Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(94)

“Check anyway. The targets?”

“Gregory Sullivan and Devin Noonan. They’re all grad students at NYU. There was a party right before the Thanksgiving break, a lot of drinking, some illegals—she didn’t hedge there or deny she’d had her share of both. She went into the bedroom to get her coat, ready to head home. They both came in behind her, locked the door. She says Sullivan’s the one who forced her onto the bed, but Noonan helped hold her down while Sullivan dragged off her pants. It’s loud, nobody hears her calling for help. They took turns with her.”

“Did she tell anyone?”

“No.” Peabody scrubbed a hand over her face. “They told her she’d asked for it, the way she’d rubbed up against Sullivan when they danced. Everybody saw how she did, how she asked for it, then they left her there. She pulled on her pants, went home, got sick. The roomie had already left to go back home for the break, so she was alone. She’d seen flyers for the group on campus, and decided to go when she kept having nightmares. She started going early December.”

“Was Pettigrew there when she told the story, named her rapists?”

“Yeah. She said she started crying, couldn’t finish at first, and Pettigrew came over to her, held her.”

“Will she file charges?”

“I didn’t think so, but after we talked, she said she wanted to. She wants to talk to her mother first. She wants to tell her mother what happened. She told her roommate after she started going to the group, but she hasn’t been able to tell her mother. I think she’ll come back, Dallas, and file.”

“Good. Why don’t you run the targets? I’ll take the next woman.”

“No, I’m good.” To prove it, Peabody downed the rest of the coffee. “I’m good. I just needed a break. I can interview the next one.”

“When you need to stop, you stop.”

“Not yet.” Peabody rose. “Bad as it is, it feels positive, letting them talk it out, showing I believe them. I’ll go write it up, check the alibis before the next comes in.”

“Peabody. You’re doing good work.”

“I’ll feel like I am when we close this—and closing it includes helping put assholes like this Sullivan and Noonan in cages.”

And that’s what they’d do, Eve thought.

She ran the two names, found Sullivan had several alcohol-and illegals-flavored bumps. And a few weeks in a classy rehab center. His limited employment history stayed confined to a few weeks a year in the family business. He played lacrosse and tennis while he studied business and finance and floated on his trust fund.

She knew the type.

Noonan mirrored him closely—though he played golf and tennis, and put in some time working a couple months a year at the country club in Connecticut both families belonged to.

She gathered what she had, and this time instead of contacting Special Victims, she went in person, spent time discussing strategy with a couple detectives she knew and the lieutenant in charge.

And considered it time well spent. Positive.

With Peabody back in Interview when Eve returned, she read her partner’s report, added her own notes from the trip to SVU and her runs.

Noting Peabody hadn’t had time to check the alibi, she reviewed the information and began to process it herself.

While Eve talked to the roommate, Linus Brinkman disembarked from his private shuttle. He’d enjoyed a Caesar salad, a bowl of smoked tomato soup, and two glasses of pinot noir on the flight.

That, in addition to a very successful trip, put him in the finest of moods.

He clouded a bit when he saw the chauffeur holding a sign with his name.

“I’m Brinkman. Where is Viktor?”

“I’m sorry, sir, he took ill shortly ago. I’m here to see you’re not inconvenienced. Please, let me take your bag.”

Brinkman handed it over, but his frown deepened. “They sent a droid? You’re a good one, but you’re a droid.”

“Yes, sir. I was immediately available and dispatched to ensure you weren’t required to wait for another replacement. I am, of course, fully programmed and licensed as a chauffeur. Your car is just out here.”

“All right, all right. I don’t have time to waste.”

“Exactly so.” The droid rolled the bag toward the car, opened the rear passenger door.

Brinkman saw the woman as he started to climb in. “And who would you be?”

“I’m Selina, sir. The company sent you a companion to compensate for the trouble.” She offered a hand, injected the drug into Brinkman’s palm.

“Not another droid, are you?” he demanded, already slurring his words.

“Not at all.” She offered him a glass of wine. “Flesh and blood, just like you.”

He was out cold before the car pulled away from the center.

“Stop by the salon, Wilford, then we’ll go to the market.”

“Yes, Ms. Pettigrew.”

“Afterward, you’ll take him in the usual way. Chain him up.”

“Of course, Ms. Pettigrew.”

“I gave him enough to keep him out for a few hours, so when you’re done, you can shut down.”

“As you wish.”

Yes, she thought. Just as she wished.