Apprentice in Death (15 page)

“Zach? On Zach's computer?”

“Where he did his schoolwork, played his games. She marked him for death. How old is he?”

“He's seven. He's seven years old. She hates him.” Younger covered her face with her hands. Tears slid through her fingers. “She hates him. I can see it in her eyes. He's so sweet, so sweet and funny and easy, but she looks at him with hate behind her eyes.

“She grew inside me.” Lowering her hands, Younger pressed them to her belly as tears ran down her cheeks. “I didn't have so much as a sip of wine while she did. I ate so healthy, I did everything the doctor said to do. I took such good care, and when she was born, when I held her, I promised I would always take such good care. I loved her, so much. I fed her from my body, I bathed her, and sang to her. Mac, I knew he'd wanted a boy, but he was good with her—really good with her. He loved her, do you understand? He was a good father, and then . . . he wasn't such a good husband anymore. Closed off, cold, disinterested in anything I was interested in, other than Willow. He said we should have another child, try for a boy, and I wanted another child.”

“But not with him.”

“He resented my work, my time away from Willow. I took two years
as a professional mother, to give her that time, to take that time, but I wanted my work, too. Still, I took another six months, and another six working only part-time. You're cops. You don't know what it's like to be married to one.”

“We're cops. We have a pretty good idea. It's not easy.”

“I tried. But he wouldn't
talk
to me unless it involved Willow, and even then . . . I loved my baby, but I needed to be a person as well as a mother, a wife. But I tried. I stayed in the marriage longer than I wanted, because we had a child. And when it finally ended, she was angry, too. With me. She adored him, and I broke our family. But for a while, it was better. She had her time with him, without me in the way. Then . . . she was barely seven when I found out he was teaching her how to use weapons. I found a stunner in her room, and we fought over that. I should've fought harder. I should've done something more. But all I could do was forbid her to bring weapons into our house, and after a while, for a while, I told myself it was good she had an interest—one I didn't share. She entered competitions and won trophies, so I told myself it was a sport. She didn't want to play ball or run track or join school groups, so this was her outlet. And if I didn't try to get in the way, she'd be happy.”

She swiped at her face with her hands. “Lynda, I work with her. She's my closest friend. I knew Lincoln long before we . . . We didn't start seeing each other until after Mac and I separated. I swear to you we never—”

She broke off, closed her eyes. “That doesn't matter at all now. It's true, but it doesn't matter at all. Willow never liked Lincoln, though he was kind to her, tried to connect with her. I told myself she'd come around, because I swear to you, he's a good man. Then we conceived Zach. She was so angry when we told her. I can still see her standing there, barely eight, just a bit older than Zach is now, with her hands in tight fists, her eyes so full of this cold, cold fury. She said: ‘I've never been
enough for you.' She said, God, she said: ‘I hope you both die, then I can live with Dad.'

“Can I . . . I'm sorry, can I have some water?”

“I'll get you some.” Peabody rose, stepped out.

“Detective Peabody, exiting Interview. Ms. Younger, did you consider counseling or therapy for Willow?”

“Yes, yes. I have a friend, but because Willow and Mac were so angry and opposed to the idea, I had her talk to Willow unofficially, you could say. Grace Woodward—she's a psychologist. Anger issues, obviously, displacement issues. We kept it to talk therapy, very casual, and it did seem Willow settled in. She wasn't interested in Zach when he was born, spent more time with Mac—I allowed it.”

Younger shuddered, let out a couple of shaky breaths.

“It was easier. She never wanted real mother/daughter time. She made it seem like punishment if I took her out shopping or to a salon or a show. So I stopped, told myself it was all right that she didn't share my interests or I hers. But I'd go to some of her competitions, until she told me she could feel me disapprove and it messed her up. She asked me not to go.”

She paused when Peabody brought her a cup of water, drank it slowly. “I was happy when Mac found Susann. He was so obviously enchanted with her, and she was so sweet, so kind. I worried Willow would resent her, too, but she didn't seem to. I think . . . Honestly, I think it was because Susann was—I don't want to say weak, that sounds critical. But she was soft, and undemanding. Willow didn't seem to be angry when Susann got pregnant, but that's when she got into trouble at school. She refused to do assignments, back-talked teachers, threatened one of the other girls with bodily harm. We agreed to in-school counseling—”

“With Rene Hutchins.”

“Yes. Oh God, yes, with Ms. Hutchins. And Willow seemed to settle
in again. Mac took her on a hunting trip out west, just the two of them, and we all felt that time with him showed her she wasn't being replaced.

“Then Susann was killed. It was a horrible time for everyone, for all of us. For Mac to lose Susann and the son they wanted so much. They'd already named him Gabriel, and then they were gone. I liked her very much, I really liked her. And I admit I'd hoped Mac's marriage to her, having another child—the son he'd always wanted—would help ease some of the resentment he still had toward me. Toward Lincoln. He was always so warm and lovely to Zach, but the cold would come back whenever he dealt with me or Lincoln.”

“Did he ever threaten you or your husband?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that. It was resentment, and contempt. I could feel the contempt for both of us, and wanted that family therapy, as I felt Willow took her lead from him there.”

“Yet you say she hated her brother, and Mackie was good with him.”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes again. “Yes, that's true.”

“How did things change after Susann's death?”

“He fell apart, Mac did. No one could blame him. Willow wanted to spend more time with her father, and I allowed that. I felt he needed her, and she needed him. But he started drinking too much, even coming by to get her when he was drunk. And I had to tell them both she couldn't stay with him under those conditions. When I made her come home, when I drew that line, that's when the puppy . . . That's when it happened.”

“You knew she'd done it,” Peabody said gently.

Tears leaked through her lashes when Younger shut her eyes. “I believed she had. I couldn't prove it, but yes, I knew she had. And she knew I knew. I was comforting Zach. He was crying, and I was holding him, comforting him, and I looked over. She stood there, watching us. And smiling. She looked into my eyes, smiled, and I was afraid.”

She drank more water. “That's when I started going through her
room. I never found anything, and I hated myself for it, but I went through her things routinely. I spoke with Grace—she'd moved to Chicago, and she advised me to do what I knew I should do. Get Willow into structured therapy. I couldn't.”

Now Younger used her hands to wipe away tears, made an effort to straighten her shoulders. “You can say I'm her mother, and she had to do what I told her to do, but her father refused to back me, and she warned me if I forced it, she'd accuse Lincoln of abuse, she'd go to court—she was old enough for that—and petition to live with her father. She'd go to the police, with her father, and get a restraining order on Lincoln. She'd ruin him. I tried to reason with her—we'd all go to counseling—but she wouldn't budge. These last months, she's spent more time with Mac, and I didn't interfere. Her grades went back up, the trouble at school never reoccurred. If things were strained at home, at least she wasn't disruptive or angry. But once in a while, I'd look up or over, and she'd be standing there. Just standing there, smiling at me. And I was afraid.”

Younger dissolved into tears again. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't know what I did or didn't do. What I should or can do now. She's my child.”

“Ms. Younger, you have another child to protect.”

“I know. I know.”

“Your daughter is a psychopath, trained by an expert in the science of killing.”

As Younger's sobs increased, as Peabody opened her mouth to speak, Eve shook her head.

“The signs are all there, the evidence is all there. The dead are all there. We need to stop your daughter and her father. We need to prevent them from killing again. We need to find her, stop her, and get her the help she needs. Where would they go?”

“Alaska.”

“What?”

“Mac actually talked about going there after Susann died. He was drunk or—or maybe high. I think he's been using, too. But there was enough detail for me to know he'd looked into it. He and Will—he never calls her Willow—would take off for Alaska when she got out of school. They'd live off the land. It sounds like drunk talk, but once I did find some information on Alaska on her computer—like a school report, but it wasn't. And the next time I looked, she'd deleted it all.”

“They're not in Alaska. They're in the city.”

“I don't know where they are, I swear to you.” Like a plea, Younger held out her hands. “I swear it. I was married to a cop, and a cop has been killed. I know what that could mean for my daughter. Mac has lost his mind, Lieutenant. Losing Susann and their baby broke him. Maybe, I don't know, maybe some of this was always there in him, but contained. The way Willow seems contained so much of the time. But he broke, and he'll die trying to finish what he started. Willow's fifteen. Do you remember fifteen, how you feel at fifteen? You feel immortal, and you feel like dying for a cause is romantic, whatever the cause might be. I don't want my baby to die. I'll do anything I can, tell you anything I know.”

She took a deep breath.

“His hands shake.”

“Mackie's hands shake?”

“Yes, not always, but it comes and goes. I haven't seen him for nearly a month, but the last time I did, he looked . . . off. On the frail side, shaky. I haven't been a cop's wife for a long time, but I don't think he could execute these strikes. I think, God help her, I think he's trained Willow to make them.”

She stared down at the table. “I want to believe it's against her will, but I know it isn't. But he's used her love for him, her admiration. He's made her think what she's doing is heroic, is right, is what her father wants and needs. She's only a child. She isn't responsible.”

Yes, Eve thought, she is, but let it go. “Do they have a favorite restaurant, pizza joint? Somewhere they went habitually?”

“I don't know.”

“You said she competed, won trophies. Anywhere he'd take her to celebrate when she won?”

“I don't know. She didn't want me there, didn't want to share that with— Wait. Divine's.”

“Ice cream.” Peabody put in. “They've got frozen desserts and yogurt, but they also have the real deal.”

“Yes. Willow loved that place, loved their caramel sundaes. They're pricey, and you often have to wait up to an hour to get seated, but Mac and I started taking her when she was a toddler, and . . . I guess it got to be their place. He'd take her there on special occasions.”

“Peabody, send Uniform Carmichael and Officer Shelby to Divine's, with the ID shots, and the sketches.”

“Yes, sir! Peabody exiting Interview.”

“Is there anywhere else that strikes you, any other routine they had?”

“The target range—the indoor one in Brooklyn, I don't know the name. And there's some other place for target shooting, indoors and out; it's in New Jersey.”

Eve shook her head. “Anywhere less structured?”

“I know he took her out west—Montana. And I think they went out west without clearing it with me. I stopped asking because they'd lie, and Willow would lie in a way that made it clear she lied. Do you have any children, Lieutenant?”

“No.”

“Then you don't know what it's like to fail as a mother.” Younger looked away, her eyes shattered. “I don't know how to save her now.”

“Ms. Younger, we're going to do everything we can to find her, to bring her in without harming her, to stop her before she causes more harm. What you've told me may help us do that. I'm going to have you
taken back to your family. We're going to take all of you somewhere safe until we find Willow.”

“Will I be able to see her, to talk to her when you do?”

“Yes.”

But she may not talk to you, Eve thought.

Eve didn't have time for hysteria, and ten seconds after walking in to interview Alyce Ellison she wished, bitterly, she'd left the woman to Jenkinson and Reineke.

“Why is he trying to kill me?” Ellison's shriek cut a dull, jagged groove through Eve's skull. “I didn't do anything. I didn't hurt anybody! Somebody's trying to kill me.”

“Ms. Ellison—”

“The police came to my
apartment!
I didn't even finish my
dinner!
People are going to think I've been
arrested!
I didn't do
anything!
I could be killed any
second!
”

As she raved, Ellison whirled around the room, her arms alternately waving like flags, then coiling around her stick-figure body as if to hold what there was of it together. Her eyes, heavily lined in glittery blue, bugged out of her narrow face. Her mouth, heavily dyed in shiny red, never stopped moving.

“Sit down and knock it off.”

“What? What? Would you sit down if your life was in danger?”

“Lady, I'm a cop. My life's in danger daily and I know how to sit down. Watch this.”

To demonstrate, Eve sat at the Interview table.

“Being in danger's what you get paid for! Someone's trying to kill me.”

“Not at the moment, so sit the hell down.
Sit!
” Eve snapped.

“You can't talk to me like that.” Now tears swam, an ocean between glittery shores. “I'm a citizen.”

“Right now you're wasting the time of the investigators on a series of homicides. Sit, shut it, or get out.”

“I'm not going
anywhere
. You have to protect me. I'll—I'll
sue!
”

“You have to be alive to sue.” Eve got up, walked to the door, opened it. “Sit or get out. Now.”

Ellison sat, dissolving into wild sobs. “You're mean. You're just mean.”

“I can be meaner because blubbering's wasting my time, too. Suck it up. You're alive and well and in protective custody. We plan on keeping you alive and well. Want that? Pull yourself together and answer some questions.”

“I don't know
anything
.”

“You knew Susann Mackie.”

“I didn't hurt her!” Ellison lifted her blubbering-splotched face. “I could have fired her, but I didn't. I gave her another warning, that's
all
.”

“What kind of warning?”

“About being late, and about forgetting to check the stock, and about how long she talked to customers. It's not my fault she got hit by a car!”

“When did you give her the warning?”

“Which time?” Ellison sniffled now, blinked fat tears from her sparkly eyes. “I had to talk to her every month, explain again how uneven
her evaluations were because she was never on time to work or from her breaks, and she'd end up talking to a customer for like ten minutes instead of selling anything.”

“Why didn't you fire her?”

Ellison sighed. “Because when she did sell, she did really well, and a lot of customers came back and went to her, especially. And she was nice, you just had to like her. She had a really good eye for fashion, for what looked good. She always looked good, and she could—when she wasn't off daydreaming—steer a customer to just the right outfit or accessory. I liked her. We all went to her memorial. I cried and cried.”

I bet, Eve thought.

“Did you warn her the day she went to the doctor on her lunch break?”

Those glossy red lips trembled. “I had to. It was evaluation day, and I had to. I told her she had to be on time, just had to show improvement in that area. She said she was sorry and she would. She always said that, and she'd usually be on time for a few days, even a week after eval, and then . . . But that day, she never came back from lunch.”

Ellison started to cry again. “I was so mad. We were really slammed—we had a major sale going, and I was really mad. I tagged her 'link, and got v-mail, and I was harsh. I said how if she didn't respect me or the position enough to be back from her lunch break on time, she just shouldn't come back at all. I didn't know she was
dead
.”

“Okay.” Since she was actually getting information now, Eve softened her tone. “You were doing your job.”

“I
was!
If she'd told me she had a doctor's thing, or if she'd tagged me up, let me know she was running late because of one, I wouldn't have been harsh. I swear. I don't want to
die!
I'm only twenty-nine.”

Official ID data said thirty-three, but Eve let that pass.

“You're not going to die. Did you speak to Reginald Mackie after the accident?”

“We—we sent flowers and a sympathy note. And we went—a whole group of us—to the memorial.”

“Right. Did you speak to him personally?”

“I just couldn't. I couldn't stop crying.”

“Did he speak to you, at any time?”

“No. His—his daughter . . .”

“Willow Mackie.”

“Yes. She came into the store. I recognized her because she'd come in before, so Susann could help her find clothes. And she came up to me, right up to my
face
, and said how I had to be sorry Susann got killed because I didn't get to be a big shot and fire her. How Susann and the baby were
dead
because I wouldn't give her enough time to go to the doctor's. And she said: ‘Enjoy your crappy job and your crappy life while you have them.'”

“When did this happen?”

“I guess about a month after the memorial. She didn't even look mad or upset. She was sort of smiling the whole time. I was really upset, and I tried to say I was sorry, but she just walked away. She knocked over a display of T-shirts on her way out. On purpose!”

“Did she ever come back?”

“Not while I was working. I never saw her again, until I saw her picture on the bulletin. All I could think was I wasn't surprised.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I said how she didn't look mad or upset when she came in and said those mean things to me? But she looked a little bit crazy. Darla said so, too. Darla's one of our top salespeople, and she was right there. She saw the whole thing, and she said how that girl's just crazy in the eyes.”

—

E
ve headed back toward her office, and Peabody walked briskly out.

“Dallas!” Peabody moved into a jog. “We just confirmed the Mackies in Divine on the afternoons of both attacks. They're on the feed today, at the counter ordering, at fourteen-twenty-five.

“Both?”

“Yeah. The security feed's a twenty-four-hour loop, so we've missed catching them after the first incident, but while Uniform Carmichael reviewed the feed, Officer Shelby talked to some of the staff. Two of them remembered the Mackies, and the day because of the attack. Both agree they came in around quarter to four. Just after the peak of the after-school swarm.”

“Were they carrying anything?”

“I—”

“Find out, find out now! Did he have any kind of case, did she? Backpacks, bags, rollies. Now, Peabody.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eve went straight to her office, snagged the results from EDD the minute she saw them.

“On screen.”

Hands on her hips, she studied the buildings highlighted in order of probability. They'd gotten lucky with the first nest, she thought. Maybe that luck would hold.

“She had a backpack.” Peabody came to the door. “That's it. No briefcase or luggage or bags of any kind on the feed. Just a backpack. The wits don't remember any bags either from yesterday.”

“So they went to their hole after the strike, had time to stow their weapons, then get fucking ice cream. Get me a conference room.”

“We've got A. Whitney has it reserved for us for the duration.”

“Briefing, everybody, five minutes.”

“Do you want EDD?”

“I said everybody.”

Eve grabbed what she needed, went straight to the conference room. She updated the board, brought up the EDD map on screen, split it, and began assigning sectors to various officers and detectives.

She glanced over, frowned when Roarke came in.

“I didn't know you were still here.”

“I wasn't, now I am. As they didn't need me, particularly, in EDD, I did some remote work. Now I'm back. How can I help you?”

“I don't— Actually, you could bring up a map on the other screen, focus on a place called Divine on the East Side.”

“I know it. So do you—at least their products.”

“I've never been there.”

“Because we stock it at home. One of the perks of owning it.”

“Your place?”

“Actually, it's in your name.”

Even with her mind full of cop details, she stopped cold, blinked at him. “I own an ice cream joint?”

“You own what many consider to be the premier ice cream parlor in the city,” he told her as he worked.

“No one can ever know.”

“Sorry?” Distracted, he glanced over and saw her eyebrows drawn together. “What?”

“Especially Peabody. No one can ever know my name's on some big-deal ice cream joint.”

“I see we'll be canceling our plans for the Lieutenant Dallas Frosted, but as you like.”

“You— That's a joke. Ha-ha. Why is my name on— No, later. I'm losing my focus.”

“Then tell me: How does Divine play into this?”

“They go there—the Mackies. It's their celebration place. They went there after each strike.”

The amusement, the slight curve of his lips faded away. “Kill people, enjoy a banana split?”

“Something like that.”

“You've dealt with some monsters in our time together, but these . . . They're a separate breed. Father and daughter, celebrating death over ice cream while families mourn.”

“He rewards her. He trained her, helped make her, so he rewards her for a job well done. I'm looking for their hole. If they went to Divine—having stowed the weapons first—I lean toward them holing up in a place within reasonable walking distance of the ice cream joint. According to my information, Divine has been their place since she was a kid.”

Others began to file in as she spoke. “I'm going to ask you to take a deep dive into Mackie's finances, but even considering pension, death benefits from the wife, he's paying rent on two places. He's had to acquire all the weapons, the false IDs. That's got to stretch his income. So the hole's likely low rent, maybe a month-to-month. It's doubtful he's had it more than six months.”

“Dallas, Uniform Carmichael and Officer Shelby are on their way in,” Peabody told her. “They won't be here for at least fifteen.”

“Loop them in remotely. They don't need to come in.”

“Loop Chief Tibble,” Whitney ordered as he stepped in.

“I've got them.” Feeney moved to the comp.

“Everybody else, give your attention to screen one. Note the buildings highlighted. These are potential nests for today's attack on Times Square. Note your sectors,” Eve added.

“In the first strike, the suspects used a hotel room, a conventional check-in. They may have done the same here. You'll search your
sectors—hotels, flops, office buildings, studios. The program used to determine these probabilities also, as you see, lists probable angle and direction of strike. You have the most likely floors and angles.

“Hit all, hit thoroughly. Talk to clerks, supers, beat cops, LCs, merchants, dog walkers, residents, cleaning crews. They didn't pick the nest at random, so at least one of them cased it previously. Find it.”

She turned to the other screen.

“Divine,” she began.

“Best Rocky Road in the city,” Jenkinson commented, then shrugged. “Just saying.”

“Your endorsement's so noted. Apparently the suspects agree—although she prefers the caramel sundae. We've learned the suspects indulged themselves after both strikes.”

“Fucking cold,” Feeney muttered. “And I ain't talking ice cream.”

“Zoe Younger, Willow Mackie's mother, states Mackie has taken his daughter to Divine regularly, as a reward. That pattern remains here. The Wollman strike took place at fifteen-fifteen. Times Square at thirteen-twenty-one. The Mackies were caught on Divine security feed today at fourteen-twenty-five. And witnesses state they came in at approximately fifteen-forty-five after the Wollman attack. In both cases, Mackie carried nothing, and the daughter only had a backpack.”

“So they left the nest, went to wherever they're holed up, stowed the weapons. Then went out for dessert,” Baxter concluded.

“And consider the timing. On the afternoon of the Central Park attack. They packed up the weapons, left the East Side hotel, and were ordering ice cream about thirty minutes after the first TOD. Today, the time between the attack and the wits' statement of their arrival at Divine is more than an hour. It's a full thirty minutes longer for them to travel from where we project they used a downtown nest for the strike on Times Square, to the East Side location of Divine for their celebration.”

“Takes longer to get there from downtown,” Santiago began, “that's a factor. But both times they ditched the weapons, the bags. Could they have their own transportation?”

“He didn't,” Lowenbaum said. “Never knew Mackie to have his own vehicle.”

“East Side Hotel has garage parking for guests,” Eve added. “The Mackies didn't check a vehicle there.”

“And unless he's bought one that's as secure as our Tactical units,” Lowenbaum added, “there's no way he'd leave weapons inside a vehicle, garaged or on the street. If he has transpo, he'd still stow his weapons in a secured location.”

“He may have recently acquired a vehicle, as he plans to settle with his daughter in Alaska when he's finished here, but I agree a trained officer isn't going to leave a laser rifle in a parking lot while he gets ice cream.”