Taken in Death (In Death #37.5)(11)

“Then why not just kill the sister? Why take the kids?”

“It may be to punish, to torture. She has strong sadistic tendencies. She may delude herself into replacing her sister as their mother. Taking what belongs to her sister, as she might a doll or an outfit. This is mine now.”

“So they’d likely be safe, unharmed.”

“For now. But her sister still exists, and from her sister came the children.”

“Yeah. I got that.”

“I want to review all the data I have. It may help us see her, and her purposes and actions, more clearly.”

“Get back to me whenever you have more.”

She went back to the living room to see Baxter and Trueheart working with Peabody to set up a temporary HQ.

Baxter, a solid detective despite looking like a model for an upscale men’s fashion designer, muscled the murder board in place with Trueheart’s assistance.

Trueheart, with his young hero’s face and squared-away uniform, had come a long way under Baxter’s training, Eve thought. She liked the contrast of them, in looks—and the dynamics in how they worked as a team.

“Nearly got the comps set up,” Peabody told her as she worked. “I should be able to rig it so we can use the wall screen there.”

“If she can’t, the geek squad’s on its way.” Baxter lifted a bag. “Disc bag, laser pointers, and anything else we could think of. Nice digs,” he commented. “But why the remote HQ?”

“Our strongest lead is that toy,” Eve began.

“The Jamboree.” Curious, Trueheart picked one up. “Cassie’s little brother has one,” he said referring to his current girlfriend. “Fun stuff.”

“It may end up saving those kids. How far is Feeney behind you?”

As if in answer, Feeney, his suit rumpled, his hair a small ginger and silver explosion over his droopy face, walked in just ahead of the colorfully clad McNab and Callender.

McNab sent Peabody a wink, which Eve chose to ignore. She might never get used to the intimate byplay between those lovebirds, but she didn’t have time to rag on them.

Besides, he carried a tote she assumed held tools of the e-trade.

This would be her core team, she thought. Peabody, Baxter, Trueheart, Feeney—McNab in his screaming orange baggies and shirt of daffodil and kiwi stripes—and Callender, her curvy body snugged into red skin-pants, and her pockets crowding over a long, sleeveless vest covered with silver stars.

Peabody straightened in her pink cowgirl boots and ordered the comp to print the various ID shots for the murder board.

They might resemble a motley crew, Eve thought, but they were some of the best cops in the department.

“Start setting up the board, Peabody, while I brief the team.”

GALA SAT ON THE FLOOR BETWEEN THE BEDS PLAYING WITH her doll. It wasn’t her favorite doll. The evil witch hadn’t brought Princess Elsa. But it was good to have Miss Zelda with her.

She was so scared, and she wanted Mommy. She wanted to be home having a tea party with Darcia.

But Darcia had gone to heaven. She hoped they had tea parties in heaven.

Behind her Henry played with blocks. But he wasn’t really playing, just as she wasn’t really playing. He built a fort, and in it he tried very hard to call the good witch.

Daddy said good beat the pants off evil, so they needed the good witch to come beat the pants off the evil witch.

Gala told Henry they should pretend to be good until the good witch came. Then maybe the evil witch wouldn’t make them drink any more of the stuff that made them feel sick and tired.

And she would be brave, like Henry, and sit in front of the fort so the bad witch saw her playing when she came in again. And Henry could hide the Jamboree.

But when the door opened she wanted to cry. She wanted Mommy and the bad witch looked like Mommy.

She’s not Mommy! Henry shouted in her head.

Crying now, Gala hugged Miss Zelda close.

“Cry baby, cry baby.” Maj sang it. “Keep it up and I’ll give you something to cry about, you stupid, ungrateful baby. Didn’t I give you cookies? Didn’t I give you cakes?”

Reaching down, she yanked the doll out of Gala’s hands. Smiling, she took a knife out of her pocket, held it to the doll’s throat. “If you cry, I’ll cut her head off. Do you want me to do that? Do you want to kill her?”

“No! Please, don’t hurt Miss Zelda! I won’t cry. I won’t, I won’t.”

“Miss Zelda. That’s a stupid name for a stupid doll.” Maj hurled it across the room, and zeroed in on Henry.

He jumped to his feet behind his fort, and stood quivering, hands balled into little fists.

“I don’t like the look on your face, pojke. Maybe I’ll cut your sister’s head off.” She grabbed Gala, waved the knife. “How about that? You’d better show me some respect or I’ll cut her throat just like I did your precious nanny’s.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He choked it out, could hardly get his breath.

“What? What did you say? Stop mumbling.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“That’s better.” She shoved Gala aside so the little girl fell. But she didn’t cry. She trembled, but she didn’t cry.

The evil witch smiled as she circled the knife in the air. “What are you doing there, Henry?”