Apprentice in Death (In Death #43)(47)

“It’s her high school—I’m sure of it, as I found this document as well.” Roarke called up a blueprint of Hillary Clinton High School. “Certain classrooms, certain areas were highlighted, egresses marked.”

“Jesus, Jesus. She plans to hit her school.”

“And already has her nest chosen. Closer this time than the other two attacks, but still an appreciable distance.”

Eve looked at the next image. “The roof of her father’s apartment building. She has these hidden here because this isn’t her father’s agenda. It’s hers. When they finish his mission, she can begin her own. How hard did you have to look to find this?”

“A bit of work, but more to the point, I likely wouldn’t have found it if I hadn’t been specifically looking for it. It was shielded under a perfectly harmless school report on George Washington.”

Eve paced. “Okay, let’s get back. We need to access Mackie’s apartment. It’s likely he’s got cams set up, is monitoring anyone going in or out of the building, certainly his own space.”

“I can take care of that.”

“Counting on it. We need to get in, see who’s next. When and where. They may have moved straight to the next nest, and there are three people on his agenda we haven’t ID’d. And we have to ID the unknowns on her list.”

“There’s more on hers. She’s listed her kills. Animals,” he said quickly. “The type, the place, the distance, the weapon, the date, the time. It appears her father’s taken her hunting—illegally very often—into Montana, Wyoming, Alaska, the Dakotas, even into Mexico, Canada. She’s listed over two dozen kills in the last seven months.”

“Copy the file to my units. I’ll have EDD pick this up, and hers. Hell, all of them, and now. She’ll have a unit at her father’s place. We need to get into that. She wouldn’t have needed to be so careful on his agenda there, so maybe we’ll have names.”

Eve shoved a hand through her hair. “I wonder if Mackie knows what kind of monster he’s created. And if he knows, does he care?”





9


Eve tagged Peabody, reeled off the names from Willow’s list. “These people are connected to the suspects, most likely the female. Nail them down, get contact information.”

She clicked off, turned to Roarke. “If Mackie’s monitoring the security cams in the apartment remotely, jamming them will tip him.”

As they walked, Roarke simply patted her shoulder and contacted Feeney. Though they launched into e-speak that made her head bang, Eve understood enough to interpret.

“You—or Feeney—can override the cam and replay a loop.”

“Exactly so. If Mackie’s monitoring closely, it won’t fool him for long, so we’ll want to time it well.”

“He could’ve rigged the door, right? He’s a cop, he’d think of details. Rig the door to let him know when anyone goes in, so—”

“Darling Eve, this is hardly my first B and E. In fact, how happy am I it’s not even my first of the day. Have a little faith.”

The snapping wind had keened to a sharp edge. She caught the scent of soy dogs and chestnuts from a cart—a puff of winter-fragrant smoke. Someone’s vehicle alarm went off in annoying, rapid beeps as a couple of teenage girls ran by giggling like lunatics.

Roarke spoke easily to Feeney.

“Override in ten,” Feeney announced.

“Copy that. Take the door,” Eve told Roarke. “Unlikely he’s got a way to monitor my master, but why take the chance?”

“And go,” Feeney said.

They went to the entrance and, with Roarke’s clever hands, were smoothly inside in under six seconds.

“No lobby cams, but the standard in the elevator.”

“We take the stairs.” Eve started up.

A decent enough place, she thought. Nothing close to the ex-wife’s duplex, but decent. She noticed sporadic soundproofing, catching snippets of sound from apartments as they moved up.

But on Mackie’s floor all held quiet.

“He bumped up his security.”

Roarke nodded as they stood out of range of the camera over his apartment door. “I’ve got this one.”

He took a device from his pocket, keyed in something, studied the readout, added more code. “Feed’s looped. Let’s see what other tricks he has for us.”

When they approached the door, Roarke used the same device to scan the locks, the security swipe. “Clever,” he murmured. “I’m reading a monitoring system, so you were right to be cautious here. No explosives, so that’s a bonus, isn’t it? Let me just . . . Aye, that’s it. Each in its time. Yes, clever enough. But . . . There you are. Hang on to this, will you?”

He handed Eve the device that hummed quietly in her hand while he took out his tools.

She watched him slip around a trio of police locks like they were thumb bolts.

Eve handed the device back to him, drew her weapon. “No explosives, good. But remember that old vid we watched a couple weeks ago? The guy booby-trapped his place. Had a big-ass shotgun rigged to go off if the door opened?”

“Classic vid,” he corrected, “but I do remember, yes. So why don’t we . . .”