Obsession in Death(101)

“She’s gone, Peabody. We won’t take her down tonight. But contact hospitals – emergency treatment centers, walk-in clinics. Maybe she’s burned bad enough to need medicals. Maybe she’d risk it. Hit facilities in your own neighborhood first. Let’s play the angle she lives close to my old place. Any hits, I hear about it, otherwise, zip it. Tomorrow,” she added, and cut transmission.

She turned to one of the uniforms who was waiting. “You get something?”

“A couple of teenage girls, Lieutenant, two floors down. Bocco family, apartment seven-twelve. Girls are Savannah Bocco, Thea Rossi, both age sixteen. They rode up in the elevator with her.” He handed her a pair of discs in an evidence bag. “Security feed from the exterior and the elevator, sir. No hallway cams in this building.”

“Good. Secure this unit once Ms. Furst is the hell out of it. Expand the canvass to emergency treatment centers and clinics in the area. She’s burned, right hand and/or wrist. Try outlets that sell medical supplies – over-the-counter burn meds, pain meds.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nadine!”

“I’m going, I’m going.” She’d changed into black skin pants, boots, sweater, had actually taken time to slap some gunk on her face and fuss with her hair.

Eve all but shoved her out of the apartment. “Make certain she’s secure,” she told the transport officers. “In and locked down.”

“I appreciate the hospitality,” Nadine said, “however rudely offered.”

“Get the hell out.”

She turned to Roarke. “I’m going to talk to the teenagers – God help us all. You can be Peabody, if you swear not to sulk.”

“I think I can mask my bruised feelings. She wants to help – and be in on the action,” he added as Eve stepped out.

“She is helping, and there’s not likely to be much action.”

He patted her back, called for the seventh floor in the elevator. “A bit more action than there would’ve been, don’t you think, if Nadine hadn’t opened the goddamn motherf*cking door.”

Eve just leaned back against the wall a moment. “If the bitch had gotten a better angle through the gap, Nadine’s dead. That chain wouldn’t have stopped her. No hallway cams, apartments around her soundproofed. You could see the bolt on the chain was already compromised on the jamb. A few good kicks, it gives, and that’s that.”

“If,” Roarke repeated. “And if didn’t happen.”

“What did happen is Nadine didn’t think.” She stepped out on seven. “And okay, yeah, yeah, I can see how it went in her head. A routine, the producer, what struck as a standard e-mail from the job. And at the push, she wasn’t fatally stupid. But it’s the kind of daily action, the acting on auto, that proves this individual can get to anyone. Louise gets an emergency call, heads out. Mavis takes five in her dressing room. Reo gets a damn messengered packet from her boss, whatever.

“She’s revved up now, blocked up, needs the release, needs the win. She’ll take more chances.”

“Taking chances leads to making mistakes.”

“Yeah. I don’t want to catch her mistake when I’m standing over the body of a dead friend.” She pushed the buzzer on the Bocco apartment, held her badge up to the security peep.

The door opened a couple inches, hit the chain. Eve considered giving it a few kicks just to see how many it would take.

“Mr. Bocco? Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD, and civilian consultant. We’d like to speak with Savannah, and with Thea Rossi.”

“Could I see your badge again?”

“Sure.” Eve held it to the gap, figured if she’d been a crazed killer she could’ve stunned the man between the eyes in under three seconds.

“Sorry. We’re a little nervous.” He closed the door, released the chain, opened it again. A long-eared dog with short legs hobbled over to sniff at her boots, at Roarke’s, then wagged the entire back end of its body.

Charmed, Roarke crouched to give the dog a rub that had it quivering with joy.

“Officer Osgood told us you’d be coming to talk to the girls.” He stepped back, ushered them into a cheerfully disordered living area with a shining Christmas tree slowly revolving in front of the window.

“Go on, Tink, go lie down now.”

With a sigh, the dog hobbled to a purple pillow, groaned in what sounded like pleasure as it flopped down.

“She’s ancient, but still game. I’m Nick Bocco, Savannah’s father. Sorry, we’re still pretty tossed around from Christmas.” He shoved at a mop of brown hair, looked owlishly around the cheerfully messy living space. “And no school till the second – a day I have circled in red on every calendar. I’ve been mostly working at home this week, and that doesn’t matter at all.”

He stopped himself, scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry again, I’m a little shaken at the idea the girls were in the elevator with a murder suspect.”

“Did Officer Osgood say this individual is a murder suspect?”

“He didn’t have to. He showed me the sketch – like the one I’ve seen on screen off and on all day. It’s not just paranoia, leading me to the girls were in the elevator with the person the police are after for the two murders since Christmas.