Forgotten in Death(92)

“No hits on the missing persons search, citywide, statewide, nationally,” Peabody told her. “I started a global, but—”

“She went missing in New York, so there should be something. Still, it’s possible nobody but her killer knew she was here. Thin, but possible. Or any record’s been lost in the fog of time.

“Coffee,” she said, then walked over to look out her window.

“We can start a facial recognition for her ID,” Eve began. “The likeness isn’t complete, but we start it, it starts eliminating.”

She took the coffee Peabody held out.

“A young Middle Eastern woman, maybe Muslim—and during a period when there were still some loud echoes of bigotry—in New York. A woman college age or just beyond … Grad school? She’s got means—jewelry, shoes—superior health and all that, so higher education feels probable. Did she go to college in New York? It’s an angle. Pregnant, and the remains indicate good prenatal care, so a doctor, an experienced midwife.”

“The wedding ring,” Peabody put in. “So most likely married.”

“Most likely, but a young, attractive, pregnant woman might put on a ring to avoid questions or issues. If she had a purse—and her type would—it didn’t fall in with her. Or the killer got it out when they built the wall.

“The wall, the brick, the timing, that’s why we’re going to Hudson Valley.”

“Hot damn!”

“Start the facial recognition. We’ll update when we have the completed sketch. I’ll contact Roarke for the copter.”

“Double hot damn!” Peabody executed a butt and shoulder wiggle. “Like mega burning damn.”

“We just closed a two-pronged case. I don’t want to hate you right now.”

“When I contacted the Singer estate earlier, they said the Singers would meet with us. Briefly.”

“Tag them back. Tell her we’re coming. Make it all routine.”

“Isn’t it?”

“We won’t know until we get there. When we’re done there, we’ll drop in on Bardov.”

Peabody’s eyes went to big brown moons. “Really?”

“Routine follow-up. I want to see if his memory matches theirs. Get going. I’ll write up Wicker.”

“I can take care of it.”

“I want this one.”

Understanding, Peabody just nodded. As she started out, she gave a butt wiggle. “Jet-copter ride!”



* * *



Eve weighed two choices whenever she faced air travel. She could pretend she remained on the ground by concentrating on something else—anything else—for the duration. This required never looking out a window of any kind, and convincing herself any and all turbulence was just the rumbling of traffic over a pothole.

In the street.

On the ground.

Because the size and amount of glass in a two-passenger jet-copter took this option off the table, she had to count on Plan B and focus every cell in her body on keeping what she considered a flying insect aloft.

She didn’t like the constant, low-level buzz reminding her she rode in the belly of the insect. And insects often ended their short, annoying lives being swallowed up by a larger flying thing, or getting swatted flat.

As Peabody loved every minute of buzzing around in the air like a mosquito, when flying with her partner, Eve had to merge both options.

Eve hunched over her PPC, studiously reviewing data she’d already committed to memory. Peabody plastered her face to the porthole in the door Eve imagined could burst open any second and suck them out so they pinwheeled screaming over the scenery Peabody rhapsodized over.

“Oh, it’s so pretty! The hills! The trees! I bet it’s super-ult-mag in the fall. All kinds of vineyards and orchards!”

“Go sit up with the pilot.”

“Is it okay? I can see through here, but—”

“Go.”

Peabody hopped up and all but danced the short distance to do her rhapsodizing in front of the wide windscreen until they dropped, mercifully, on the helipad.

The minute Eve got behind the wheel of the waiting car, everything inside her settled. She put the return trip firmly out of her mind and programmed the Singer estate.

“That was so quick.” Still flushed with pleasure, Peabody strapped into the passenger seat. “McNab and I talked about taking a day trip up here, but decided we’d spend too much of the day getting here and back.”

Eve gave her the next ninety seconds to chatter—“The hills! The green! The river!”

“Since we’re not here to cozy up together in some quaint bed-and-breakfast, maybe you could focus on the people we’re about to interview.”

“I bet they have mag-o B and B’s up here. Anyway, J. Bolton and Marvinia Singer are in residence, as is Elinor Singer. That’s how they put it anyway. ‘In residence.’ So we can talk to all three of them in one place.”

“Bardov’s only a few miles from their estate, so we’ll see if he’s ‘in residence’ when we’re done at the Singers’. I want to get a better sense of that relationship. It goes back decades.”

“I can see why they all built up here. It’s peaceful, and you can really spread out. And the scenery’s the total. But it feels like, especially in Elinor Singer’s time at the helm, she had to spend more time in the city than here.”