the arm of thecouch, and lowered herself down. "He'd told me he'd probablygo into the station from the club. He sometimes did that.And he said he was meeting someone after closing."
"Who?"
"He didn't say, just that he had someone to see afterclosing."
"Do you know of anyone who wished him harm, Mrs.Kohli?"
"He was a cop," she said simply. "Do you know anyonewho wishes you harm, Lieutenant?"
Fair enough, Eve thought and nodded. "Anyone specific?Someone he mentioned to you."
"No. Taj didn't bring work home. It was a point of honorfor him, I think. He didn't want anything to touch his family.I don't even know what cases he was working on. He didn'tlike to talk about it. But he was worried."
She folded her hands tightly in her lap, stared down atthem. Stared, Eve noted, at the gold band on her finger. "Icould tell he was worried about something. I asked himabout it, but he brushed it off. That was Taj," she managedwith a trembling smile. "He had, well some people wouldsay it was a male dominant thing, but it was just Taj. He wasold-fashioned about some things. He was a good man. Awonderful father. He loved his job."
She pressed her lips together. "He would have been proudto die in the line of duty. But not like this. Not like this.Whoever did this to him took that away from him. Took himaway from me and from his babies. How can that be? Lieutenant,how can that be?"
And as there was no answer to it; all Eve could do was askmore questions.
Copyright © 2000 Nora Roberts. All rights reserved.
