Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(47)

“Oh dear God. I’ll keep her away from the news as much as I can. That will crush her. Find him.” She took both Peabody’s and Eve’s hand. “Find who’s doing this. I hope we’ll see each other again, in happier times.”





10


“My granny’s going to flip when I tell her I met Eloise Callahan.”

“Which is, of course, the main point of this exercise.”

“Just getting it out of the way,” Peabody said breezily as they got in the car. “Darla Pettigrew’s alibi’s shaky, and she has motive.”

“Agreed.”

“On the other side, her grief seemed genuine. So did her devotion to her grandmother.”

“Also agreed.”

Considering, Peabody looked back at the house. “It’s hard to believe she’d leave her grandmother alone, potentially for a number of hours, while she’s recovering from a long illness.”

As she pulled away, Eve glanced at the rearview mirror. “Big house. I bet there are a lot of private, soundproofed rooms where you could torture a man to death while keeping tabs on Granny.”

Peabody’s eyebrows rose. “You like her for it?”

“She’s on the list.”

“You really think she’d torture, mutilate, and kill McEnroy and her ex while her ninety-odd-year-old grandmother’s sleeping in the same house?”

“That’s exactly why it’s damn good cover—because that’s going to be the expected reaction. She’s on the list,” Eve repeated. “High on the list. Interesting she brought up the support group before we asked.”

“You think that’s suspicious?” Baffled, Peabody shifted to study Eve’s profile. She knew her partner, understood Eve felt a vibe she hadn’t. “I mean she was talking about how her grandmother helped her, and one of the ways was to nudge her into a support group.”

“Not suspicious necessarily, but convenient. Convenient for us, too. We’ve got the connection now. High probability one or more of the support group killed two men. Let’s track down the woman who runs the group.”

“Already on it. They’ve got a web page,” Peabody said as she worked her PPC. “No names or contact numbers—that anonymous deal, I guess. There’s like, a mission statement.

“ ‘Women For Women offers support without judgment for women from women. We stand for each other through divorce, infidelity, loss, harassment, rape, depression, recovery, and whatever difficulties you face as a woman.

“ ‘Our group offers a unique understanding of the issues women face in their daily lives. If you need someone to listen, we’re here.’ ”

Peabody scrolled on. “It says the group’s led by a licensed therapist who will provide recommendations for shelters, legal representation, rehabilitation facilities upon request. McNab showed me a few tricks,” she told Eve. “Let me see if I can dig out the IP, a name, a location.”

“Meanwhile, plug in the meeting site. We’ll try that.”

Peabody programmed the address, then rolled her shoulders, started punching keys.

Eve gave Peabody silence, and herself some thinking time as she headed back downtown.

Big house, she thought again. And there’d been a garage so probably a vehicle. Very private residence. Good potential.

Then again, the grandmother had seemed on the frail and shaky side, like a woman recovering from a bad illness. Wouldn’t hurt to check that, just make sure the pneumonia thing wasn’t a cover.

Low probability there. Which made it tough to see a devoted granddaughter leaving her frail and shaky grandmother alone for however long it took to lure the target, get the target back to the very private residence.

But … way overblown on the grief for a cheating ex.

Darla mentioned a day nurse, Eve thought. Maybe she’d hired a night nurse, someone who’d cover while she was busy elsewhere. Maybe off the books.

“Holy shit, check me!” Bouncing, Peabody pumped a fist in the air. “I got it. IP’s registered to Kendra Zula. Hold on, I can get the address. Hey, it’s a couple blocks from the meeting site. We’re already on our way.”

“Nice work.”

“Thanks. Want me to run her?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you want me to run her. Jeez, she’s only twenty-one. A student at NYU. Parents cohabbed, no marriage. Father’s living in Kenya, like Africa. No sibs. Mother lives at the same address. Natalia Zula.”

“Mother runs the group, daughter set up the page,” Eve surmised. “Run the mother.”

“Natalia Zula, age forty-four, and yeah, a licensed therapist. Licensed since ‘56. She has a practice, specializes in women and kids. Looks like she runs the practice out of the same address.”

“Then it should be easy to find her.”

She found the address, a slim duplex on the edges of NoHo. Someone had painted the front entrance door a deep blue. On the small pad up the short steps from the sidewalk sat a boldly striped pot where something poked up green through the soil.

Good security, Eve noted as she rang the bell. A woman’s voice—not a comp—answered, “How can I help you?”

“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, NYPSD. We need to speak with Natalia Zula.”