Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(35)

“I want a conversation with the vic’s children before the end of the day.” Eve considered tactics while she negotiated traffic. “We keep it simple, get the how and when they met, how long the relationship went on, who ended it, that kind of thing. Right now, we’re just fishing.”

“How did he keep them straight?” Peabody wondered. “We’ve got five, and that’s only covering around a year. So there’s a lot more going back. How did he keep them all straight?”

“They were all the same to him, that’s my take. Just a score. He was a predator. Spot the prey, stalk it, bag it, play with it awhile. Then, when you’re bored or the prey no longer satisfies, discard it and go after fresh meat.”

She noted a second-level street spot, zipped over and grabbed it.

“We could maybe have gotten closer.”

“We could maybe not have.”

“Loose pants, loose pants,” Peabody chanted to herself as they clanged down the iron steps to the street.

“They’ll be a lot looser when I kick your ass up, down, and sideways.”

“I’m using the power of positive thinking. But to spare my ass the pain, what are you guys getting Bella for her birthday?”

“I don’t know.” Instant panic gripped her. “How the hell do I know what to get for a one-year-old kid? How does anybody? The kid can’t tell you, and nobody remembers being a one-year-old so it’s just a crapshoot.”

“The party’s in a couple weeks.”

“Shut up, Peabody.”

“Okay, but shutting up means I can’t tell you what I know she’d really go for—and McNab and I can’t really spring for a good one.”

“What?”

Peabody clamped her lips smugly.

“I swear, I’ll drop-kick you from this spot three blocks east so you splat in the middle of Fifth Avenue.”

“A dollhouse. She’s young for it, but we had her up for a few hours a few days ago, and I’d sent for mine. It’s just a little one my dad made me, but she went nuts for it. Played with it the whole time, and really well, too, rearranging the little furniture, pretend cooking in the kitchen.”

Eve wondered why—seriously why—anyone wanted to pretend cook.

“If dolls aren’t alive, why do they need a house?”

“That’s where pretend comes into it.”

“Does it? Does it really? Or is it when you’re sleeping or not around they start having parties in it, drinking brew, eating snacks, watching screen?”

“You’re creeping me out.”

“You should be creeped. What’s to stop them from having doll orgies in there? Ever think of that?”

“Not until right now.”

“Next thing you know, there’ll be doll weapons and vehicles.”

“They already have those.”

“See.”

Point made, Eve turned to the sturdy building that housed Carlee MacKensie’s apartment. She opted for her master—Why give the woman time to prepare?—and walked into the skinny lobby.

“I have to pee. You scared the piss out of me, now I have to pee. Don’t make me walk up four flights of steps.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” To settle it, Peabody pushed the elevator button. “I can’t get this image of a bunch of drunk dolls doing it all over the dollhouse. Gay dolls, straight dolls, threesomes. It’s my new nightmare.”

“They probably make doll strap-ons.”

“Oh God, I beg you to stop.” Peabody all but jumped into the elevator when it opened. “Loose pants, loose pants. Don’t kick my ass, I’m trying to take my mind off having to pee. And sex-crazed dolls. I’m seeing Gracie Magill with a strap-on.”

“Who?”

“My favorite doll as a kid. Loose pants, loose pants.”

“You had a doll with a last name?” Eve pressed the buzzer on the MacKensie apartment. “Why do dolls need last names?”

“For their ID, to buy the brew and the strap-ons.”

“I figured they just stole them when they climbed in and out of windows at night to burgle houses.”

“You’re just being mean now.”

“I could keep this up all day.”

The intercom buzzed. “Yes?” And Peabody breathed a quiet, “Thank you, Jesus.”

“NYPSD,” Eve announced, and held up her badge. “We’d like to speak with you, Ms. MacKensie.”

“What about?”

“Edward Mira.”

After a moment, locks clicked off, the door opened a couple cautious inches. Eve saw pale red hair messily bundled into a top bun and a pair of suspicious blue eyes.

“What about him?”

“Do you want to discuss your relationship with him out here, Ms. MacKensie?”

Eve saw the lips compress, the eyes dart left then right. “We don’t have a relationship,” she said, but opened the door.

She wore baggy sweatpants and a hoodie with thick socks. Her skin was so white it nearly glowed beneath its scatter shot of ginger-colored freckles.

“You did have,” Eve said and stepped in.

“I haven’t seen or talked to Edward in weeks, since the end of November.”