Apprentice in Death (In Death #43)(37)

As she walked away, Whitney stepped over to the fallen officer, pulled off the NYPSD lapel pin he wore, and laid it—reverently—on the shielded body.





7


Morris’s topcoat flapped as he stood over the body of the first victim. He pulled a can of Seal-It out of his own field kit, lifting his gaze to Eve as he coated his ungloved hands.

“I’ll take them in order. Do you know if this is how and where she fell?”

“The bodies and the scene have been compromised.” She stopped, shook her head. “Compromised, hell. They’re FUBAR. I’ve called for any and all security feeds so we can reconstruct. The crowd panicked, and some, including at least some of the DBs, were trampled.”

“An attack here?” He pulled gauges out of his kit. “We’re lucky it isn’t worse.”

At the moment, Eve didn’t want to think about worse. “ID’d as Fern Addison, age eighty-six. She was hit first, then the boy—Nathaniel Jarvits, age seventeen; then Officer Russo; then the male, David Chang, age thirty-nine. Another was hit, but survived—so far—she’s in surgery.

“Four out of five then,” Morris murmured, kneeling down by the body. “You’ve done your on-site on her?”

“Yes, all of them. We have TOD on all of them. You can verify.”

“In this case, I will. It’s best to be thorough.” He arranged his gauges, engaged his recorder, and began. “Mid-body, deadly force. TOD thirteen-twenty-one. I can tell you more once I have her in my house. From this cursory examination, I’d say she was gone before she hit the ground.”

He signaled to the morgue team. “They can be bagged, tagged, transported as we go.”

Rising, he moved to the second victim. “Seventeen, you said.”

“Yeah, seventeen. Today.”

“Ah, Christ, life can be so cruel. Parents?”

“Yes, and a sibling. He was airboarding with friends, took the strike in the back, and—similar to Ellissa Wyman—the force and his own momentum propelled him forward into a group of pedestrians. Minor injuries, treated or being treated on scene.”

“Mid-back, again from this on-site, similar to Ellissa Wyman.”

Still he verified TOD.

“According to his partner, Officer Russo attempted to shield the boy, shouted for people to take cover. He was struck seconds later—at least according to my TOD results, he died seconds after the boy.”

Once again Morris looked up, looked around. “You’ve contained this area quickly.”

“Not quickly enough.” She crouched beside him, decided she didn’t give a rat’s ass about the official record. “They had me and the victims on the goddamn jumbo screens. This kid’s mother or father? They may see that replayed before we can notify them. I had to give that to Peabody.”

Understanding, he touched her hand briefly, then rose to go to the fallen officer.

“He’s young, too.”

“Twenty-three.”

“Head strike, mid-forehead. Do you suspect the shooter was showing off, as he was with the third victim at the rink?”

“I suspect the shooter knew Officer Russo would be wearing body armor as is procedure. He might have injured Russo with a body shot, but he wouldn’t have taken him out. The goal was to take him out. You’ll see the fourth victim was another body shot, and my information is the survivor was struck mid-body, but to the left. A few inches right, and she’d be lying here with the other four. She still may come to you.”

“All victims are equal in my house, but . . .” Morris verified TOD.

“You kill a cop, it changes everything,” Eve finished. “This shooter has to know that. There was a choice here, this was deliberate. He targeted a cop—and it may be he targeted this specific cop.”

“Yet didn’t stop there, but took another, and sent a fifth to surgery.”

“I think—” She broke off as she heard the shouts, the hysteria. She saw a woman struggling with a pair of uniforms at the barricade, weeping, fighting, screaming a single name over and over.

Nate. Nathaniel Jarvits—the second victim.

“His mother,” Morris said. “Would you like me to—”

“No, I’ve got it. Finish here, get the victims transported as soon as you can.”

She rose, walked quickly.

Not even wearing a coat, Eve noted. The mother had run out of wherever she’d been in her street clothes.

“Mrs. Jarvits. Mrs. Jarvits! Look at me, look here. I’m Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Nate. Nate. Where’s my baby?”

“Mrs. Jarvits, I need you to come with me.” Where the hell was she going to take her in this mess? As she considered her best options, Eve started to take off her coat, but Whitney moved more quickly.

“Mrs. Jarvits.” He wrapped his own coat around her. “I’m Commander Whitney. Come with me now. Coffee shop.” He gestured. “I’ve had it cleared. I’ll take Mrs. Jarvits.”

“Please, where’s my son? Is he hurt? I need to see my son. He’s Nathaniel Foster Jarvits. He’s Nate.”

Whitney wrapped an arm around her, steered her away as Peabody jogged up.

“I couldn’t reach her. She must have seen a bulletin. I was able to contact the father, but I couldn’t reach her. She works a few blocks away.”