Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(88)

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.”