Apprentice in Death (In Death #43)(58)

“Okay.” Since she was actually getting information now, Eve softened her tone. “You were doing your job.”

“I was! If she’d told me she had a doctor’s thing, or if she’d tagged me up, let me know she was running late because of one, I wouldn’t have been harsh. I swear. I don’t want to die! I’m only twenty-nine.”

Official ID data said thirty-three, but Eve let that pass.

“You’re not going to die. Did you speak to Reginald Mackie after the accident?”

“We—we sent flowers and a sympathy note. And we went—a whole group of us—to the memorial.”

“Right. Did you speak to him personally?”

“I just couldn’t. I couldn’t stop crying.”

“Did he speak to you, at any time?”

“No. His—his daughter . . .”

“Willow Mackie.”

“Yes. She came into the store. I recognized her because she’d come in before, so Susann could help her find clothes. And she came up to me, right up to my face, and said how I had to be sorry Susann got killed because I didn’t get to be a big shot and fire her. How Susann and the baby were dead because I wouldn’t give her enough time to go to the doctor’s. And she said: ‘Enjoy your crappy job and your crappy life while you have them.’”

“When did this happen?”

“I guess about a month after the memorial. She didn’t even look mad or upset. She was sort of smiling the whole time. I was really upset, and I tried to say I was sorry, but she just walked away. She knocked over a display of T-shirts on her way out. On purpose!”

“Did she ever come back?”

“Not while I was working. I never saw her again, until I saw her picture on the bulletin. All I could think was I wasn’t surprised.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I said how she didn’t look mad or upset when she came in and said those mean things to me? But she looked a little bit crazy. Darla said so, too. Darla’s one of our top salespeople, and she was right there. She saw the whole thing, and she said how that girl’s just crazy in the eyes.”

—

Eve headed back toward her office, and Peabody walked briskly out.

“Dallas!” Peabody moved into a jog. “We just confirmed the Mackies in Divine on the afternoons of both attacks. They’re on the feed today, at the counter ordering, at fourteen-twenty-five.

“Both?”

“Yeah. The security feed’s a twenty-four-hour loop, so we’ve missed catching them after the first incident, but while Uniform Carmichael reviewed the feed, Officer Shelby talked to some of the staff. Two of them remembered the Mackies, and the day because of the attack. Both agree they came in around quarter to four. Just after the peak of the after-school swarm.”

“Were they carrying anything?”

“I—”

“Find out, find out now! Did he have any kind of case, did she? Backpacks, bags, rollies. Now, Peabody.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eve went straight to her office, snagged the results from EDD the minute she saw them.

“On screen.”

Hands on her hips, she studied the buildings highlighted in order of probability. They’d gotten lucky with the first nest, she thought. Maybe that luck would hold.

“She had a backpack.” Peabody came to the door. “That’s it. No briefcase or luggage or bags of any kind on the feed. Just a backpack. The wits don’t remember any bags either from yesterday.”

“So they went to their hole after the strike, had time to stow their weapons, then get fucking ice cream. Get me a conference room.”

“We’ve got A. Whitney has it reserved for us for the duration.”

“Briefing, everybody, five minutes.”

“Do you want EDD?”

“I said everybody.”

Eve grabbed what she needed, went straight to the conference room. She updated the board, brought up the EDD map on screen, split it, and began assigning sectors to various officers and detectives.

She glanced over, frowned when Roarke came in.

“I didn’t know you were still here.”

“I wasn’t, now I am. As they didn’t need me, particularly, in EDD, I did some remote work. Now I’m back. How can I help you?”

“I don’t— Actually, you could bring up a map on the other screen, focus on a place called Divine on the East Side.”

“I know it. So do you—at least their products.”

“I’ve never been there.”

“Because we stock it at home. One of the perks of owning it.”

“Your place?”

“Actually, it’s in your name.”

Even with her mind full of cop details, she stopped cold, blinked at him. “I own an ice cream joint?”

“You own what many consider to be the premier ice cream parlor in the city,” he told her as he worked.

“No one can ever know.”

“Sorry?” Distracted, he glanced over and saw her eyebrows drawn together. “What?”

“Especially Peabody. No one can ever know my name’s on some big-deal ice cream joint.”

“I see we’ll be canceling our plans for the Lieutenant Dallas Frosted, but as you like.”