Taken in Death (In Death #37.5)(19)

He followed the line of logic, nodded. “They’ll demand proof of life, the feds.”

“Yeah. If she doesn’t expect that, she’s stupid. I don’t think she’s stupid. She’ll have something.”

“We can, and will, track any transmission she makes.”

“Yeah, and if she doesn’t know that, she’s stupid. She’ll have a plan there. She won’t be at the location where the kids are when she contacts. Why be an idiot? But we’ll use whatever tracking we’ve got, correlate. Everything we get adds in.”

Even as she started out, Peabody raced to her. “They’re getting something from Henry.”

“Are you doing okay, Henry?” Feeney asked as Eve dashed in.

“We wanna go home. You’re not the good witch.”

“No, I’m a friend of hers. She’s right here.”

He signaled Eve while both Callender and McNab worked frantically to boost and stabilize the signal.

“Hey, Henry, where are you?”

“I’m hiding . . . bathroom. Gala’s watching for . . . witch.”

“Henry, do you know how to take pictures with your Jamboree?”

“Yeah . . .” Static buzzed in, his voice faded, wavered back. “. . . pictures good.”

“Okay, why don’t you take some pictures of the bathroom, and if you can of the door of the room where she’s got you? Of the walls. It’s going to help me find you.”

“It’s going to take battery power,” Roarke murmured in her ear.

“Just of the door, Henry, and of the bathroom, like from right outside. Just those two pictures right now. Have Gala stand next to the door, and take one. Hurry up, okay?”

“’Kay.”

“Tell me what the walls look like?”

“Like . . . sidewalk.”

“The floor?”

“Like . . . walls. A rug. Toys.”

“Do you remember anything about how you got where you are? Anything at all.”

“It was cold, and there . . .” He dropped out, chopped back. “. . . window. We didn’t have our boosters . . . stopped and made us drink. It wasn’t good . . . sleepy.”

“Where did she stop? Do you remember anything about where?”

“. . . towers and a star.”

“A building with towers and a star?”

“Uh-huh . . . didn’t go there. She said drink . . . drove more, and I fell asleep. I . . . pictures.”

“Good. Do you know how to send them?”

“I send pictures to . . . and to Granddad and Grandma, and—”

“Okay, good. Here’s where you should send them.” She gave Henry her ’link number, slowly.

“Not yet,” Roarke told her.

“But don’t do it yet. Why?” she hissed at Roarke.

“He needs to shut down, better to delete some of the other functions. It may help give him enough of a boost.”

“Shit. Henry, I’m going to have you talk to somebody else, and he’s going to tell you what to do.”

She shoved the comm at Roarke, shifted to lean over McNab’s shoulder. “Have you got him?”

“It’s not enough of a signal, Dallas. It slips and slides.”

“I can hear him fine. Mostly.”

“We’re boosting audio here, and filtering out all the noise we can. It’s the source that’s the problem.”

“She’s back!” Henry’s frantic whisper seemed to boom into the room. “She’s right outside . . . bathroom. I—”

“Henry! What . . . doing in there . . . fat little pig?”

“I’m going . . . bathroom. I . . . wash my hands. I . . . hide my Jamboree,” he whispered.

“I . . . you’re playing with yourself, you ugly . . .”

Eve heard the girl screaming: Don’t hurt him. Don’t you hurt my brother. Then the sound of a crash, a wail a second before the transmission went dead.

“It’s off,” Callender told her. “He shut it off, and that was smart. We’ll hope he got it hidden in time.”

“Upper East Side building with towers and a star.” Eve started to turn, give the order.

“I’m already looking,” Roarke told her, standing hunched over a portable comp.

“I found two occult shops, Lieutenant.” Trueheart tapped his screen. “One of them’s open until two A.M.”

“Baxter.”

He grabbed his coat. “We’re on our way. Let’s go, Trueheart.”

“There has to be a way to track his damn signal.”

Feeney rubbed at his eyes before swiveling around to Eve. “It’s a damn toy, Dallas. A nice, well-made toy, but just a toy. It’s got severe limits. And his batt’s weak. Shutting down the other functions was a good call. It’ll help prolong the batt. And if he transmits when we’re closer, we could track better.”

“It looks like it’s south of Seventy-second,” McNab put in. “Most likely north of Sixty-first. Probably west of Second. East of Fifth—that’s ninety-nine percent.”

“Okay. Peabody, let’s go with the looks like, maybe, probably. Highlight that area.”