Imitation in Death

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At four A. M., Eve stood on the sidewalk studying the blood on the pavement. Marlene Cox had been transported to the hospital an hour before. Unconscious, she was not expected to live.

He’d abandoned the rental, and his props, and left his victim bleeding on the street. But he hadn’t finished her.

Eve crouched, and with her sealed fingers picked up a small shard of white plaster. She’d fought back long enough, hard enough to chase him away.

She studied the ball cap and wig already sealed in evidence. Cheap models, she mused. Tough to trace. The sofa looked old, shabby, used. Something he picked up at a flea market. But they had the moving van, so maybe they’d get lucky.

And a twenty-three-year-old woman was dying.

She looked up as Peabody sprinted down the sidewalk. “Lieutenant?”

“Twenty-three-year-old female,” Eve began. “Identified as Marlene Cox. Lives in that building,” she said, gesturing. “Apparently on her way home from work. I’ve checked with the hospital where she was taken before I arrived on scene. She’s in surgery, prognosis poor. She was beaten severely about the head, face, body. He used this-to start, anyway.” She held up a chunk of plaster.

“What is it?”

“Plaster. I’d say from a cast, an arm cast. Poor guy’s trying to haul the sofa in or out of the truck. Probably in. He’d want to get her inside. Got a busted wing, can’t quite manage it. He looks harmless, helpless, so she gives him a hand. He was probably charming. Lots of smiles and aw, shucks. Then when she’s inside, he hits her. Goes for the head, needs to knock her down, debilitate and disorient. Keep hitting her, hard enough to smash the cast.”

She stepped up to the opening in the back of the van. Close quarters, small space. That was a mistake, Eve noted. Didn’t give himself enough room to really wind up for the hits, and the props-the couch, the packing boxes-got in the way.

The imitation was good, she decided, but the stage had been cramped and spoiled his performance.

“He didn’t move fast enough,” she said out loud. “Or maybe he was enjoying it too much. She had some mugger spray.” Eve lifted the evidence bag with the pocket bottle. “I figure she got off at least one good shot in his face or near enough to hurt him, and the panic siren tripped. So he ran. From the looks of it,” she added, nodding to the blood on the pavement, “she either fell out of the truck, or he shoved her out. Uniform that briefed me said there was so much blood from her head he thought she was DOS. But she had a pulse.”

“Ted Bundy. I’ve been boning up,” Peabody said when Eve looked at her. “Especially on the serial killers you put on your hot sheet. He used this method.”

“Yeah, and more successfully than our guy. That’s going to piss him off. Even if she dies, he’ll be pissed off. Let’s run the truck, Peabody. I’ve got some uniforms doing the knock-on-doors, and I’m about to set the sweepers loose on the rental. Let’s fucking find something on this bastard.”

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Marlene was still in surgery when Eve got to the hospital. The surgical waiting area was packed with people. The nurse on duty had already warned her the patient’s family was there, en masse.

She recognized the mix of shock, fear, hope, grief, and anger on the faces as, nearly as one, they turned toward her.

“I’m sorry to intrude. I’mLieutenantDallas, NYPSD. I’d like to speak withPeterWaterman.”

“That’s me.” He rose, a big, burly man with a military cut to his dark hair, and the shadows of worry in his eye.

“If you could step out here,Mr.Waterman.”

He bent to murmur to one of the waiting women, then followed Eve into the corridor.

“I’m sorry to pull you away from your family, but my information is you were the last to speak with Ms. Cox before she left for home this morning.”

“She works for me, for us. I got a bar, and Marley, she waits tables a few times a week.”

“Yes, sir, I know. What time did she leave?”

“Right after two. I sprang her, did the lock-up myself. Watched her walk to the subway station. It’s only a few steps from the door. She’s only got two blocks to go once she’s off. It’s a good neighborhood. My two kids, they live there with her. My own daughters live right there.”

And his voice shook on the statement so that he had to stop, just stop and breathe.

“My brother, he lives half a block from them. It’s a good neighborhood. Safe. Goddamn it.”

“It’s a good neighborhood, Mr. Waterman.” And small comfort. “When the panic siren went off, people came out. They didn’t burrow inside and ignore it. We’ve already got a couple of witnesses who saw the man who attacked her ru

“Okay.” He swiped the heel of his hand across his cheek, the back of his hand under his nose. “Okay. Thanks. I helped them find that apartment, you see. My sister, Marley’s mother, she asked me to check the place out.”

“And you found her a place where people come out to help. Mr. Waterman, a guy runs a bar, he notices people, right? You get a feel. Maybe you got a feel for somebody who’d come in recently.”

“People don’t come into my place looking for trouble. We got sing-alongs for Christ sake. We got regulars, and there’s some tourist trade. I got a deal going with a couple of hotels. It’s a middle-class, neighborhood pub, Sergeant.”

“Lieutenant.”

“Sorry. I don’t know anybody who’d do this to our Marley. I don’t know anybody who’d do this to anybody’s daughter. What kind of sick bastard beats a little girl like that? Can you tell me? What kind of sick bastard does something like this?”

“No, sir, I can’t tell you. Did she mention anyone she met recently, or anyone she noticed around the neighborhood, around where she shopped or ate or hung out? Anything at all?”

“No. Some guy she met in school earlier this summer. I don’t know his name. One of my girls might.” He took out a handkerchief, blew his nose. “We pushed her to drop her summer classes, because of those kids that were killed. Those college kids a few weeks ago. She knew one of them, the first one, so it upset her. Upset all of us. I got her that mugger spray, told her to keep it in her pocket. She did. She’s a good girl.”

“And she used it. That means she’s smart and she’s tough. She drove him off, Mr. Waterman.”

“The doctors won’t tell us.” Eve turned as a woman spoke behind her. She’d come to the door and stood there, leaning on the opening as if she couldn’t bear her own weight. “They won’t say, but I could see what they thought. That’s my baby they’ve got in there. My baby, and they think she’ll die. But they’re wrong.”

“She’s going to be fine, Sela.” Waterman pulled her into his arms, held her tight. “Marley’s going to be just fine.”

“Mrs. Cox, is there anything you can tell me that will help?”

“She’ll tell you herself, when she wakes up.” Sola’s voice was stronger than her brother’s, and absolutely sure. “Then you’ll go after him, and you’ll lock him up. When you do, I’m going to come in, and look right at his face and tell him it was my girl, it was my baby who put him there.”

Dallas left them alone, found a corner, a cup of coffee, and waited until Peabody returned and sat down beside her.

“No luck on the rental yet, but McNab and Feeney are on it.”

“Smart. Careful,” Eve commented. “Rents it via computer with a bogus name and license number, and pays to have it delivered to the bogus address. Nobody sees him. He seals up, so we’ve got no prints, no hair, no nothing inside the van except the wig he ditched and the pieces of plaster.”

“Maybe some of the blood on-scene will turn out to be his.”

Eve only shook her head. “He’s too smart for that. But he’s not as smart as he thinks he is because he didn’t get Marlene Cox. Not the way he wanted. And somebody’s seen him. Somebody saw him get in that rental or park it by her building. Just the way people saw him ru