Desperation in Death (In Death #55)(95)

“I agree. Far too much wasted space, termed here as future builds and projects. Considering the purpose we all believe the structure’s used for, and the deep pockets of that purpose, it occurred to me the work needed to utilize those upper floors, all really but the front—in both senses—could be done unofficially, without permits.”

“That won’t help me plan an op.”

“No, but this should.”

He brought another set of blueprints on-screen. The detailing, the use of space gave her a quick flash of her time in state schools.

“How’d you get this? I can’t—we can’t use data you got by hacking Devereaux’s files. Nothing we do from it will stick.”

“Do I look like this is my first day on the job?” Feeney pointed at his own face. “Remember who trained you, kid. We figured what we figured, and Roarke figured there had to be prints somewhere. Even off-the-grid, you gotta have a plan. Roarke does a little digging—not over any line—and pulls out the architect Devereaux likes to use.”

He held up a finger before Eve could speak. “I tagged up the PA—went to the top—called in a favor. We go back some. It took some doing—another reason we ran over some—but we got a warrant to cyber-search the files, and there it is. Clean. A defense attorney might squawk, but it’s clean.”

“Okay. Okay. The plans are ten years old. They’ve been at this awhile.”

“The building was originally a warehouse with offices on the lower levels,” Roarke told her. “I have those blueprints, but suffice it to say they used the basic footprint, reconfigured to their needs. You have the rooms where they’d hold the girls, four floors of those small rooms and baths with a break area on each, presumably for staff. These larger areas could be training areas, classrooms. You have a single elevator on each floor. No windows. Stairs with reinforced doors and alarms.”

“Main level,” Eve picked it up. “The delivery front lobby, its storage and work areas, access to the shipping dock and garage. A security hub. One floor up, studios, shower area, kitchen area, another security hub, classrooms. Big office at the end there, with a bathroom and an elevator—that’s going to be Beaty’s office. Lower floor, that’s the infirmary, sickrooms, cleaning supplies, employee locker rooms.

“Top floor,” she continued. “You’ve got windows there. They’ll be privacy screened, but windows. Big space. Living and dining areas, powder room, big kitchen, big bedroom and bath, home office, home gym, entertainment room. She lives there. Auntie’s got herself a nice penthouse apartment.”

She slipped her hands in her pockets. Whatever fatigue she’d felt had snapped away.

“The tunnels. Both sets of plans had tunnels running under, old ones, to be filled in, according to the official ones. But they didn’t do that. Where do they lead?”

“We have that, and can show you, but … McNab.” Roarke turned to him. “Your find.”

“You have to figure if they take bodies out that way, they’d want to get close to where they dispose of them.” He reached out, finger-touched with Peabody. “Makes you sick when you think they’re doing that to kids. You take the tunnel east from the elevator, then the south fork. It’s going to come out under Quiet Rest. Funeral home and crematorium.”

“Good work. Damn good all around.” Eve shoved her hair back again. “I need everything on the funeral home.”

“I got it,” McNab told her.

“We pile that in.”

Studying the screen, she paced back and forth. And she could see how it could be done. Not fast, not easy, but she could see it.

“Okay, I’ve called in my detectives, Willowby, some uniforms, Lowenbaum from SWAT, the commander, Reo. I’ll pull Mira in. I see how it can work, so let’s talk it through, work out any kinks before they all get here.”





20





There were kinks. A building of that size, tunnels beneath, the security, unknown number of adversaries inside. More, the unknown number of minor civilians.

Then there was timing, coordinating with the authorities in France, Devereaux on Long Island, the whereabouts of scouts.

As they worked it, the fatigue crept back.

“Anyone in this room who wants in on the op takes a departmentally approved booster. Including me. Most of us have been up and at this for twenty-four or better.”

“Hate that shit,” Feeney muttered.

“Get in line. I’d say everybody take an hour down, but we don’t have it, so the boost. Take ten if you want it. Take a walk, get some air, whatever works. Peabody, sign out six boosters, log everyone’s name.”

As she spoke, Willowby came in.

“You’re early.”

“So I get the worm. I got more on the auction, wanted to pass it on in person since you called me in anyway.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Caught a couple hours. Things are moving.”

“Seven boosters, Peabody. We’ll brief in about ten, you can address new data then.”

Willowby scanned the screen, the board. “Looks like you’ve got plenty of new.”

“We have the location. We’re hitting it this morning.”

“No shit?” Slapping her hands together, Willowby focused on the screen. “That’s the where? Is that the … that’s the RDS drop-off I use. Fuck me, I’ve been in that place dozens of times. Now I’m pissed. Can I get in on this?”