New York to Dallas (In Death #33)(21)

From the looks of her, she’d been doing a good job of it. Her hair, a short, sleep-crazed mess of brass and black, stuck up everywhere around a thin, slack face. She’d neglected to remove her enhancers so her eyes and lips were smeared with what was left of them.

She wore a short black robe, carelessly looped, that showed good legs and br**sts too perky not to have been paid for.

“Isaac McQueen.”

“Who?”

“If you bullshit me, Deb, we’ll have this little talk downtown.”

“Christ sake, you beat on my door, wake me up, hassle me. What the hell is this?”

“Isaac McQueen,” Eve repeated.

“I heard you. Jesus.” She gave Eve a hard, smeary-eyed scowl. “I need a hit.” And turned, shuffled away.

Eyebrows cocked, Eve stepped in, watched Bracken continue to shuffle to the far corner of the messy living area where the kitchen consisted of a bucket-sized sink, a mini-friggie, and a shoe box–sized AutoChef. When she stabbed at the AutoChef it made a harsh, grinding hum, then a clunk.

She pulled out a mug, downed the contents like medicine. From the smell, Eve identified cheap coffee substitute. She waited while Bracken programmed a second mug, took a slug.

“Isaac’s in the joint.”

“Not anymore.”

“No shit.” The first glimmer of interest passed over her face. “How’d he get out?”

“Sliced up a medical and took his ID.”

“He killed somebody?” Bracken’s scowl deepened. “That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not the first time.”

“I don’t believe that.” She glugged down more coffee, shook her head. “He wasn’t in for murder, so he didn’t do murder. He’s maybe a prick, but he ain’t no killer.”

“Tell that to the medical’s widow and kid. Has he been by to see you, Deb?”

“Shit no. I’m old news to him.” She frowned into her coffee. “Prick.”

“You visited him in The Tombs.”

“Yeah, so what? It’s not against the law. Some cop framed him, set him up so she could get some flash. So he liked kiddie  p**n . Everybody’s got their quirks, right? Anyway, I just went in a couple times to talk to him, give him some company.”

“Eleven visits is more than a couple,” Peabody pointed out.

“What’s the difference? I haven’t seen him in, like, two years. He gave me the boot. Get that? He’s in the joint and he gives me the boot. Prick.”

“How did you and McQueen get acquainted?” Eve asked her.

“What’s it to you?”

At Eve’s nod, Peabody took a file from her bag, handed it to Eve. She walked it over, set it on the tiny, crowded counter. Opened it. “Take a look. This is what he kept in a locked room in his apartment twelve years ago.”

Bracken’s face paled, but she shook her head again. “It was a frame-up.”

“I was in that room. I found those girls.”

“You’re the one who set him up?”

“I didn’t set him up, but I took him down. And I will again. Here’s what he did yesterday, so I’d know he was back in business.” She showed her the evidence photo of Julie Kopeski. “She and her cohab live in that apartment now. McQueen broke in. He beat the crap out of her, raped her. I wonder, Deb, if he’ll decide to look you up, renew your acquaintance.”

“I wanna sit down.”

“Go ahead.”

She made her way through the clutter, dropped into a chair. “This isn’t bullshit?”

“Do you want to see a picture of the medical he cut up?”

“No. Christ no. I liked the guy. I mean I really liked him. He talked to me like I was special, said real sweet things. And he’s nice looking, you know? He just seemed so sad, and like he needed somebody to talk to, to care about him. It really hurt my feelings when he said he didn’t want to see me anymore. And he took me off the visitor’s list, wouldn’t answer my messages.”

“You didn’t start visiting him out of the goodness of your heart.”

“See I was in this program. I had some issues with . . . substances. It was like community service, supposed to be good for me. And okay, I’m clean now. You can do a test. I’ve been clean for almost nine months. But maybe back then I still had issues, and I got a hundred for the visits. I did it for the money at first, but then I really liked the prick. You know?”

“Who made the arrangements?”

“I don’t like to get him in trouble.”

“Deb, McQueen had a steady stream of women visiting him. Women like you,” Eve added, “with issues. McQueen liked to work with a partner. A woman with issues.”

Spots of color bloomed on her cheeks as her mouth dropped open. “Fuck me! I’d never do shit to a kid—to anybody. Okay, maybe when I had issues I skimmed a few pockets, ran a few games, but that was part of the issue. I never hurt anybody. I wouldn’t have helped him do anything to a kid. Christ sake.”

“Which is probably why he gave you the boot. Who set you up?”

“Stib. That son of a bitch. I’ll kill him. I don’t mean for real,” she said quickly.

“Randall Stibble?”