Kindred In Death

“I-”

“Go on, go on. You could use some meat on your bones.”

“Thank you. Mrs. Mimoto, I’d like to go over with you what we need you to do, and say, where officers will be posted. Your safety is the first priority.”

“You sit right down here. I’ll get us some coffee, and we’ll talk.”

Eve ate the muffin-truly exceptional-drank the coffee-not half bad, considering how spoiled she was-and carefully went over every step of the plan.

With the talk of leaky toilets and baked goods, Eve had concerns the woman didn’t fully understand the risk, the seriousness. The tabletop discussion served the dual purpose of fully informing her bait, and relieving Eve’s mind.

The woman asked the right questions, gave the right answers. However homey she appeared in her shiny kitchen with its display board crammed with children’s drawings, she owned a shrewd mind and a steel spine.

“Do you have any other questions? Is there anything you’re uncomfortable with or uneasy about?”

“You need to stop worrying.” Charity patted Eve’s hand. “You’re a worrier like my Serenity. I can see it. Worrying gives you tension headaches and bad digestion.”

“Mrs. Mimoto, I have to ask you. Aren’t you afraid?”

“Why should I be afraid when I’ve got the police all through the house?” Those soothing and exotic eyes peered out of the old face. “Are you going to let him hurt me?”

“No, ma’am, I promise you he won’t hurt you. But we are asking you to open your door to a murderer. And I also have to tell you, again, we could take him outside. We have enough for an arrest.”

“But it’s going to help slam-dunk your case down the road if you take him inside, and after he tries to drug me. I’ve got a judge for a daughter, and plenty of lawyers in the family. Cops, too. I know what’s what.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what I want, honey? I want you to take that little fucker down, and take him hard, and I want a piece of it.”

Eve’s lips twitched at the sound of the expletive in the pretty suburban kitchen.

“That’s what we’ll do.”

“Good. How about another muffin?”

“No, really.” Eve pushed back from the table just as MacMasters came in.

“Sorry to interrupt. Mrs. Mimoto, your husband wondered if you could give him a hand with something when you had a minute.”

“Can’t find his lucky socks.” She shook her head as she got to her feet. “Seventy years, and he can never put his hand on them. You help yourself to that coffee.” As she walked by MacMasters, she patted a hand on his arm. “We’ll get him today, and your girl can rest easy.”

MacMasters’s face tightened as he stared at the floor.

“That’s part of it,” Eve said as she crossed to him. “It’s what we do. The best we can do. I need to ask you something, Jonah, and I need to hear the truth. Is getting him going to be enough?”

MacMasters brought his gaze back to Eve’s. “You need to know if you can trust me.”

“I need to know if I can trust you. I’m not in your position, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the conflict.”

“I’ve thought about killing him, how easy it would be. You know I’ve thought of it.”

“If you said you hadn’t I wouldn’t believe you.” She couldn’t read his face, his eyes. He was too good a cop to show what was in his mind. “I like to think you’d have weighed the satisfaction of it against the consequences. Leaving your wife alone when she needs you most. There are plenty of other consequences, but they’re not going to weigh real heavy for you right now.”

“I want to kill him. I want him to suffer. I wish I could say the badge, what it stands for, what it is to me would stop me from killing him. I wish I could say knowing you’d take me down for it, and I’d leave Carol alone would stop me.”

“What will?”

“I want him to suffer. I think I’ll wake up every morning of my life, and my first thought will be my girl’s gone.” He took a breath, slow in, slow out. “I want to wake up every morning for the rest of my life with the second thought of knowing he’s still paying for it. Every day, every hour for the rest of my life I’ll know that. So will my wife. I need to be here when that suffering begins. You can trust me. And if that’s not enough-”

He reached for the weapon on his hip, offered it.

“You gave me the answer,” she told him.

Nodding, he holstered his weapon.

Eve went upstairs as the Mimoto men loaded up a pair of ATs for their camping trip. She, along with Feeney, watched the outside activity from the EDD setup in Deke Mimoto’s den. Photographs and sports paraphernalia crowded the room. An enormous recliner faced an entertainment screen flanked by shelves jammed with more photographs and countless trophies.

“The old man played baseball back in high school, through college and into Double A. Got picked up by the Yankees, played a season-hit three-fifty-two.”

Intrigued, Eve gave the memorabilia a closer study. “What position?”

“Catcher. Then he bunged up his knee, and that was that. Went into teaching, and coached high school ball. Moved up to principal, then to county administrator, some politicking. Worked construction most summers. Hell of a guy,” Feeney added with obvious admiration. “He was up here quizzing me on the equipment. Hope I’m half as sharp at his age.”

She turned from the shelves. “Am I doing the right thing, Feeney? Letting MacMasters in on this?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Does it feel like the right thing?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

“Then you’ve got to go with it.”

Moving back to the screen, Eve watched the Mimotos. Charity stood, hands on her hips, giving orders while her men loaded. Just another morning, from the looks of it, Eve thought. Another summer morning in the suburbs. Family calling out to one another, laughing, ribbing each other.

She watched Mr. Mimoto give his wife an enthusiastic hug, saw his lips move as he whispered in her ear.

“Is he worried?”

Feeney shook his head. “You’d think he would be. I asked, thinking I’d give him the pep talk. But he said his Charry can handle herself. He was proud of it. I have to say, I’m half inclined to think she’d take this bastard down without us.”

“Maybe so.” Eve laid a hand on Feeney’s shoulder. “But let’s do it for her. There they go,” she mumbled, as the last of the men piled in an AT.

Charity stood, blithely waving good-bye. Then turned, strolled back toward the house, pausing to stoop and pull a few weeds out of a flower bed on the way.

In moments, Eve heard the sound of piano music drifting up the stairs.

“Nice,” Feeney commented after a few bars. “Nice to hear a classic, and hear it played with some style.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Eve stepped to the privacy-screened window to scan the street from another viewpoint. “What is it, Beethoven or something?”

“Kid.” Feeney let out a windy sigh. “I don’t know where I went wrong with you. You got no culture. That’s Springsteen. That’s The Boss.”

“Boss of who?”

Feeney shook his head in disgust. “Hopeless. Get out of here and send Jamie in. We’re on the clock now. And besides, he can be educated about classic music.”

“Fine. Check the eyes and ears one more time,” she told him as she walked out. “Let’s make sure they’re a go everywhere we need them.”

She did another walk-through of the house, checking on the position of her men, ru

She joined Peabody in what Charity called her sitting room just off the living area.

“The music’s nice,” Peabody commented.

“Yeah, so I’m told. He’ll tag her first, on her pocket ’link, so she’ll be ready for him, quick to open the door. And it’s a way of making sure she’s alone, that the house is empty. It’s the same pattern as Deena. Good neighborhood, most of the residents at work. She’s set out something to drink, to eat. That’s her habit, her way. He knows it.”