Born In Death

“He has a current driver’s license,” Eve said. “And keeps a vehicle four blocks from here in a private garage. Means, motive.”

“Opportunity is dicier, isn’t it, given that he has an alibi. Or do you think his di

“Didn’t feel like it, but we’ll go back over that. He may have been a tool. Tools don’t always get dirty. If he didn’t do the murders himself, he knew about them.” She started up the three steps that led to the main entrance. “Alarm’s on green,” she pointed out.

As she lifted her hand to press the buzzer, she noticed there was more, and engaged her recorder.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Roarke, Expert Civilian Consultant, at the residence of Sloan, Randall. Upon arrival I’ve found the security system disengaged and the front door unlatched.”

Automatically, she drew her weapon. She buzzed, and called out, “Randall Sloan, this is Lieutenant Dallas with the police. I have a civilian consultant with me. Please acknowledge.”

She waited, ears cocked for any sound. “Mr. Sloan, I repeat, this is the police. Your residence is unsecured.” When there was no response, she circled around the line she had to walk, and eased the door open.

“Nothing in plain sight,” she stated. “He could have gone rabbit. I need a warrant.”

“Door’s open.”

“Yeah, and I could go in, check it out. I can argue probable cause, but without authorization I risk giving his lawyers something to whine about. I can get a warrant quick enough.”

She started to call in when someone hailed her from behind.

Turning, she saw Jake Sloan and Rochelle DeLay walking toward the house, hand-in-hand, faces rosy from the cold.

“Lieutenant, Jake and Rochelle, remember?”

“Yes. This is Roarke.”

“I recognize you.” As he came up the first step, Jake shot out a hand. “Good to meet you, and so you know, any time you’re looking for a young, hard-working accountant, I’m available.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“This is Rochelle.”

“Nice to meet you both.”

“You come to see Dad? He keeping you waiting in the cold?” Jake nodded toward the door. “It’s open.”

“We found it that way,” Eve told him.

“Really? That’s weird.” He moved by them and inside to give a shout. “Hey, Dad! You’ve got company. Come on in,” he said to Eve and Roarke. “We’re swinging by to get him for a Sunday deal at Grandpa’s.” Jake pulled off his watch cap, stuffed it messily in his coat pocket. “You want to have a seat? He must be upstairs.”

Eve had slipped her weapon into her pocket when he’d called out to her from the street, and kept her hand on it now. “Mind if I come with you?”

“Well…”

“Door was open, Jake, security off. It’s the cop in me.”

“Sure. Okay. He probably just opened it to look out for us. We’re ru

But she could see she’d put worry in him as he turned to the stairs. “Dad? Hey, Dad. I’m coming up, and I’m bringing the law.” He tried a smile as he said it, but when there was no answer, it faded.

Her senses caught something all too familiar. “You want to stay behind me?” she said it casually, and shifted in front to take the lead. “Which is his bedroom?”

“Second on the right. Listen, Lieutenant – ”

Eve eased the bedroom door open with a knuckle.

Randall Sloan wasn’t going to make Sunday brunch, she thought, restraining Jake as he tried to rush into the room.

An elaborate chrome chandelier dripped from the vaulted ceiling. Randall Sloan hung from the rope that had been tightly looped around its gleaming post.

17

“HE’S GONE.” EVE HAD TO HOOK JAKE’S ARMS behind his back, hold him against the wall. “You can’t help him.”

“Bullshit! Bullshit! That’s my father. It’s my father.”

“I’m sorry.” He was young, strong, and desperate, so it took all of Eve’s muscle to keep him from shaking her off and ru

“I’m not leaving here. I’m not leaving him. Go to hell.” And Jake pressed his face to the wall and wept.

“Give him to me.” Roarke stepped up beside her. “Downstairs,” he said before she could ask about Rochelle. “I convinced her to stay put when we heard the shouting. Let me take him.”

“I need a field kit.”

“Yes, I know. Here now, Jake, you have to leave him to the lieutenant now. This is what she does. You come with me. Rochelle’s frightened, and she’s alone. Come downstairs and stay with her.”

“It’s my dad. My dad’s in there.”

“I’m very sorry. I’ll get him settled,” Roarke told Eve, “best I can, then go get your kit out of the car.”

“I don’t want him to contact anyone yet.”

“I’ll see to it. Come on, Jake.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand this.”

“Of course not.”

As Roarke pulled Jake away, Eve contacted Central for Crime Scene, then turned back to the room. “Victim is hanging from a rope attached to the master bedroom chandelier,” she began for the recorder. “Visual identification is of Sloan, Randall. There’s no apparent sign of struggle.”

She sca

The bedside lamps were on, she noted, and a single wine glass with a bit of white left in it sat beside the one on the right. While Sloan was barefoot, there were slippers – leather from the look of them – under the body. He wore a tan sweater, brown pants. A chair was overturned. Behind him in a work area the minicomp was on. She could see its active light blinking.

She brought the front entrance back into her mind. No sign of break-in.

She nodded to Roarke as he came back with her kit. “Thanks.”

“Do you want me to contact Peabody?”

“Not yet. She’s got enough on her hands. Can you keep them under control down there? I don’t want them touching anything, talking to anyone.”

“All right.” He set somber eyes on Randall. “I suppose he knew you’d follow the trail that led to him.”

“Looks like that, doesn’t it?” she said as she sealed up.

Roarke shifted his gaze to her, lifted his brows. “But?”

“Doesn’t feel like it. He knows his son is coming today. Is this how he wants Jake to find him? He leaves his security off, door unlatched. Why not run instead?”

“Guilt?”

“He’s been dirty for a long time. Suddenly, he gets a conscience?”

“Fraud and murder are far apart on the scale.”

“Maybe, but he strikes me as a ru

She stepped inside, got to work.

She took the room first. Slick and stylish, like the man. Pricey clothes, pricey decor, high-end electronics. A man who liked his comforts, she thought, his conveniences, and his symbols of status.

Lifting the wineglass, she sniffed. Left a marker in its place before she sealed the contents, then the glass itself.

She tapped the comp unit with a gloved finger, and the screen engaged. She read the text written on it.

I’m sorry. So sorry. I can’t live this way. I see their faces, Natalie and Bick. It was only money, just money. It got out of hand. I must have lost my mind to pay to have them killed. I lost my mind, and now I’ve lost my soul. Forgive me, because I can’t forgive myself. I take this terrible act with me to Hell, for eternity.

She turned from the screen to the body. “Well, one thing on there’s pure truth: It got out of hand.”

She identified the body for the record by the fingerprints, then examined the hands, bagged them. Her gauge put time of death at twenty-fifteen, Friday evening.