Brotherhood in Death (24 page)

“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.”

“You provide alcohol and crying food. Let’s check the kitchen.”

They found a nearly empty bottle of white wine, a half-pint bottle of bourbon.

“Let’s get the sweepers in here, do it right.” Eve stepped over to the AutoChef, ran the program. “Keeps it pretty well stocked, healthy crap.”

“Got ice cream—the real deal—in the freezer. Chocolate Coma, which is awesome. It’s unopened, Dallas.”

“Bet she got it to replace what she gave Downing. Downing comes to her, crying. How about this: Downing’s the one they’ve got doing the senator. She’s set up as his sidepiece. And she’s wearing thin, doesn’t see how she can keep going with it. Su doesn’t strike as the have-a-drink-and-some-ice-cream type, so she comes here for sympathy. Comes here because MacKensie had played the same role earlier. MacKensie knew what she was dealing with, could empathize. And maybe because Downing’s wearing thin, they decide to move on the mission.”

“One of them poses as the Realtor,” Peabody continued. “Like posing as the biographer, and like—don’t you think MacKensie was probably the one who got Edward Mira into Eclectia, so she could switch him off to Downing?”

“Yeah, I do. Taking turns with it, working on him.”

“So the young, sexy Realtor, who isn’t a Realtor, is willing to try to help the senator circumvent the deathbed promise.”

“That’s what plays. Unless there are four of them.”

“Crap.”

“Or more.”

They hit Downing’s place next and found a much chattier neighbor. Laurel Esty lived in the apartment next to Downing’s, and had already invited the uniforms inside her unit and given them coffee and cookies.

“She said she hasn’t seen Downing in a couple days, but that’s not unusual as she works nights. But her roommate mentioned seeing Downing leave the building with two suitcases this morning.”

“Where’s the roommate?”

“He’d be at work now, Lieutenant. We have his name and contact information.”

“Give it to my partner, and brush the cookie crumbs off your uniform, Officer. For God’s sake.”

Eve moved past him to where a pert blonde sat on a little blue couch in the center of a comfortably disordered living area. She popped up like a woman on springs when Eve stepped in and nearly spilled the fizzy in her hand.

“Wow! I just tagged my roomie—Officer Tanker said it was okay if
I did, and I told Reb—my roomie—how I heard Officer Tanker say to Officer Messing that Lieutenant Dallas was on the way. And Reb said, ‘Bullshit, Laurie, no way.’ And I said, ‘True way, Reb,’ but he didn’t believe it. And here you are. We saw the vid. Julian is so completely iced, and Reb said when we did how he’d do you in one heart knock, and I . . . Gee, that’s probably rude. Sorry. Can I tag him back and show him you’re here?”

“No. You know Charity Downing?”

“Yeah, sure, she lives right next door. I don’t see her much because I work nights over at the Silverado—urban cowboy bar, but we get some actual cowboys sometimes, and they—”

“When did you last see or speak with Miss Downing?”

“Oh, um, gee. A few days ago, I guess. I get home about three most nights, and she leaves about nine or sometimes ten. I’m usually out like a light by then. But we’ve chatted up some when we connect—days or nights off, or the laundry scene. She’s really nice. Reb says she’s a les but he’s a guy and if a girl doesn’t fall for his”—she made air quotes—“
charm
, she’s a les. I don’t count ’cause we’ve been buds since forever and don’t screw around with each other like that even when we’re not screwing around with anybody else. It’s a pact.”

“Great. Pictures, Peabody.”

“I’m real sorry you died,” Laurel said to Peabody. “I mean the actress who played you in the vid. She looked a lot like you. Is that weird?”

“A little. Do you know any of these women?”

“Oh.” As if she just remembered she held it, Laurel put the fizzy down on a table. “You should sit down. I can get you a fizzy or some coffee, or whatev.”

“That’s okay. Take a look.”

Laurel sat with the photos, caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she studied them. “I don’t know them. Maybe it’s because I work nights I never saw them come around. But I saw these two.”

She held out Su’s and MacKensie’s photos.

“Where?” Eve demanded.

“In Charity’s apartment.”

“You just said you hadn’t seen them come around.”

“Not
them
them. But I saw them in the painting. One in Charity’s place. She painted them, and herself and I think it was two other women. They all looked really sad, but really strong. I said that to Charity.”

“Peabody, check it out. The other women aren’t in this painting?”

“Uh-uh. One’s old—I mean older. Like, I don’t know, fifty? And the other looked really young, really sad. Really pretty. They were all really pretty. Anyway— Oh!”

She actually clapped her hands together, as if applauding herself.

“That was the last time. I remember now. See I got up for work, and Reb hadn’t refilled the AutoChef. No coffee. Not enough anyway. And you know, it was desperate, and I went to Charity’s to see if she had any to spare, and she was all, sure, I can hook you up. Then I had to pee. I went for the coffee even before I peed, so I said I need to pee, and she said I could use her bathroom. She has a two-bed unit like us, and she uses the spare for like a studio. For painting? And I saw the painting of the women, and the other one. The scary one.”

“Scary?”

“I guess she’d tossed a cover over it, but it fell off, and there was this scary painting of these men—and it was like they were all screaming and falling into like a fiery pit in front of this big, spooky-looking horror vid house that was burning, too. You know, like hell. They were sort of wearing devil’s masks, and nothing else. It kind of looked like they were supposed to be devils, but I only saw it for a second before Charity came out with the coffee, and walked over and closed the door.”

Hunching her shoulders, Laurel flushed. “I wasn’t poking in, I swear! It was just the door was open and I saw. That’s not poking in. So I said
I was sorry, I just glanced in. I don’t think she was mad, but I could tell she didn’t want me to say anything, so I didn’t. I just said thanks for the coffee, and how she saved my life, and I left. That was a few days ago. Not like yesterday or the day before, but not like a week ago, either. Reb might remember because I told him about it. I texted him pretty quick because, you know, it was really scary and spooky.”

“Would you be able to describe the two paintings, in more detail? The women’s faces, the ones who aren’t here. To a police artist.”

“Oh.” The bottom lip got the nibble treatment. “I don’t know.”

“Detective Yancy.” Peabody came back in, smiling and flapping a hand over her heart.

“Really?” Laurel’s lashes fluttered over eyes now sparkling with interest. “Well, maybe. Okay.”

“Great. We’ll arrange to have you taken down to work with Detective Yancy, and we appreciate the help,” Eve added.

“Could I tag Reb? He’s going to want to blow off work for this. And, honest, I’d feel better if he came with me, or met me there. He’s, you know, like my brother. Like family.”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“Okay. I need to get dressed. Officer Tanker woke me up. Lieutenant Dallas? I don’t see how Charity could’ve done anything really wrong, except . . .”

“Except?”

“That picture she painted. Of the devil-men? I only saw it for a second, but it gave me nightmares.”

Eve walked next door with Peabody.

“No painting of women, or devil-men. Devil-men?”

“Men who looked like devils screaming as they fall into hell—with a burning house in the background.”

“That is spooky. It sounds like she was painting out her issues.”

They went inside. Like MacKensie’s the apartment struck Eve as a
place abandoned. Still furnished, flowering plants on a sunny window, but no electronics. Some painting supplies, and some canvases left behind. But none matched the ones Laurel had described. No handy sketches of any of the women.

“Fuckwear.” Eve held up split crotch panties. “And a lot of it. She didn’t take it because she’s done with it.”

“She took most of the toiletries, but left some old stuff, and I’m betting she missed this.” Peabody came out with a small bottle. “Mixed in with skin creams. It’s sleeping pills—the heavy-duty, put-me-out-till-morning kind.”

“When we check her AutoChef, I’ll bet we find regular programs for soothers and over-the-counter tranqs. She was the one in the trenches, so to speak, with Senator Mira. Wearing thin,” she said again. “Sleeping pills and scary paintings. She’ll break when we find them.”

—

T
hey repeated the process at Su’s apartment. They didn’t find an impatient neighbor or a gregarious one, but every indication Su had gone to ground with everything important to her.

“Hit building security,” Eve told Peabody. “Get the discs for the last two days. Let’s see her coming and going, and what she took when she went. It’s going to be her van, so let’s start checking on that.”

“No vehicle registered in her name. I checked that already.”

“She’s got one. We’ll check her parents’ names. Failing that, I’m going to lean on our expert civilian consultant to find aliases. She’s going to have a vehicle, and one of them owns or rents a house, a building, a place.”

While Peabody hunted up security, Eve continued on the apartment. Su had lived well, she noted. A good space in a good building, what appeared to be carefully selected furnishings. Plenty of good-quality clothes left behind—because she didn’t plan to come back.

She’d come from a stable family—or so it seemed, Eve thought. Got a top-drawer education, and had pursued a challenging career.

One that put her in a lab, Eve thought, probably working alone a great deal of the time. No sign or indication of romantic relationships.

Something happened at Yale, she thought again. Something that had put her on a path to ugly revenge. And on that path, she’d met Downing and MacKensie—and two other women, yet unidentified, if Downing’s painting carried the weight Eve believed it did.

Most likely met them in group or the crisis center.

It cycled back to rape for her money. A brotherhood of rape.

She took another pass at the apartment, this time with an eye toward hidden drawers or secret stashes.

When Peabody came back, Eve was crawling over the floor of the bedroom closet.

“Hoping to find a hidey-hole, but I got nothing.”

“I got the discs.”

“Let’s view them on the bedroom wall screen.”

Eve pushed to her feet, stepped out of the closet into the stringently neat bedroom with its simple and elegant bed—high, dark gray padded headboard, soft gray duvet, a few pillows in shades of blue.

Eve followed the urge to poke at the headboard, peer behind it. “If she had a hole, she’d have taken what was in it anyway,” she said as much to herself as Peabody.

Nodding, Peabody plugged the discs into the wall screen, cued it up.

“Full forty-eight?”

“For now, start when we came in to talk to her. We’ll view the rest back at Central.”

Peabody zipped through, slowed.

Eve watched the two of them step up to the door, into camera range, deal with door security. Into the lobby, and lobby cams, into the elevator, and those cams, and down the corridor to Su’s door.

“Speed it up some. Split it between entrance cam and the view of her floor.”

Eve watched them leave.

“I think my magic pink coat’s magically slimming.”

“Shut up, Peabody.”

Eve watched a delivery guy hit the door carrying a big vase of red and blue flowers, and a woman in a forest-green coat and checkered scarf come out with a white dog on a leash. Another exit—a man with a briefcase who looked hurried and harried. Then . . .

“Freeze it. Look at this one. She doesn’t want to have her face on the camera.”

“Could be.” Peabody pursed her lips. “But it was pretty damn cold. Most everybody bundles.”

“She’s got every strand of hair under that hat, and her face angled down. Scarf’s knotted up so you wouldn’t see the bottom half of her face anyway. Gloves, long coat. Start it—regular speed. Not a resident, see? She’s hitting the intercom, being buzzed in. But she knows where the cameras are. This is what, about twenty minutes after we left?”

“Ah . . . twenty-three.”

“Looking down or away through the lobby . . . off to the side in the elevator. Looks too tall to be MacKensie. Doesn’t move like Downing. Maybe we’ve got one of the others. Maybe . . . And that’s Su’s floor—moving to Su’s door. And in. She contacted someone after we left. We shook her, and she pulled in one of her partners. Keep the split screen in case she pulled in the rest. Can you speed up the corridor cam?”

“McNab could. Give me a second.”

While Peabody dealt with technology, Eve paced.

“She knew we were making the connections. That’s why they decided to go to ground when they did. These two, they’re in there talking it out, figuring it out, contacting the others. Su’s packing, you bet your ass.”

“Got it! Woo, I am e-skilled. Here, here, Dallas, they’re coming out again. Forty-six minutes inside.”

“Su’s got her suitcase, a big tote, and her friend’s got a second suitcase. And the friend’s still steady enough to remember not to show her face to the cameras. Not MacKensie. And I don’t think Downing. One of the others. We’ll have EDD go over this, do what they do. Maybe they can get enough.”

“If Yancy can pull Esty’s memory of the painting.” Peabody nodded. “Maybe.”

“Look how Su’s dressed. Boots—more work than dress—casual trousers under the coat. Big black tote along with the suitcase. Hold it—look at her face. She’s glancing straight up at the camera. Not at the camera,” Eve corrected. “At us. She figures we’ll see this sooner or later. Look at her face.”

“Angry, but . . . smug.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly right.”

“She’s on her way to the others,” Peabody said quietly. “On her way to pick up the others.”

“And to get back to work on Betz. They have to take shifts. A woman’s got to earn a living, after all. So they take shifts. But they’re moving right along. Still have to try for Easterday—and in that outfit she’s not the one doing the luring. That’s MacKensie’s job this round.”

“Her vehicle, like you said.”

“Yeah, most likely. Go back—go back to yesterday, start about fifteen hundred.”

They watched Su exit at fifteen-ten. Dressed in full black, carrying the big black tote. Hair pulled back, sunshades masking her eyes. She pulled on gloves in the elevator, balled her hands into fists.

“Keep going,” Eve murmured. “Let’s see when she comes back.”

They watched the life of the building—people heading out for the evening—a party, dinner, the night shift. People coming back—late
night at the office, from shopping or drinks with friends. A couple who, from the body language, had fought during the evening, came home stone-faced. Another couple who, from the body language, obviously hadn’t fought but had imbibed plenty, laughed and staggered their way inside.

Somebody was getting lucky, and somebody wasn’t.

“There she is. Just past four hundred hours. Doesn’t look smug now,” Eve continued as they followed Su’s progress into the building, up to her floor.

“No, she looks really tired—I’m not sympathizing, especially since we’re pretty damn sure she just got finished killing Wymann, and probably spent some time working on Betz. But she looks more than tired, Dallas.”

Fighting tears, Eve thought. Though Su threw one defiant look at the camera as she fumbled with her own key swipe, the look glittered with tears.