Apprentice in Death (In Death #43)(48)

They stepped to either side of the door. Eve turned the knob, dropped low, shoved the door open from the bottom.

No booby trap, no trip wires, no internal cameras.

And very little else.

She stepped into a living area that held one aging and sagging sofa.

“You reading this, Feeney?” She turned a circle to give him the three-sixty with her lapel recorder.

“Yeah, shit.”

“We’ll clear it anyway.”

He’d left his bed, stripped to the mattress. A second bedroom held nothing but accumulated dust and some empty clothes hangers.

“They left this place weeks ago. Lowenbaum, stand down. They’re not coming back here. Peabody, call in the sweepers. They can go over the place, for form’s sake.”

To release a bubble of frustration, she kicked the sofa.

“Copy that, sir,” Peabody said. “I can give you those names.”

“Give.”

“Rene Hutchins, the school psychologist at the female suspect’s high school. Thomas Greenburg, principal at the same school. Lynda Track works with Zoe Younger—and is Lincoln Stuben’s sister.”

“Have them contacted, interviewed. Assign protective details.”

“On it.”

“You don’t believe they’re in immediate danger,” Roarke said.

“No. One mission at a time.” Eve hissed out a breath. “Rounds out her hit list with two authority figures from her school and her stepfather’s sister—who’s likely friends with her mother.”

She took a turn, put the second hit list aside for now, dealt with what was more immediate—the three unknown people on the first list.

“He figured we’d get here sooner or later. He prepared for that. Left the furniture that was too big and too old to bother with. Carmichael, Santiago, start knocking on doors here. Let’s see if anyone can tell us when he booked.”

She resisted, barely, kicking the sofa again. “Okay, all right. No more pussyfooting around. Feeney, will you contact the commander, give him the status? We’re going full release on the IDs. I’m available for a media conference in an hour.”

“Better you than me, kid.”

“Lowenbaum, be available for same.” She yanked out her ’link, started that ball rolling. “Nadine.”

“Dallas. I’ve been trying to reach you all damn day. Everything’s pushed to—”

“Where are you?”

“What? I just got home, but—”

“I’m coming to you. Which home?”

“My new place. My only place now. What—”

“No cameras. I’m on my way.”

Roarke studied her cold, angry eyes. “Yanking the cork out of the bottle, are we?”

“That’s right.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Right now? I could use a ride.”

In a fraction of the time she could have commandeered a police vehicle, she was sliding behind the wheel of a husky all-terrain. Peabody dropped in beside her.

“It’s big and warm.”

“It’s temporary. Plug in Nadine’s address. I don’t know where the hell it is.”

“Oh, it’s great. She’s still decorating it, but I heard it’s already looking mag, and—”

“I don’t care what it looks like.”

“Right.” Peabody sat back as the comp cued Eve on direction. “You want Nadine to break the story before you talk to the general media.”

“I want her to fucking explode it. That’ll cut down on the time I have to stand there giving statements, answering stupid questions. More, she’ll dig in. There’ll be stories and data about the suspects, about the victims. We have targets as yet unidentified, as yet unprotected. A good chance they’ll come to us after this. We need more background on the dead wife.”

“I did more digging while we were waiting. Birth family, education, employment. Nothing stands out. Pretty stable family, grew up in Westchester, no trouble in school, two years of college, general studies. Worked in retail. Moved to Brooklyn, roomed with a couple of girlfriends. switched jobs—still retail. Married Mackie, moved again, changed jobs again. Last employment Boomer’s, clothing store on East Fifty-Seventh.”

“She went to the doctor’s, must’ve been heading back to work after the appointment. I want to talk to Marta Beck, find out what went on that day at the appointment. Let’s find out the name of her supervisor at work. Mackie blamed the doctor, and Beck’s initials are on the hit list, so he sees her as part of it.”

“Beck isn’t a medical. She’s administration.”

“Exactly. Beck said they often ran behind with appointment times.”

“Ever been to a doctor that doesn’t?”

“I try to avoid them. So maybe her appointment ran late, and she’s rushing—why else does a sane person run out into the street? If she was rushing back to work, he might target her supervisor, or someone at her job. Get me names.”

“Got that. Oh, you can park in the underground here, there’s a visitors level.”

“We’re not visitors.”

The building was sharp and sleek and silver. Not shiny and bright, but aged in a way to lend it character and dignity. She pulled straight up to the lavish front entrance, nosing in behind a limo disgorging a woman inside a massive fur coat carrying a tiny dog—also wearing a fur coat over his skinny dog body.