It took the cooperative doorman under two minutes to contact the doctors’ apartment, relay the information, and clear them up.
“Apartment 1800,” he told them as he escorted them to an elevator. “They’re expecting you.”
Since he was being so damned helpful, Eve sized him up. “Lake and O’Connor. Impressions.”
Probably weighing duties and ethics, he scratched the back of his neck. “Well, they’ve had 1800 for about ten years now. I’ve been here twelve myself. Doctors’ hours, so a lot of late nights, early mornings. Most always have a word, though. Got two grown kids, a couple of grandkids—visit pretty regular. Never had any trouble with any of them. In fact, a few years back when my boy took a header off his airboard and was in the hospital a couple days, they both went by to see him. That says something to me.”
“Okay. Were you on when they got in last night?”
“I came on at six. We have Droid Denise on from midnight to six. She’s in the storeroom if you want me to activate her. Or I could tag up Pete at home. He had the evening shift.”
“We’ll hold on that. Thanks.”
They rode up to eighteen in the smooth, blissfully silent elevator.
“It looks like Roarke,” Peabody commented. “The building. Old-world class with modern efficiency. And it does say something when people take time to look in on their doorman’s kid.”
“Maybe. We’ll see what they have to say for themselves.”
The eighteenth floor was as silent as the elevator. There the air carried the faintest drift of something herby—maybe rosemary.
Apartment 1800 had the west corner. The double doors opened almost as Eve rang the bell.
The woman who greeted them was round—body, face, even the ball of pale blond hair on top of her head. She wore bright blue pants and a boldly printed top under a starched white apron. “Lieutenant, Detective, come right in. My husband’s on the job. Sergeant Tom Clattery out of the one-one-three. Twenty-two years. And wait till I tell him who came to the door early this morning. Have a seat.”
The housekeeper chattered away as she led them into a living space made cozy by a long, narrow electric fire built into the far wall. “Would you have some coffee? There’s fresh as the doctors are just finishing up their breakfast. Never knew a badge to say no to coffee.”
“We wouldn’t want to break the record,” Peabody said just as cheerfully. “Black for the lieutenant, coffee regular for me.”
“Two shakes. Now sit down and be comfortable. The doctors will be right with you.”
She walked off, a ball of cheer on sturdy black shoes.
“Kind of homey,” Peabody commented. “A couple of doctors in a big apartment in a swank Upper East building, but it’s homey. Somebody needlepoints,” she added, tapping one of the mountain range of pillows scattered over sofas and chairs. “And really well, too.”
Eve could admit a sofa where your ass snuggled right in hit the homey mark. In addition, framed photos—kids various ages, vacation shots, holiday poses—fit into that. But she’d developed enough of an eye to recognize important art on the walls and the elegant gleam of a few antiques perfectly placed.
So homey, sure, she thought, with a foundation of comfortable wealth.
The doctors came in together. She was tall and lean, her hair clipped short and dark around a sharply defined face with deep-set eyes more gray than green. A flawless complexion just a shade richer than Peabody’s beloved coffee regular. She wore her age—sixty-three according to her official data—as stylishly as the trim suit of steel blue.
He was taller, leaner yet, with thick black brows over keen blue eyes. He’d allowed his dark hair to streak silver at the temples. Sprinkles of that silver dashed through his narrow goatee. His smoke-gray suit complemented hers.
In fact, Eve thought their looks and body language spoke of unity.
Lake touched a hand to her husband’s arm before she stepped forward.
“Lieutenant, Detective. Alice recognized your names. You’re homicide. It’s not about our children.”
Before Eve could speak, could reassure, O’Connor spoke up. “We contacted them as soon as Greg called up. We know they’re all fine. Who isn’t?”
“Anthony Strazza.”
Lake let out a stream of air as she sat. “We just saw him last night. A dinner party at his home. Which you know, of course.” She drew in more air, let it out again. “We were there until about eleven. Johnny?”
“Yes, about eleven.” Now he sat beside her. “We were the first to leave, actually. I have rounds this morning, and Lucy has an early meeting.”
“Should I reschedule that?”
“This shouldn’t take long,” Eve told her.
“I—” She broke off when Alice wheeled in a coffee cart. “Alice, would you contact my office? Have Karl push my morning meeting an hour.”
“I’ll do just that, don’t you worry. Now there’s good black coffee for you, Lieutenant. And I’ll have yours here, Detective. You’ll have your second cup,” she said to both doctors, pouring and serving. “I’ll be right back in the kitchen if you need me for anything. Don’t you worry,” she repeated, and left them.
“If something happened after we left”—Lake looked at her husband—“someone would have contacted us. If something happened to Anthony during the dinner party.”
“He was killed after the party.”
“I don’t understand how— Oh God, Daphne. His wife.” With a hand pressed to her heart, Lake came halfway out of her chair. “Was she killed, too?”
“She’s in the hospital,” Eve told Lake. “Your hospital.”
“Her condition?” O’Connor demanded, even as he pulled his ’link from his pocket.
“Just hold off on contacting the hospital. I’ve just checked on her. She’s in stable condition, mildly sedated.”
“Her attending?”
“Dr. Delroy Nobel.”
The tension in O’Connor’s face eased, and his wife rubbed a hand on his thigh. “Then she’s under excellent care,” Lake said. “Can you tell us her injuries? There’s nothing we can do for Anthony,” she added.
“You’ll have to get the medical details from Nobel, but I can tell you Mrs. Strazza was physically and sexually assaulted.”
“Raped.” Lake’s eyes stayed level, but something in them hardened.
They’d get the details, Eve thought, so she laid it out. “Shortly after two this morning, Mrs. Strazza was found near her home, wandering outside, naked, in shock. She’d suffered numerous contusions and lacerations and was hypothermic. Dr. Nobel stabilized her. I interviewed her. Her memory is spotty, but she stated there was someone in the master bedroom when she and her husband entered after the last guest left. Dr. Strazza was restrained, Mrs. Strazza was repeatedly raped and assaulted.”
“She saw who did this?” O’Connor covered his wife’s hand with his.
“She was unable to describe or identify the assailant, and was too distraught to press on it at that time. During the assault, Dr. Strazza was killed. Mrs. Strazza suffered a blow to the head. I need to ask—to eliminate—can you verify the time you returned home and verify your whereabouts from eleven-thirty to two this morning?”
“We left about eleven, as we said.” O’Connor rubbed his temple. “We’d have been home before eleven-thirty. I think it was about ten or fifteen after eleven, actually. We’re practically neighbors. The security feed would verify it, and would verify we didn’t leave the house once we got in.”
“Is it all right if I check the feed?” Peabody asked. “Just to cross it off.”
“Yes, yes. Alice can show you.” Lake gestured. “A home invasion?” she continued as Peabody left. “Their home seems very secure.”
“We’re investigating. What was your relationship with Anthony Strazza?”
“We were colleagues. I’m his chief.”
“And you socialized?”
“Yes. That’s part of being chief. Anthony was a brilliant surgeon. Orthopedic surgeon. His talents will be sorely missed.”
“Just his talents?”
“I had no issue with Anthony.” She spoke carefully, politically. “I respected his skills. We weren’t friends, but colleagues.”
“He was a difficult man. Lucy,” O’Connor said when she shot him a sharp look. “It’s no secret. Surgeons are often difficult.” He gave his wife’s hand a squeeze as he spoke. “He was well respected, admired for his skill. He was not particularly well liked.”
“Anybody particularly dislike him?”
“Enough to kill him?” Lake shook her head. “I could see a dozen who might get into an altercation, might take a swing in the heat of the moment. But to invade his home, to kill him? To attack his wife? No.”
She leaned back on the couch, shook her head again. “No. And people tend to like Daphne. It would be easy to disdain her. The young, beautiful trophy wife, marrying status and money. But she simply didn’t fit that slot. There’s a shy sweetness about her, and a kindness. She doesn’t flaunt and strut and demand. Initially she volunteered at the hospital once a week in the pediatric unit. But after a few months, Anthony said it was too stressful for her.”
“Was it?”
“I couldn’t say. I do know she won over a lot of skeptics during that time. She has a quiet way, remembers everyone’s name—their children’s names. She hosts lovely parties, and faithfully attends all the often-tedious events required of a doctor’s spouse. We don’t know her very well—again, we’re not friends—but I like her.”
“As do I,” O’Connor confirmed. “A sweet girl. And, I think, browbeaten.”
“John.”
“Lucy,” he returned, in the same exasperated tone. “You asked if anyone disliked him particularly. I did. Very much disliked him. He was cold, arrogant, egotistical. Some would say a perfectionist, a fine trait in a surgeon. I’d say overbearingly demanding of perfection. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, there is. I appreciate your candor. Did he have any altercations with colleagues, staff, patients?”
“Altercations, yes. Incidents, no,” Lake said firmly. “We work in stress, in life and death, every day. Altercations happen. I’ve fielded complaints, formal and informal, regarding Anthony’s behavior, his treatment of other doctors, interns, nurses, orderlies. I’ve done the same for any number of doctors on staff.”
Eve changed tack. “You say most like Mrs. Strazza. Could anyone you know have misconstrued her kindness, wanted more from her?”
“An affair?” Lake’s eyebrows winged up. “Absolutely not. Believe me, that’s the sort of thing that runs through the hospital grapevine like wine. I’d have heard.”
“Let’s go back to the party. Was there any trouble? Any arguments? Any sort of tension?”
“No. It was a lovely evening.”
“Do you know who catered it?”
“Mmm.” Lake frowned. “I imagine Jacko’s. I asked Daphne last year who she used, as the company I’d used for years changed management—and wasn’t working out well. It was Jacko’s, and I recognized a couple of the servers, as we’ve used Jacko’s a few times since.”
Peabody came back. Eve caught the signal, wrapped it up. “We appreciate the time,” she said as she got to her feet. “If you think of anything else, please contact me.”
Lake rose. “Please let me know how—when—we can make arrangements for Anthony. Daphne may need help in that area. We weren’t friends, but I was his chief.”
“Understood, but his parents are coming in, so—”
“His parents.” Lake’s brows drew together. “I was under the impression they’d cut him off, wanted nothing to do with him.”
“That wasn’t the impression I got when I notified them. Where did you get yours?”
“I— Anthony said as much to me. That when he refused to kowtow to their every wish and whim, they stopped speaking to him.”
Interesting, Eve thought. “What about his ex-wife?”
“I didn’t know her very well. She was distant, and I’d say on the brittle side. She— He said she’d tried to clean out their accounts, and had had one too many affairs. She ran off to Europe, I think.
“I can’t verify any of that,” Lake said quickly. “I don’t interfere with the personal lives of my people unless it overlaps the work. But Anthony was up-front about the divorce, took a month’s leave to sort things out. I don’t see how that could apply.”
“Information’s information. Thanks again.”
Peabody waited until they were back in the car. “They got home at eleven-thirteen. Locks engaged. No activity until Alice arrived at seven sharp. She adores them, by the way. I prodded some. She’s family—that’s how they think of each other. She’s been with them nearly thirty years. Her impressions of Strazza aren’t as warm and fuzzy. Can’t say she knows him, but he’s been around for parties and such. Likes people to stay in their place—or his idea of their place, according to Alice. No chitchat with staff. You don’t suspect them.”
“I don’t see O’Connor sneaking out of his house, sneaking back into theirs, laying into the wife—you can see he’s soft on her. Like paternally. Can’t see him killing Strazza and walking around taking goodies. But they gave me a picture. We’re swinging by the hospital first. I guarantee the two doctors won’t be far behind us.”
“What’s the picture?”
“Strazza was an asshole, disliked if respected. And very likely a big, fat liar. Claimed his parents cut him off, which I don’t buy. And his ex-wife had one too many affairs. A guy like Strazza? It would only take one. We’re going to want to talk to the ex, and the parents. Get some finer details on the picture.”
“I hate when the vic’s an asshole.”
“Happens.”
“Yeah, happens. And it widens the suspect pool.”
“It can. Caterer was likely Jacko’s. Check on that, and get us a list of who worked the party.”
“Can do.” Peabody pulled out her ’link as Eve drove to the hospital.
Two cups of coffee helped, but Eve wondered if she could just get a shot of straight caffeine. It was a hospital, after all. She hated shots, but she’d suffer through it for a good, strong jolt.
She badged her way to the ER desk, and after some dithering got the section and floor where Daphne Strazza had been relocated. Worked her way there, to that desk, badged again.
Yeah, she’d take the shot.
“I have to contact Dr. Nobel,” the nurse told her.
“Fine by me, but we’re going to her room now. Which way, or I’ll just swagger around with my badge and weapon until I find the uniform on her door.”
“Down this corridor and to the right. She’s in 523.”
“Got it.”
“I’m not sure I can pull off a swagger,” Peabody commented as they started down.
“Not in those sissy boots.”
“They’re not sissy boots.”
“They’re pink and have fluff. That’s the definition of sissy.”
She spotted the uniform in a chair outside 523, playing on his PPC. He heard her non-sissy boots on the tile and rose, sliding the PPC into his pocket as he came to attention.
“Lieutenant. No one but medical staff in or out. The nurse checked her about ten minutes ago. She’s awake.”
“Good. Stand by, Officer. We’ll order in your relief.”
Eve and Peabody walked in.
Daphne lay in the bed, her upper body slightly elevated. Her color looked nearly normal, and medical treatment had eased a lot of the bruising and swelling on her face. She stared blankly out the window until Eve moved into her field of vision.
Daphne blinked. “I … know you.”
“I’m Lieutenant Dallas. I brought you in.”
“Yes. With the man. He has blue eyes. I remember his blue eyes.”
“Hard to forget. This is my partner, Detective Peabody.”
“Oh.” Daphne shifted her gaze. “Hello.”
“Mrs. Strazza.” Eve pulled her attention back. “I regret to inform you, your husband was killed early this morning.”
Daphne continued to stare. “Killed? But he’s very important.”
“His body was found in the bedroom where you were attacked.”
Daphne lay still, but her breathing quickened. The monitor beeped faster. “But…” She turned her head, eyes still wide but dry, staring toward the window. “I wasn’t dead. I thought … My husband is dead.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Strazza,” Peabody said.
“My husband’s dead. Something terrible happened. Do you know what happened?”
“Do you?”
Daphne closed her eyes. Her hands lay still on the white sheets, as if she were asleep. “It’s like looking through a curtain. In some places it’s thin, and I can see. In others it’s thick, and I can’t. I feel as if I could float away, just float away.” She opened her eyes again. “Am I floating?”
“It’s the meds.”
“It feels good to float. It feels free. I can’t see my husband. Not through the curtain, not when I float. I can’t see what happened to him. Maybe he’s not dead. He’s very important. He’s very strong. He’s a very skilled surgeon. He’s—”
“I’m sorry,” Eve interrupted. “I identified his body.”
“His body,” Daphne whispered.
“What do you see? What do you remember?”
“The devil. But it’s not the devil. It’s a man. How can the devil be a man? I think a man can be a devil.”
“What does the devil look like?”
“His face is red, burning red, and there are little horns here.” She touched the top of her forehead. “He has a terrible smile. I think his eyes are red, but then I think they’re yellow. The lights are flashing, red and yellow. Someone’s screaming. Someone’s laughing. Anthony? No, my husband’s not laughing. He’s not screaming. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can.” Eve laid a hand on Daphne’s shoulder as the woman jerked up gasping. “You can breathe. No one’s hurting you now.”
“But it hurts. It hurts.” The tears came now, spilling out of those wide eyes. “You can’t go away because he brings you back. I had sex with the devil, and it burns, it tears. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.”
“He can’t touch you now.” Eve slapped down the bed guard, sat on the side of the bed. “He can’t get to you now.”
“He’ll find me.” Daphne gripped Eve’s arm, used it as a lever to sit up, then still holding tight, looked wildly around the room. “He can find me. He can find me anywhere.”
“No, he can’t. He won’t.”
“He chose me. Devil’s whore. It hurts when he makes me his whore. It burns. It glows red and it burns.” She gripped Eve’s hands hard, spoke in a whisper. “If you beg, if you fight, he’ll make it hurt more.”
“You’re safe here.”
Daphne collapsed back, shut her eyes as tears ran down her cheeks. “Nowhere is safe.”
Del rushed in. “Hey. Back off,” he snapped at Eve, then laid a gentle hand on Daphne’s wet cheek. “It’s okay now. It’s all good. Remember me?”
She opened her eyes, stared at him. “You’re the doctor. You’re noble.”
“That’s my name. I want to take a look at you, okay? See how you’re doing.” He glanced back as a female nurse stepped in. “And this is Rhoda. She’s going to help me with the exam.”
“Do you have to touch me?”
“We’ll be careful. I promise.”
Rhoda stepped up, smiled. “Dr. Nobel’s a sweetheart.”
“Aw,” he said.
“He’s been looking out for you. He’s going to keep looking out for you.”
“If the devil comes—”
“The police won’t let the devil in here. Neither will Dr. Nobel.”
Del glanced over his shoulder at Eve. “Give us a minute.”
In the corridor, Eve paced. “Get that fresh uniform in here.”
“She’s on her way. I thought, under the circumstances, a female officer.”
“Yeah, yeah, good. She’s not faking.”
“No, she’s not. Hallucinogenic?”
“We’ll see what Nobel says. They ran a tox screen. Maybe he wore a mask, or makeup. Made himself look like a devil. See if you can find assaults, murders, rapes, break-ins where the perp disguised himself as a devil.”
“I’ll get on it. But the eyes—red or yellow?”
“Could’ve dyed them. Could’ve brought his own light show—red and yellow flashing lights—to add to the trauma and confusion. Or she’s fucked-up over it all and just sees it that way.”
“Yeah. And the glowing red penis—you can get condoms in all sorts of glowing or sparkling or—”
“I know about condoms, Peabody. Maybe she saw his hands. If he wasn’t gloved up she might be able to tell us race. We need to—”
She stopped when Nobel stepped out.
“I can’t have you pressuring her that way. She’s weak and fragile right now.”
“I wasn’t pressuring her. It’s not my first round with a rape victim. I had to notify her. Anthony Strazza was killed.”
“Killed?” Del took one short step back. “He’s dead?”
“That’s what happens when you’re killed.”
“Jesus.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Del closed his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”
“She remembers bits and pieces, and what she remembers goes back to that devil business. Tox?”
“Clean.” After hissing out a breath, Del opened his eyes. “No illegals, no drugs whatsoever. No DNA from the assailant. He sealed up there, fucker.” On a second hissing breath, Del pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not my first round, either, but she hit a chord. God, Strazza. Look, I need coffee. Break room’s down here.”
He turned, started walking.
“Have you been on all night?”
Del shrugged. “I hit the bunk for a couple hours. She knows me, or remembers me enough, trusts me as far as she can. So I need to be around until she’s steadier.”
He swiped them into a room not very different from the break room off her own bullpen. It smelled not very different. Bad coffee and fatigue.
“Want?”
Eve studied the dilapidated AutoChef. “Absolutely not.”
On a half laugh, he glanced at Peabody, got a firm shake of the head. “Just me then. Here’s the deal, and forgive all the medical jargon. She got the crap beat out of her, the crap raped out of her, got choked, cut, terrorized, and bashed in the head. Her brain’s pretty scrambled.”
“I think I can pick through the complexities of your medical jargon.”
“Good.” He gulped coffee, said, “Praise Jesus,” gulped again. “Add the hypothermia. Her memory of the events that happened in that house are bound to be confused, and some pieces missing. Some pieces may stay missing. It’s not only the physical trauma—the blow to the head, the hypothermia—it’s emotional shielding. And now that I know her husband was probably killed in front of her, I suspect that shield’s thick and sturdy at this point. Her brain blocks out what she can’t handle.”
“I’m aware,” Eve said evenly. “I don’t need lectures on trauma. I’ve been a cop longer than you’ve been a doctor.”
He studied her over the rim of the ugly gray mug. “I don’t know. I made my debut playing doctor with Cassie Rowling. We were six.”
“That’s not vocation. That’s being a perv.”
“A six-year-old can’t be a perv.”
“The seeds are there.”
He laughed again. “I like you. I didn’t get to see the vid or read the book. I used to see vids and read books,” he said wistfully. “But I looked you up. You’d be Peabody?”
“Yeah, nice to meet you.”
“I’d like you just from this conversation. I’d like you for getting a woman in distress to the hospital. But I really like both of you after looking you up. I know Daphne’s in good hands with you guys. But she’s in my hands first. Has to be. To add more complicated medical jargon: She’s a fucking wreck. We’re going to help her, and she’ll get stronger and steadier. I’m just asking you not to push from your end.”
“How much stronger and steadier will she be when she knows the bastard who did this to her, who killed her husband, is in a cage?”
“You make a good point. Let’s try this. We’ll both do what we do. I’ll try to cut you some slack. You cut Daphne some slack.”
“I can agree to that. We’re keeping a cop on her door. She should know that. It may help her.”
“Officer Marilynn Wash,” Peabody said with a glance at her ’link. “Just checked in. She’ll be on for eight, then her relief—already in line—is Karen Lorenzo, followed in another eight-hour shift by Zoey Russe.”
“All girl cops. Good touch.” Del glanced at his wrist unit, dumped more coffee into his mug. “I had to give Daphne something to soothe her out. She has a hard time with the exams. Give her a few hours, okay? She’s not going to remember anything else right now. And I need to ease her into talking to a rape counselor. Add on a grief counselor now.”
“I have one on tap who can serve as both.”
“I don’t want some—”
“Dr. Mira.”
The defensive look on his face eased away. “Dr. Charlotte Mira?”
“That’s right. Objections?”
“Not only none, but I’d be grateful for her.”
“She’ll contact you. Set it up. If any of those missing pieces shake loose, I want them asap.”
“You’ll have them. I’ll feel a lot better myself when the bastard who did this is in a cage.”
With a nod, Eve left him contemplating another mug of terrible coffee.
“Get me a meet with Mira,” she told Peabody as they walked. “And see who in the bullpen can handle some interviews. Odds of it being a party guest are pretty slim at this point, but they have to be covered. We’ll take the caterer.”
“On it. Hey, wait, wait. I got a sort of something on the like crimes.” Hustling to keep up, Peabody studied her screen. “We got a pair of assaults, rapes, beatings. In-home deal, same as this. First one last summer, and the vics said he looked like Dracula. Second this November. Described assailant as a ghoul.”
“Mask or makeup?”
“Unsure, both cases. And in both cases he restrained the male, beat him with fists and a sap, beat and choked the female, raped her. He put on sound effects. Howling wolves in the first, screams and rattling chains in the second. Added lights in the second. A strobe light.”
Peabody glanced up quickly as they moved into the elevator. “Had a knife in the second attack, cut both vics a little, threatened to slit their throats if the male didn’t give him the combo of the safe, and the female didn’t shout he was the best. That she wanted more. He left all vics alive, releasing them—evidence indicates—he took the contents of the safe, a few other items, and raped her a final time.”
“Who’s on it?”
“Detectives Olsen and Tredway, Special Vics Unit.”
“Reach out. We need everything they have.”