The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [107]
“It doesn’t thrill him, doesn’t make him sad. It’s just a job that needs to be done, and done well. Done with purpose. When water fills Bayliss’s lungs, when he stops struggling and his eyes are fixed and staring, he takes the coins and throws them in the water, over the body. The Judas coins.
“Then he gets out of the tub, dripping, picks up his shoes, and leaves the way he came in. He leaves the door open because he doesn’t want the murder to go undiscovered for long. He wants it known. Announced. Discussed. The job isn’t done until the department knows another cop is dead.”
“I can’t re-create the way you can,” Roarke said. “It’s admirable.”
“It’s basic.”
“Not the way you do it,” he murmured. How many scenes such as she’d described had a place in her memory? How many victims lived there with how many killers?
Stay cold, she’d said, so that it doesn’t get inside of you. That, he knew, was one skill she lacked. The very fact that it all got inside her was what made her brilliant. And haunted.
“Look at the discs, Eve.”
“I saw them.”
There were dozens, many of the names she recognized. Cops. Bayliss’s little rat file of cops. Reaching, she noted, all the way to The Tower.
“At least he was democratic in his witch hunt.” She saw the one with her name on the label. “We’ll bag them all. It’s going to be a tedious and nasty job to go through them. His machine’s still on.” She sat down, frowned at the blank screen.
“There’s a disc in. And not, I think, one of the victim’s.”
“You touched this?” She whirled in the chair, snarled at him. “I told you not—”
“Shut up, Eve, and run the disc.”
She had more to say, a great deal more. But it could wait until they were alone and she could pound on him in private. She turned back to the screen. “Run current disc,” she ordered.
Words swirled silently onto the screen. There was no audio backup or readout, but simply clear, cool letters on a smoke-gray background.
Lieutenant Dallas, as you are primary in the investigation of the deaths of Kohli, Mills, and now Bayliss, I address this message to you.
I deeply regret the death of Detective Taj Kohli. I was misled, largely by the efforts of the man I am about to execute for his crimes. Crimes against the badge he has misused in his own thirst for power. Is that any less a sin against his oath than that of Mills, who betrayed his badge for money?
Whether or not you agree with me is not my concern. I have pledged to do what I have done and will continue to do.
Because of our connection, I took the time to read the file Bayliss generated on you. If the allegations, the accusations, the data he has compiled is based in fact, you have dishonored your badge. I am not willing to trust the words of a liar, of a twisted, power-hungry cop. But they must be considered.
I will give you seventy-two hours to exonerate yourself. If you are involved with Max Ricker through your husband, you will die. If these allegations are false, and you are as skilled and dedicated as your reputation indicates, you will find the way to break Ricker and his organization in the time allotted. It will require your full focus and all your skills. To be fair, as fairness is my goal, I give you my word that I will make no move against you or anyone else during this time period.
Take down Max Ricker, Lieutenant. Or I will take you.
chapter eighteen
Eve made copies of the message, took the disc and the files into evidence, and turned the computer over to Feeney. He’d haul it into EDD, take it apart, run his scans and checks. That was for form, she knew. The killer had left nothing of himself on the machine but his single personal message to her.
Ricker was on her list, and she meant to take him down. But he couldn’t be, wouldn