Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(91)

“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.

“She’s churned up, maybe even a little sick to her stomach, because the kill, this second kill, didn’t give her what she needs, what she wants more than anything else.”

“What does she want?”

“Peace. She wants that inner fucking peace.”

It’s all you want when the nightmares come, Eve thought. And the only thing you can’t find.

“The justice they tag on the bodies? That’s small change. She wants to be able to sleep at night. She wants it to be over. She wants, more than anything, for it to never have happened. But the killings? It’s not going to give her any of that. If she didn’t know it before, she’s starting to know it now. When no matter how much she washes, she can still smell the blood on her hands.”

“But they still have Betz.”

“Yeah. Knowing it won’t make her—any of them—stop. She thinks maybe, just maybe, when they finish it, she’ll find what she needs. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll be able to sleep. But she won’t.”