Taken in Death (In Death #37.5)(20)

“I have a strong possible, a synagogue on Sixty-eighth, between Third and Lex.”

Eve strode over to Roarke, studied the image. Two towers, and the Jewish Star on the building. “Yeah, that could be it. From here, she would’ve crossed Second Avenue—Henry’s second. And she would’ve gone south on Third. Stopped near that building to give them the booster drug, put them out so they’d wake up inside, secured and disoriented. Peabody, put the map on the wall screen.”

“I haven’t finished—”

“As it is,” Eve ordered. “You can keep working on it. See, there’s her route.” Eve grabbed a laser pointer, traced it. “Going with McNab’s perimeters, we lock in above Sixty-first, and with this stop, we’ll focus south of Sixty-eighth. West of Second, east of Fifth. What have we got there?”

“A hell of a lot of brownstones, townhomes, upscale retail.”

Eve strained at Peabody’s assessment, but couldn’t argue with it. “If we could get those pictures, we may be able to work out if they’re in a basement, some sort of attic, a utility room, something. We might be able to judge the age of the building. Still, we’re narrowing the area.”

Eve raked her fingers through her hair, squeezed her hands on her skull as if to wake up fresh thoughts.

“She has to eat, shop, probably work. After all those years of confinement, she’s not going to close herself in. I still think closer is better for her. The kid said he got sleepy pretty quick, we’ll figure she wanted that. She’s at Sixty-eighth, so let’s start with above Sixty-fifth. She’s probably east of Madison. Park’s possible, but Lex or Third keeps her easy walking to this place. Let’s play with that. Look on Lexington, look on Third.”

“It’s like following bread crumbs,” Roarke muttered as he sat to assist Peabody. “From point to point, and never being sure if some bloody bird hasn’t pecked a few up.”

“Jesus, it is.” Peabody shuddered. “Two lost kids, evil witch. Henry and Gala. Hansel and Gretel. Bread crumbs,” she repeated at Eve’s blank look.

“Is that where that came from? What happened to those kids?”

“They outwitted her,” Roarke told her, “and the witch ended up in the oven, burned alive.”

“Nice story for the toddler set.”

“Folktales were often brutal.”

“But . . .” Peabody stared at both of them, dark eyes stunned. “I thought they escaped, and came back with their parents, brought healthy food to the witch. Their kindness transformed her into a kind grandmotherly type, and she opened a bakery.”

Eve smirked at Roarke. “Free-Ager version. Sap.”

“But—” Peabody just sighed when Roarke patted her shoulder.

“The tale has another disturbing cross-reference,” he added. “The evil witch in the gingerbread house planned to fatten them up and cook them for dinner.”

“Christ.” Eve dragged her hands through her hair. “Well, this ain’t no fairy tale.”

Eve dragged out her signaling ’link. “Dallas.”

“Teasdale. She’s contacting now.”

Feeney shot a thumb up in the air. “We’re locked in here, too. It’s go.”

Tosha answered, the fear in her voice as palpable as a heartbeat. “Hello.”

“It’s been a long time, syster.”

“Maj, please, Maj, don’t hurt the children. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Oh yes, you will. His blood tastes like yours, weak and thin. I’ll sample hers soon.”

“Please, please, don’t . . . How do I know they’re all right? How do I know they’re still alive?”

The room filled with screams—the boy, the girl, calling for their mother to come, to help them. A video, brutally close to those terrified faces, snapped off and on, with the time stamp hitting only minutes after Eve and Henry’s transmission.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Maj taunted. “You don’t even teach them your own language. You don’t deserve to live. Neither do they.”

“They’ve done nothing to you. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

“Will you die for them?”

“Yes! Yes! Let them go and take me. I’m begging you.”

“Much, much too easy. You’ll pay five million American dollars?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Please. Anything.”

“Here is anything. Choose one.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“One dies, one lives. You choose. Your son or your daughter? Which little piggie comes home?”

“Maj, dear God, Maj—”

“Five million dollars. I’ll tell you where to send it the next time I talk to you. And you’ll tell me which lives, which dies. Choose, or I kill them both. There can never be two, syster. You know it. Choose, or both are lost.”

“Have you got her, have you got her?” Eve demanded when Borgstrom’s line went dead.

“Got her, already dispatching. Feds, too. She was moving, probably on foot from the speed,” Feeney relayed. “Tagged her at Madison and Sixty-first. Locked on there, and it’s stationary.”

“She tossed the ’link,” Eve said.