Brotherhood in Death (25 page)

She started to speak, then saw something else when Peabody offered Carlee MacKensie. That was both an instant of puzzlement, and, Eve thought, deep sorrow.

“You recognized the last three,” Eve said.

“I can't discuss this with you.” But that acknowledgment remained in the dark eyes as she spoke. “Even if you get a warrant.”

“I'm not going to get a warrant. I could threaten to arrest you for obstruction. I could threaten to charge you with accessory after the fact if you contact any of these women. I'm not going to do that, either. But I'm going to tell you, again, if you do contact them, they'll kill the man they have immediately, and very likely flee. You'll live with that death on your hands. What I intend to do is to bring them in, to prevent them from killing again, and to listen to their story.”

“I don't and won't condone murder.” Lipski stared down at the dead. “I don't and won't condone this level of retribution. But the crimes committed will carry a hard, long punishment. Victims victimized—by their own actions—yes, by their own. But also by the law.”

“The law may be hard and cold—and I can be the same. It may be blind. I'm not. I need to hear them out. You know, and I know, my Free-Ager partner's right. What they're doing will only spread the wound until the wound is all they have. Let me do my job.”

“I'll contact no one, my word on that—because I do know what's right. This, what was done, this isn't right. But when and if you arrest anyone, I want you to contact me. I want to be there for them. To do whatever I can for them.”

“My word on that.”

—

E
ve moved fast, pulling out her 'link as they wound through the crowded space and out to the hall, down the stairwell. “Baxter, I've got three names verified. Downing, MacKensie, Su—be on the lookout for any or all of them.”

“Three of them.”

“It looks like. We're heading to MacKensie's now to pick her up. She's closest. I'll let you know when we have all three of them. Sit tight.”

“You want BOLOs?” Peabody asked her as she jogged to keep up.

“Not yet. We need to get them into the box, start putting pressure on them. One will break. Send uniforms to pick up Su—two to her apartment, two to her workplace, just to cover it. We should be able to scoop up MacKensie, then get Downing before any of them know we're coming.”

Eve went in hot, while Peabody ordered the uniforms, cutting the sirens a block from MacKensie's building. Rather than search for parking, she flipped on her On Duty light, double-parked.

The bitter resentment of other drivers and the frantic breaking of noise pollution laws slid off her back as she jogged to the sidewalk.

“Uniforms on their way, both locations. Even if Lipski breaks her word—and I don't think she will,” Peabody added, “she wouldn't have time to warn all three before we move in.”

“That's not what I'm worried about.” Eve used her master, then charged up the stairs.

“Loose pants,” she heard Peabody pant. “Loose pants.”

“Get your mind off your ass.”

On MacKensie's floor, Eve slowed to a walk. She pressed the buzzer, waited, then used a fist on the door.

“That's what I was worried about.” She turned, pressed the buzzer on the door across the hall.

“I said I'd meet you down in the—” The woman who opened the door stopped short. “Who are you?”

“NYPSD.” Eve held up her badge. “Where's Carlee MacKensie? Across the hall.”

“How would I know?” The woman's forehead wrinkled under the big fuzzy black hat she wore. “Look, I'm running late. I was just heading out.” To prove it she finished buttoning her coat. “Anyway, I think she's away for a while.”

“Away where?”

“How should I know? I was heading out this morning at the same time she was. We rode down in the elevator together. She had a suitcase, so I asked—you know, neighborly—if she was taking a trip. And how it would be nice to get out of the city and the freaking cold. She said yeah. That's about it. I've got to go. I was supposed to work the rest of the day at home, but we got called back in. I have to go.”

“One minute.” Eve just shifted to block the woman's path. “What kind of suitcase?”

“Jeez, how should I know? A regular rolly. Taking a winter vacay—fixed up for traveling.”

“Fixed up how?”

“Did her face and hair—and she hardly ever does, that I've seen. Had on nice boots. And perfume. I even said how I liked her perfume. You think she's done something, you're barking down the wrong alley. She hardly leaves her apartment, never has anyone over, that I've seen. Keeps to herself. Quiet, maybe stuck-up, maybe shy. I don't poke my nose in anyway.”

“What time this morning?”

“Oh, jeez!” The woman looked pointedly at her wrist unit. “About eight-thirty, 'cause I was leaving for work.”

“You went down together, so you went out together. Did she get in a cab?”

“Shit, like I'm supposed to keep tabs? No, now that I think about it. A car pulled up and she got in.”

“A car?”

“Well, a van. The side door opened, and she got in with her rolly. I noticed because it was cold, and I thought how I wished I had a ride instead of having to go down to the subway just to make the damn morning meeting.”

“Describe the van.”

“Well, for—” Her 'link signal, a blast of horns, had her digging into her handbag. “Don't give me a buncha crap, Georgie. I'm at the door, but so are the cops about Miss Mumbles across the hall. I don't know what the hell. Just wait for me.”

She stuck the 'link away. “Now both me and Georgie are going to be late.”

“The van,” Eve pressed.

“How should I know? It was maybe white. Maybe. Not black anyway. Looked new. I had to get to the damn subway. I wasn't taking notes.”

“Did you see the driver, another passenger?”

Now the woman heaved a sigh. “I don't know. Maybe. Maybe the windows were tinted, but maybe I caught a glimpse when the door opened of a woman driving. Petite, I thought she was so little to be driving that big van. Dark hair—in a pony—sunglasses. That's all I've got. Look, arrest me or let me go.”

“Don't tempt me. Pictures, Peabody. Have you seen any of these women? And the more you bitch, the longer this is going to take.”

“How come you can't find a cop when you need one, and when you don't they're in your face?” But she took the photos. “No, no, no, no . . . wait.” She shuffled the photo of Charity Downing back to the top again. “Maybe. Yeah. Maybe. I saw her, maybe, a couple weeks ago. I was coming out of the building and she was going in. Wasn't watching
where she was going, and shoulder-bumped me pretty hard. I started to give her a little what for, but she stopped and apologized. Looked like she'd been crying and was about to start up again. It was maybe about ten—I was meeting some friends, and running late. Ten at night,” she qualified. “Boyfriend trouble's what I thought, since I've had some of my own. Anyway, pretty sure it was this one here. Only time I saw her around I can remember. I got a busy life, unlike Miss Mumbles.”

“Why do you call her that?”

“It's what she does. If I happen to run into her in the lobby, or whatever—and that doesn't happen much—and I say the neighborly, she mumbles. Won't meet your eyes, either. Keeps her head down. Probably an axe murderer, right?”

Close enough, Eve thought. “If you remember anything else, contact us. If you see Ms. MacKensie again, contact us—and don't talk to her. Peabody, give Ms. . . .”

“Lacey. Deena Lacey.”

“Give Ms. Lacey a card. Thanks for your help.”

“I'll be showing my boss this card when he says he's going to dock me and Georgie for being late. You may get a tag from him.”

“No problem.”

Eve waited while the woman closed the door behind her and hurried to the elevator, yanking out her 'link as she went. “I'm heading down, Georgie. You won't believe this!”

“Get an update from the uniforms.” Eve pulled out her own 'link. “Reo,” she said without preamble. “I need a warrant.”

She paced, relating the details to the APA, paced while Reo pushed for a warrant to enter and search MacKensie's apartment.

“Downing doesn't answer the door, and isn't at work—didn't work yesterday. Uniforms are talking to neighbors,” Peabody reported. “Su hasn't shown up at work, doesn't answer her 'link, or her door. Looks like they've gone rabbit.”

Eve shook her head. “Look at the timing. MacKensie packed up and got picked up—in a van, female driver—about an hour after we pushed on Su. But she took time to fix herself up? They're not running, not yet, because they've got Betz and they still want Easterday. They've gone to ground.”

“You think we spooked them.”

“I think they planned all this out, step-by-step, but it went off wrong for them right from the start, when Mr. Mira walked in on their session with his cousin.”

She paced, trying to will the warrant through.

“Then the cops are on them a lot quicker then they expected. Su's supposed to be questioned as an alibi, but we pushed there, pushed her on her connection with not just Downing but MacKensie. None of these women are idiots.”

“So they panicked.”

“Panicked? I don't think so. MacKensie fixed herself up, according to the neighbor. Makeup, hair, perfume. You don't take time for that if you're panicked. This is like Plan B. Things get too hot, we go to ground. She fixed up, so maybe she's the bait set to lure Easterday.”

“They'd have to be crazy to go after him now.”

“They've already spread the wound, Peabody. It's all there is. And they've got a place we don't know about, a place they make their plans, a place they can take these men and torture them, pay them back. Start digging now—any property under any variations of their names, mothers' names.”

She yanked out her 'link. “Reo.”

“Coming through now,” Reo told her.

“I need two more. Lydia Su—that's
S-U
—and Charity Downing.” She rattled off the addresses.

“Dallas.”

“These three are working together, Reo. They've killed two and they've got number three. He's got hours at best if I don't find them.”

“I'll push.”

“Push fast. Warrant's coming through. I'll get back to you.”

Eve checked the readout on the warrant—no mistakes now, she thought—then nodded to Peabody. “We're clear to enter.”

She checked her recorder, used her master. Drew her weapon.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering residence of MacKensie, Carlee. We are duly warranted and authorized.”

She gave the door one more good pounding. “Carlee MacKensie, this is the police. We are entering the premises.”

They took the door, high and low, did a quick sweep.

Eve straightened. “She's gone, and she isn't coming back.”

“Furniture's still here.”

“She cleared her workstation. She took the electronics. Let's clear the place, but she's gone.”

The bed was tidily made, the bathroom and kitchen areas spotless. Never let it be said Carlee MacKensie didn't keep her area clean.

“It looks like some clothes are missing,” Peabody said, “just by the way they're arranged, but she left plenty behind.”

“Didn't matter to her. The mission matters. She took what she wanted—and didn't leave any electronics. Nothing we could use to trace her that way, nothing where she might have communicated with the others.”

Eve circled the small, dull living area. “They all probably have a drop 'link. Something they use only with each other. If they use a comp, they use codes. But no chances taken: Don't leave any behind. But do you remember everything? Every little thing? Let's turn this place inside out and see.”

“They didn't get the keys. Betz,” Peabody said while they worked.

“Not his. Might be Wymann had the same, or the senator. We're dealing with a brotherhood there, so it's my take they all had keys. Just like we're dealing with a sisterhood on this end. United purposes, loyalties, a singularity.”

Eve paused, closed a drawer, looked around. “No sign she had sex in this apartment. No toys, no enhancements, no sexwear.”

“She could've taken that stuff with her.”

“Why? It's not mission-oriented. She left clothes, some jewelry, photos, book discs, all the flotsam and jetsam of life. But she took the electronics, any spare discs, memo cubes, and any hard copies of business. Food in the kitchen, in the AutoChef. The neighbor claims not to poke in, but she's not blind and deaf.”

Eve wandered, searched for a sense. What came to her was this was an alone place. She knew it, recognized it. She'd had one of her own once.

The apartment—the one Roarke had replicated for her.

Her alone place, because she'd had little but the mission—the job—in her life.

She knew MacKensie, she thought. She knew her under the skin.

“The neighbor? I bet she'd have remembered if MacKensie had a lover—male or female—show up regularly. There's no love in this place—just work and sleep. The neighbor remembered Downing because they bumped into each other, and Downing was crying. That stuck. She'd have remembered seeing her before, so either coming here hadn't happened before, or it was rare and they kept it on the down low.”

“You think she and Downing are lovers?”

“No. I don't think she had anyone for that, not for that. They're sisters, that's what counts here. A shared experience—and one Su also shares. And a shared goal.

“What do you do when a sister comes over crying?”

“Ah. You listen, you sympathize.”