Apprentice in Death (In Death #43)(77)

After rubbing the back of his neck, Jenkinson checked his notes. “A male, black topcoat, blond medium-length hair—that’s who the guard says took the first hit. Then a female, black or gray coat, red hair, but he says the first victim took a second hit, and maybe three hits. He’s not sure if it was after the second vic went down or the third. Things started to get crazy.”

“Was this guy ever on the job?”

“Funny you should ask. Put in twenty-five, most of it in Queens.”

“He’s still got it. First vic, male, black coat, blond hair, was the lawyer. Rothstein, Jonah. Three hits. Keep the guard on tap in case he remembers more details. DBs are in the morgue or on the way. Still some injured being treated outside, but it’s under control. I need this sector blocked off until we clear it all. You and Reineke can switch off with Carmichael and Santiago, get some crib time.”

“I hear that. You need more of us down here, Loo, we’re good for it. Took a booster.” He scrubbed his face. “Hate those bastards.”

“I hear that. A little crib time, because you won’t get much more today. Where’s EDD set up?”

It took her a full five minutes at a brisk stride to make it to the impressive security area where her geek team was working. She glanced at the screens, tried to block out the e-chatter, and saw the beams striking the Seventh Avenue area of Madison Square from Lexington and from Third. The Murray Hill area, she noted.

“We’re narrowing it,” Feeney told her, “or Lowenbaum and Berenski are.”

Dickhead, she thought, watching him hunched over a monitor with Lowenbaum.

“If she’s using the same weapon as her asshole father had, we think we got it pegged down to a couple blocks.” Berenski rolled his shoulders, swiveled on his stool. “You add the weapon factors in, range, velocity, calculate full power because why the hell not, and—”

“You can save the formula for now, and just give me the most likelies. Maybe later I’ll have you give me a lesson on the rest.”

He blinked, rubbed his excuse for a moustache. “Yeah, sure. Could do that.”

“We’re leaning here.” Roarke highlighted three buildings. “Two on Lex, one on Third.”

“She likes the East Side,” Eve noted. “Knows that area best.”

“Apparently. Having our weapons experts add to the program has narrowed it considerably. These three are all low security, rental units or flops.”

“We’ll start there. Can you apply the same to the Times Square hit?”

“Doing that,” McNab said. “We’ll be able to give you most likelies, with these factors.”

“Peabody, send the results to Baxter and Trueheart, get them and Uniform Carmichael and his picks working them.” She checked the time. “Be ready to leave for Central when I tag you.”

She had one more stop to make, wound her way back down, asked directions, and made her way backstage. It was unlikely she’d gather any information that would add to the manhunt. But she couldn’t leave, just couldn’t leave, without seeing the people she cared about.

The people the dream Willow had threatened to kill.

She heard Nadine before she saw her, the voice thick with fatigue. She sat on the floor, back to the wall, outside one of the dressing rooms. Face and hair unsurprisingly still camera ready, a bold blue leather jacket over a sleek black skin suit.

She sat hip-to-hip with a man with purple-streaked black hair that curled madly past the collar of a black T-shirt and a studded, sleeveless black vest. He wore black jeans, scuffed boots that laced up his calves. He rivaled McNab for ear hoops.

He met her eyes—his a heavy-lidded, sharp crystal blue. His mouth curved a little, deepening the creases in his cheeks.

“Here’s your cop pal, Lois.”

“What? Oh, Dallas.” Nadine shoved to her feet. “What do you know? What can you tell me? I’m cued in to the station, and we need more details.”

Best, probably best, Eve thought, that she hadn’t known Nadine was here. Hadn’t had one more person to worry about.

“What do you know?” she countered. “What did you see? What did you hear? My job’s priority.”

“I didn’t see or hear a damn thing. I was down here, in Mavis’s dressing room, when security rushed in, said there was an incident. They won’t let us leave the area. Summerset’s friend was brought down. She’s in there with Mavis and Leonardo. Trina’s in there, too.”

Nadine gestured to the facing room with Mavis’s name emblazoned on it. “Come on, Dallas, spill. I’m having to feed things in crumbs to my producer.”

Eve just looked at Nadine’s companion. “Who are you?”

Nadine let out a quick laugh. “Told you.”

“Refreshing,” he said. “I’m Jake Kincade.”

“That won’t click, either. Dallas, Jake’s a rock star, literally. Avenue A? His band’s been rocking the charts for about fifteen years.”

“Give or take. Doesn’t really apply right now, does it? Anyway.” He rose on long legs, stood about six-five in his boots, offered a hand. “I’d say nice to meet you, but well, hell.”

“How many dead?” Nadine insisted. “Will you confirm that? It matters, Dallas.”