Born In Death

“So you’ve got the key to his place?”

“Yeah, key and code. Something’s wrong, isn’t it? You want me to let you in? You’ve got to give me some idea. I wouldn’t feel right letting you in if I don’t know something’s up.”

“Something’s up.” Eve held up her badge again. “Mr. Byson’s fiancée was killed.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head slowly from side to side. “No. Come on. Not Nat.”

Her voice rose and cracked. In response, the baby unplugged its mouth and wailed.

“You knew her.” Eve took a subtle side step away from the baby.

“Sure. She was here a lot. They’re getting married in a few months.” The woman’s eyes filled as she shifted to hold her baby closer. “I liked her a lot. We’re all looking forward to being neighbors. Bick and Nat, me and my husband. We…I can’t believe it. What happened? What happened to Nat?”

“We need to talk to Mr. Byson.”

“God. God. Okay, okay.” Obviously shaken, she turned to call for the elevator. “It’s going to kill him. Ssh, Crissy, ssh.” She bounced and jiggled and patted the baby as they jammed into the elevator. “They were nuts about each other – but not sickening about it, if you get me. I liked her so much. Maybe there’s a mistake.”

“I’m sorry” was all Eve said. “Did she mention any problems? Anything, anyone bothering her?”

“No, not really. Some wedding jitters, just typical stuff. They were getting married up in Cleveland, where she’s from. Hunt and I were going – our first trip since Crissy came. Hunt’s my husband. Look, I’ll go get the key,” she added when the doors opened into a hallway. “That’s his place, there. We share the floor.”

“Just the two units up here?”

“Yeah. Nice space. Good light. Hunt and I bought our apartment when I got pregnant. It’s a nice neighborhood, and we’ve got three bedrooms.”

She unlocked her own door, tirelessly jiggling the baby who now had the slack-jawed, glaze-eyed look of a satisfied junkie. Holding the door open with one hip, she snatched a set of keys from a bowl on a table by the door.

“We didn’t get your name,” Eve told her.

“Oh, sorry. Gracie, Gracie York.” She turned the key in the lock, typed a code in on a minipad over it. “Maybe Bick had errands to run or something. I didn’t hear him go out before, so he must’ve left early. Crissy’s been fussy so I slept in a little this morning. She’s teething.” Gracie started to open the door, but Eve held up a hand to block her.

“Just a minute.” Eve knocked. “Mr. Byson,” she called out. “This is the police. Open the door, please.”

“I really don’t think he’s home,” Gracie began.

“Even so, we’ll wait a minute before going in.” Eve knocked again. “Mr. Byson, this is Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. We’re coming in.”

The minute she opened the door, Eve knew Byson was home, and that his neighbor’s earlier words had been right on the mark. Natalie Copperfield’s murder had killed him. Or, Eve was banking, her murderer certainly had.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” Gracie babbled the words so that they came out in a single high-pitched hysterical stream as she pressed her baby’s face to her shoulder and stumbled back from the doorway.

“Ms. York, go back inside your apartment,” Eve ordered. “Go back in, lock your door. Either my partner or I will be over in just a minute.”

“It’s Bick. Is it Bick? Right across the hall. We’re right across the hall.”

At a wordless signal from Eve, Peabody took the woman’s arm. “Take Crissy back home,” Peabody said gently. “Take her on in. Nothing’s going to happen to her. Just go inside and wait.”

“I don’t understand. He must be dead. Right across the hall.”

Peabody got the neighbor inside, turned back to Eve with a resigned look on her face. “I guess you want me to take her.”

“You’re damn right. Call it in first, Peabody, then go in, get a formal statement from the neighbor. I’ll get the field kits and start on the scene.”

3

ONCE SHE’D RETRIEVED THE KITS, EVE SEALED her hands, sprayed sealant on her boots. With her recorder engaged, she entered the crime scene.

Side window, she noted, facing the neighboring building, and with a narrow balcony. “South-facing window is open,” she said for the record, and moved around the outer edge of the room for a closer look. “Appears to have been forced open from the outside. Emergency evac here, probably used to gain access. Possibly exited by the same route.”

Safer that way, Eve thought. No chance of the next-door neighbors catching you coming or going. She turned from where she believed the killer had entered. “The body’s face up, hands and feet bound with duct tape, as previous vic. Second vic is mix-race male, late-twenties, wearing only a pair of white boxers. Woke up, didn’t you, Bick, heard somebody out here. Gave him some trouble. Signs of struggle apparent. Overturned table, broken lamp. Not all of this blood’s going to be the victim’s, so there’s a break for our side. Victim’s face and body show bruises and lacerations.”

She worked her way in, then crouched by the body. “Some burn marks here, too, but these look like contact burns from a stu

Hunkered where she was, she sca

She took the prints for confirmation of ID, bagged his hands. “Time of death,” she said as she read her gauge, “two forty-five A.M. Came here after doing Copperfield.” She bent closer. “Traces of adhesive around the mouth, as per previous victim. Why yank it off? Needed you to tell him something? Wanted to hear you choke as he strangled you? Maybe some of both.”

She straightened to move from the body into the room off the living area. Bachelor’s bunking area, she deduced. Probably not the master, but where he was sleeping during the rehab. Mattress on a pallet, and the mate of the broken lamp on one of the two tables by the bed. Clothes strewn around, but in a way that said messy guy rather than search.

“Woke up. Grabbed one of the lamps for a weapon. The woman, she grabs for her ’link and tries to run, but the guy’s got a different instinct. Protect the cave. Goes out, tangles with the killer. Surprises him maybe. Fight. Bruising on vic’s knuckles indicate he got a couple hits in anyway. Full-contact stun, and he goes down.”

She walked back out, studied the positioning again. “Killer tapes hands and feet, gags him. Doesn’t kill him straight away, then. Why gag him if he’s stu

She did a quick preliminary walk-through. The loft had three bedrooms, as the neighbor said hers did. The largest of them was empty but for more building supplies. The last was set up as an office. But there was no comp unit. She could see where there’d been one, probably covered with a protective cloth when construction was on the slate. There was a coat of dust on the folding table standing as a desk, and a clear spot on it where a computer would have stood.

She was back in the living area studying the open window when Peabody came in.

“Neighbor’s shook, but she’s solid. I let her contact her husband, ask him to come home from work. He left, by the way, about seven this morning. Wit says her husband and the vic here sometimes hit the health club together before work. They obviously didn’t hook up this morning.”

“His TOD’s about an hour after Copperfield’s. Same MO. No comp on premises, no discs.”

“They had something on someone,” Peabody concluded. “Work-related probably. Knew something, heard something, worked on something. That how he got in?” she asked, lifting her chin toward the window.