Rokov normally would have showered at the station and kept pushing, but it was his night to check on his grandmother. Alexa, his sister, would be in Texas another few days. He’d called his grandmother several times earlier in the evening, she’d assured him she was just fine, but he needed to get by the house and touch base with her.
So instead of going to his own apartment, he drove to his grandmother’s house. She’d left the back porch light on for him as well as the light above the kitchen sink. A plate of sugar cookies sat on the counter by the stove. Snagging a couple of cookies, he ate them as he moved toward the spare room. He tugged off his shirt and collapsed back against the pillows.
He awoke at seven to the sound of his cell phone alarm. Pushing up on his elbow, he dug fingers through his short dark hair.
He showered, changed into khakis and a fresh shirt, and wandered into the kitchen. He was surveying the contents of the refrigerator when his grandmother appeared.
Irina Rokov had a petite slightly bowed frame, thick graying hair, and a wrinkled face. She had been born in Tver, a city a few hours north of Moscow. She’d lost family members in Stalin’s labor camps and seen all her brothers die on the eastern front during World War II. She’d been pregnant with her only son when her husband had gotten drunk and fallen in front of a train. She’d birthed her son days later and soon after took up needle and thread to earn a living for both. When her son had grown and married, he’d taken his mother and his very pregnant wife to the United States. Unlike many of her generation who’d emigrated, Irina had learned English and also how to drive a car.
“You came in very late last night,” she said.
“I’m on a case.”
Instead of telling him he worked too hard, she nodded. “You must eat.”
“I’ll grab a sandwich.”
“Sit at the table. I will make you a decent meal.”
His head throbbed from lack of sleep so he grabbed a cold soda from the refrigerator, popped the top, and sat down. He took a long liberal pull, closing his eyes as he drank. He finished off the can, and before he could rise to get another, his grandmother set a new one in front of him.
“This case is bad,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I saw the news. A woman murdered.”
“Yes.” She’d not ask for details of the case and he’d not give her any. But just knowing she paid attention to his work lifted his spirits.
She took a thick dark loaf of rye and cut off two even slices with a long serrated knife. With bent fingers that had clutched a needle and thread too many times, she smoothed thick mustard on the bread and then covered it with slices of roast beef she’d no doubt made for a dinner he’d missed. She cut the sandwich into neat even pieces and then set it in front of him.
He bit into the sandwich and smiled at her. She nodded back.
As he ate, she made a second sandwich and wrapped it in waxed paper. Next, she set her kettle on the stove and filled a tea ball with loose black tea. When the water boiled, she poured it into a pot and let the tea brew.
“The woman that died,” he said. “Had a business. She used a computer to read horoscopes and tarot cards.”
His grandmother sat at the table and looked at him. “If she needed a computer, then she was not for real. A seer needs no computer or cards for that matter. They just see.”
As many whispers as he’d heard about his grandmother’s insights, he’d never really asked her about them. As a kid, he’d loved her but her sternness had kept him and his brothers and sisters at arm’s length. Now that he was older and had seen horrors on the job, he understood that her losses had taught her to guard her heart, even from her son and grandchildren.
Now as a grown man and a cop, he recognized that he was much like her. Closed. Guarded. He did not invite people into his circle easily, and when they betrayed his trust, he was slow to believe again.
“Is that the way it works with you?” he said. “Do you just see things that will be?”
She shrugged a stooped shoulder. “I just see.”
“And what have you seen lately?”
“Not too much. But I am old and my energy is not what it used to be. When I was young, I saw too much.”
He wasn’t sure if she referred to her psychic talents or life in Russia.
“So did you see that woman?” she said.
“What woman?”
“The redhead. The one you watched on television the other night.”
“How did you know?”
She looked almost bored. “You wore your good suit to court.”
Damn, what was it about the suit? “I like to look professional in court.”
“You do not always wear the best suit for court. You wore the best Monday.”
He chuckled. “You don’t miss much.”
“She likes you.”
His smile eased. “How can you be so sure?”
“She would be a fool not to.”
“You are thinking like a grandmother.”
“Maybe. I think that she enjoys being with you. And I think she is not the type to say when she likes a man.”
“How do you know that?”
Her eyes danced with the unexpected light of amusement. “Don’t wear that shirt today. I like the blue shirt better. It sets off your eyes.”
“It’s in the laundry.”
“It is clean. You left it here last week.” She pushed off from the table and rose. “Now your tea is ready, and I must get back to bed. Take that sandwich with you. You will be hungry.”
“Thanks.”
She raised a finger. “And don’t forget we have a family dinner next Thursday.”
“I won’t forget.”
“Bring your partner. I have something to tell her.”
“Sinclair? What do you have to say to her?”
“It’s for me to say to her.” And his grandmother walked down the hallway, her thick blue housecoat billowing around her thin legs.
Rokov rose and poured himself a cup of tea. The brew carried a much-needed kick of caffeine, guaranteed to get him through the rest of the morning. He and Sinclair would be going nonstop until they had a break in this case.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, then slowly rose. He found his pressed blue shirt, changed into it, and then hooked his cell, badge, and gun to his belt. By seven thirty he was refreshed enough so that he could think clearly. He checked his watch. Time to find out what the computer forensics team had discovered for him.
“It didn’t take a great deal of digging,” Audrey Sanders said as she glanced up from Diane Young’s laptop. Audrey had short black hair cut in an odd asymmetrical way, wore dark rimmed glasses, and a pink turtleneck over worn jeans. She was in her late twenties and had a hummingbird tattoo on her ankle, which showed in warmer weather when she traded jeans and high tops for sandals and capris.
Rokov and Sinclair moved into her office. Every bit of flat surface in her area of the forensics department was covered with some kind of CPU, laptop, keyboard, or jumble of wires.
Sinclair, freshly showered, had changed into a chocolate brown turtleneck, slacks, and flats and had tied back her hair. Her face had a rosy glow, no doubt a by-product of a slee
pless night and too much coffee.
Cops were accustomed to going nonstop when they had an active murder investigation.
“So what did you find?” Rokov said.
“Clearly security was not a priority for her. Her pass code was the only security measure she employed. Using her name and birth year was not smart or original. Even if I didn’t have the codes, I could have cracked it in a half hour. Anyway, client files, with names and addresses, were clearly marked, as were her income spread sheets.” She shook her head. “The lack of security is so naive.”
“She had several locks on her apartment door,” Sinclair said.
Audrey glared at Sinclair. “She made her living on the Net, which has doors just like apartments. For all intents and purposes, she might as well have propped open the screen door on her computer. The Net is the fucking Wild West and no one seems to care.” She raised her hand. “Sorry, pet peeve.”
Rokov grinned. “Duly noted.”
“Here is a printout of her clients. I’ve prioritized them in two ways. First alphabetically and then by frequency of use.”
Rokov scanned the list. There had to be over two hundred names on there. “What else can you tell me about her?”
“She had about twelve blogs she followed. All did the woo-woo psychic stuff like her. She had a thing for erotic book downloads. And she did most of her shopping, including her grocery shopping, online. She must have had a steady stream of delivery people coming to her door. And she was a bit of a gamer. Even entered a few tournaments.”
“You ever cross swords with her?” Rokov teased.
“If I did, she didn’t last long. I remain undefeated.”
Rokov understood that Audrey was a big deal in video realms, but that world was totally foreign to him. “Diane Young make any enemies that you could see via the games or e-mails?”
“None.”
“Well, she caught someone’s eye,” he said.
“And he lured her out of the apartment,” Sinclair said.
“We’ll start first with the clients and see if any had issues with her.”