Apprentice in Death (In Death #43)(83)

Eve started to speak, then waited for her initial outrage to fade, and for more caffeine to kick in. “Okay. Okay, I get it. No way she surrenders without a fight. That’s in stone? That part’s nonrefundable?”

Reo smiled. “She resists in any way, stomps her evil little foot and stubs your toe, the deal’s void.”

“Let me work him awhile first. If I can’t break him down, we’ll toss this in. That way it sounds and feels like a concession. I don’t want to walk in with any deal.”

“That’s good, that works. He’s got a court-appointed as his counsel. Guy named Kent Pratt. He’s got a rep as the public defenders’ patron saint of lost causes.”

“All right. Let me get started.”

“I’ll be in Observation if you need to pull me in for the deal.”

“If I do, we play it up. I’m going to be really pissed. I may call you rude names.”

Reo smiled again, sunnily. “Wouldn’t be the first.”





16


Eve tagged Peabody as she gathered what she needed.

“One of the injured who’d stabilized has taken a turn,” Peabody told her. “I don’t have all the details—it’s medical and complicated—but she’s back in surgery.”

“Name?”

“Adele Ninsky.”

The woman Summerset was treating when she’d arrived on scene, Eve thought, then set it aside.

“I want you to play up the father-daughter connection. Parental duty, poor young girl. You can be tough on him, but soften up with the girl.”

“Got it. I guess it’s not much of a stretch.”

“It should be. Look at the board. It damn well should be.”

Scooping up files, Eve strode out.

Peabody quickened her pace to catch up. “Baxter and Trueheart hit one wit they think saw her minutes after the Times Square attack. He didn’t recognize her until they interviewed him, showed him Yancy’s sketch. He says he was heading into the building as she was coming out. He held the door for her. She was carrying a large metal case, and a rolling duffle. Had a backpack. He remembers because he said, like, ‘Let me help you,’ and held the door, and he claims she gave him this, quote—‘scary smile’—unquote, and said she didn’t need anybody’s help. He was a little steamed so he stared after her for a minute. He thinks she was headed for the bus stop. Half a block down. They’re checking it out.”

“Good.” Eve paused at the door to the Interview room. “No mistakes,” she said and then walked in.

“Record on,” she began, reading the data into that record as she sized up the two men at the table.

Mackie, pale, defiant, his eyes shielded behind lightly tinted goggles. Through them she noted the eyes were bloodshot, bruised, and she felt nothing.

The lawyer wore a cheap suit and a skinny black tie. His face sported a night’s worth of scruff, with his idealism shining bright under it.

Eve sat, stacked up her files, folded her hands over them. “Well, Mackie, here we are.”

“My client is under medical care for severe injuries sustained under questionable circumstances. Therefore—”

“Bullshit. If you reviewed the record, Counselor, you know there are no questions. Your client fired on police officers.”

“It’s questionable if said officers clearly indentified themselves as same. We will be pursuing charges of illegal entry, police harassment, and excessive force.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” She smiled at Mackie as she spoke. “You know that’s lawyer bullshit, and it doesn’t change a thing. Here we are.”

“Due to my client’s injuries, you’re limited to one-hour intervals for Interview. My client will take his guaranteed thirty minutes after the hour. I request on my client’s behalf that he be returned to the hospital for a full medical evaluation after said hour.”

“Denied, which is within my authority, as his medical team has signed off. He can take his thirty in a cage, or if you insist, be evaluated here, medically, by a doctor. He’s done with the hospital. You’re done with the outside, Mackie. It’s all cages all the time now. That’s going to be fun for you in general population. You know how much they love ex-cops in GP. Don’t waste my hour,” Eve snapped at Pratt. “I have questions for your client. Here’s the first: Where is she? Where is your daughter? Where is Willow Mackie?”

“How would I know? I’ve been in the hospital.”

“Did you keep up with current events? Has your counsel informed you of what your daughter did last night? Eighteen dead this time around. Must swell your chest with pride.”

“My client was held incommunicado during the time of that incident, and cannot be held responsible for—”

“And the bullshit keeps coming. You’re responsible. You’re responsible for turning your own flesh and blood into a stone-cold killer. Eighteen people. Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters. And all because you had some bad luck.”

“Bad luck?” Mackie lunged forward in the chair.

“Yeah, bad luck. Your wife didn’t look where she was going. Now she’s dead.”

“They ran her down in the street!”

“No, she ran out into the street, into traffic, because she was too stupid to pay attention. And you couldn’t handle it so you went on the funk. Look at your hands shake. Pathetic. What they give you to keep you level just isn’t enough, is it? It’s never going to be enough. You destroyed yourself because your wife couldn’t remember to walk down to the fucking crosswalk. And when that didn’t fix it for you, you decided to destroy everyone else you could think of.”