Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(108)

“She leave a note?”

“Yeah. Something about not being able to face the demons—not illegals, as that came clean, and we didn’t find any in her place—and how she was sorry. ME ruled it right off, so there wasn’t much to do on it.”

“I need the book—everything you have.”

“Shit. What did we miss?”

“Nothing. I think she’s tied to what I’m on. Can you get me that report?”

“Sure thing. Just having a post-shift brew with my partner and a couple others. I’ll walk back to Central, send it to you.”

“Appreciate it.”

She continued to scan the article—more an obit, she supposed. Memorial to be held September twenty-first—vic’s hometown.

“Computer, search for travel on September twenty and twenty-one, 2060, on the following names.”

She reeled them off, pushed up—wanted coffee—paced, and drank Pepsi.

They did to Elsi Lee Adderman what they’d done to the woman on disc. Somewhere between the gang rape in April, like an anniversary, and September 2060, she’d remembered enough. She’d met the other women.

Support group. Just had to be.

Elsi couldn’t live with it, couldn’t handle it. She’d opted out.

Somewhere between September and now, the rest of them had plotted full payback.

It fit like one of the fur-lined gloves Roarke kept buying her.

But it didn’t help her find Betz, find Easterday.


Task complete. On September 20, 2060, Carlee MacKensie, Lydia Su, Charity Downing traveled from Laguardia Transportation Center to Columbus, Ohio, with a return flight on September 21, 2060.

“How far is Crawford, Ohio, from Columbus?”


Working . . . Crawford is nine-point-six miles from Columbus, and is a thriving bedroom community.

“Computer: Search manifest for that shuttle flight. Give me the names of the passengers, female, between the ages of forty and fifty. Start with passengers matching that criteria with seats behind, in front, or beside any of the three previous subjects. Coming and going.”


Working . . .

Sisterhood, she thought. They went to the memorial. They went to pay their respects to one of their own to mourn her, and to cement the vow to avenge her. They all went.


Initial task complete.

“On screen, one at a time, name and ID shot. Go.”


Working . . . Marcia Baumberg, age forty-two.

“No,” Eve said when the ID shot came up. “Next.”


Grace Carter Blake, age forty-four.

“Stop. There. Gotcha. Run this subject, full run. Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch.”

The painting—and/or Yancy’s sketch from the wit’s memory—hadn’t been far off. The face was leaner, the mouth maybe a little wider. But this was the fifth woman.

“Computer, pause run. Tell me when current subject attended Yale.” Because she did, high probability she did. Or had some connection.


Grace Carter Blake attended Yale University from September 2035 to May 2043, including postgraduate work. Subject graduated with honors from Yale Law School.

“When did they take you to that room, Grace? That basement?”


Insufficient data.

“Yeah, for now. Continue run.”

She went back, pulled up the incoming from Harvo.


Hey, Dallas! Forty-nine samples. Fun for me. I’m going to hang in the lab extra to play. I got three DNA matches for you already—easy as peasy. Data with IDs attached. Send you more as it comes. Harvo—QofH&F

Quickly, Eve opened the attached report. New names, three women, current ages fifty-two, thirty-four, and twenty-three.

She tagged Harvo.

The screen filled with what looked like an active sea of lava. Then Harvo turned toward the screen, and Eve realized that rather than an exotic natural disaster, it was Harvo’s hair.

“Hey, Dallas! Click-bang on the timing. I just hit another one. I’m doing them alpha order, and figured I’d send them to you in groups.”

“Harvo, you’re my new best friend.”

“Solid! Let’s go get drunk and troll some beefcake.”

“Later. You’ve got one there labeled Grace.”

“Lemme see . . . yep, got two for Grace—a brunette, looks natural eyeballing, and a redhead that’s not.”

“I’m looking for one that’s probably from between 2035 and 2043. But if you’d run both next, hit me back as soon as you verify. I’ve got a Grace Carter Blake, and I want to verify it. I’d appreciate it.”

“You got it.” The tiny green hoop at the center point of her left eyebrow winked as she turned her head to check some odd piece of equipment.

“And if you’d check the one marked Elsi—I’m looking for Elsi Lee Adderman.”

“Sure thing, BFF.”

“Those two tonight, if you can. And one more—it can be tomorrow, but if you can analyze the oldest sample?”

“It’ll mean stopping some of the DNA searches, but sure. Or I can try to eyeball. That’s not total, but seeing as I’m Queen of Hair and Fiber, I can do the eyeball on say the oldest group of like five or six, analyze them.”

“Do what you do. When you get a name on the oldest sample, I want it. Do you need my weight to clear any of the OT on this?”