Born in Death (In Death #23)(75)

“Let’s just get this out of the way. Give me your whereabouts on Thursday.”

“I was here, at my office through Thursday until about eight. I left for Glasgow that night, straight from there. I work forThe Times, the LondonTimes. I’ll give you my editor’s name and number, and the hotel where I stayed in Glasgow, so you can verify. Whatever you need. I can make some calls from here—friends of hers, coworkers, the OB she saw when she found out she was pregnant. Maybe someone knows…she might have contacted someone.”

“Why don’t you give me a list of names and contact numbers?”

“Yes, all right. Better from you than the git who mucked the whole business up. I’m coming to New York. I’ll be there this afternoon. I’ll give you my pocket ’link number, in case…”

By the time Eve had taken all the data, she had a cup of coffee on her desk along with her time line, in hard copy and disc.

“We can make calls,” Leonardo began. “Mavis and I can contact the birthing centers and the hospitals again, on the chance Tandy checked in this morning.”

“Call the midwife,” Eve told him. “Have her do it. They’ll talk to her quicker than either of you. Mavis, did Tandy ever mention she’d considered putting the baby up for adoption?”

“She did.” At her station, Mavis sat very still, her hands crossed over her belly. “She told me once she’d considered all the options. And she’d even gone to an agency, taken the first steps toward that one. But she’d changed her mind.”

Reading Eve’s expression, Mavis shook her head. “You think she changed it again, and went into a shelter or agency. She didn’t. She wouldn’t have. She was committed, Dallas, to making a family.”

“It’s worth looking into. Do you remember the name of the agency?”

“I think maybe she said the name.” Mavis pressed her fingers to her temples as if to push the name out of her head. “God, I can’t remember. It was just one of those nights we were sitting around, talking about stuff.”

“If you remember, tell me.” Eve looked over as Peabody and McNab came in. “McNab, you’re with Roarke next door. E-work on the Copperfield/Byson case. Peabody, I’ve got a list of names and contacts in London regarding Tandy Willowby. You take those. Mavis, you and Leonardo can do a search on adoption agencies with London offices. Go through and see if one rings for you. Peabody’s going to need that unit, so you’ll have to take it into another room.”

“We’ll start right now.” Mavis levered herself up. “I feel better doing something. I feel like it’s going to be okay now.”

Peabody waited until Leonardo led Mavis out. “And now that you’ve got her out of the way?”

“Look over the file I got from Italy. Like crime. Woman poofed at thirty-six weeks. No trace of her or the baby. He’s got names from Florence, where she lived before she moved to Rome and vanished. Do followups.”

“I don’t speak Italian. Except for, like, manicotti, linguini, and the occasionalcaio. ”

“Me, either. Improvise. Try this new angle, see if anyone knows if she explored other options. Termination or adoption.”

For herself, Eve went back to Peabody’s IRCCA data and took a harder look at the other cases. Possible, she thought, possible one or more of the other open cases was a bungled abduction, resulting in death. Cover up the mistake with rape or assault or theft. Ditch the body.

She picked through the details, pored over the autopsy reports. Then narrowed her eyes at the data on a twenty-one-year-old victim in Middlesex. The mutilated body and fetus had been found in the woods, which the local police had determined was a dump site rather than the murder scene. Mutilation postmortem. COD: head trauma.

Following through, Eve contacted the primary investigator. Fifteen minutes later, she sat back, frowned over at her murder board.

There were differences, she mused. This victim had been married—but only weeks before her death. She had family in Middlesex, had lived there most of her life.

Except for a brief period when she’d gone to London. Gone there, according to the statements taken by the investigator, specifically to look into placing the baby with an agency.

She held up a hand when Peabody crossed the room.

“Just getting coffee,” Peabody told her.

“Twenty-one-year-old vic, England. Pregnant with casual boyfriend, opts to have the baby. Family is upset, don’t like boyfriend much. He’s been in trouble a couple times, doesn’t have regular employment. After some hand-wringing, vic goes to London to look into adoption options. Stays at a hostel for a few days, then moves to a midpriced hotel. Remains in London six weeks before returning to Middlesex. Boyfriend gets steady job, love conquers, and plans are made to marry and keep the baby.”

“But?”

“A couple weeks before her due date, she goes missing. Turns up two days later in the woods near the house she and new husband have rented. It’s a dump site. Murder occurred elsewhere, never determined.”

“They look at the new husband?”

“With a laserscope. Alibied tight. COD was head trauma, most likely from a fall. DB also showed signs of restraints, hands and feet, and minor perimortem bruising on the arms. The body was mutilated after death. Hacked up, and the fetus removed. Nonviable.”