Lipski lifted her brows, smiled more fully. “A Free-Ager cop. Rare.”
“I walk a line, I guess. But one thing I know from how I was raised, and from the job. Cold-blooded revenge? It doesn’t heal, Ms. Lipski. It only deepens the wound. The women who are doing this aren’t going to find peace. They aren’t going to erase the pain they may have endured by ending lives. If they’re not stopped, they’re never going to get over what was done to them. So . . .”
She held up Lauren Canford’s photo, then Asha Coppola’s.
Eve saw a kind of relief settle into Lipski’s face, which remained when Peabody offered Allyson Byson.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen any of those women before.”
“I have a few more.”
Peabody held up Lydia Su’s ID shot.
Eve figured Lipski probably played a solid game of poker. But her skills weren’t good enough to completely mask the quick awareness. She waited, saw something similar come with Charity Downing.
She started to speak, then saw something else when Peabody offered Carlee MacKensie. That was both an instant of puzzlement, and, Eve thought, deep sorrow.
“You recognized the last three,” Eve said.
“I can’t discuss this with you.” But that acknowledgment remained in the dark eyes as she spoke. “Even if you get a warrant.”
“I’m not going to get a warrant. I could threaten to arrest you for obstruction. I could threaten to charge you with accessory after the fact if you contact any of these women. I’m not going to do that, either. But I’m going to tell you, again, if you do contact them, they’ll kill the man they have immediately, and very likely flee. You’ll live with that death on your hands. What I intend to do is to bring them in, to prevent them from killing again, and to listen to their story.”
“I don’t and won’t condone murder.” Lipski stared down at the dead. “I don’t and won’t condone this level of retribution. But the crimes committed will carry a hard, long punishment. Victims victimized—by their own actions—yes, by their own. But also by the law.”
“The law may be hard and cold—and I can be the same. It may be blind. I’m not. I need to hear them out. You know, and I know, my Free-Ager partner’s right. What they’re doing will only spread the wound until the wound is all they have. Let me do my job.”
“I’ll contact no one, my word on that—because I do know what’s right. This, what was done, this isn’t right. But when and if you arrest anyone, I want you to contact me. I want to be there for them. To do whatever I can for them.”
“My word on that.”
—
Eve moved fast, pulling out her ’link as they wound through the crowded space and out to the hall, down the stairwell. “Baxter, I’ve got three names verified. Downing, MacKensie, Su—be on the lookout for any or all of them.”
“Three of them.”
“It looks like. We’re heading to MacKensie’s now to pick her up. She’s closest. I’ll let you know when we have all three of them. Sit tight.”
“You want BOLOs?” Peabody asked her as she jogged to keep up.
“Not yet. We need to get them into the box, start putting pressure on them. One will break. Send uniforms to pick up Su—two to her apartment, two to her workplace, just to cover it. We should be able to scoop up MacKensie, then get Downing before any of them know we’re coming.”
Eve went in hot, while Peabody ordered the uniforms, cutting the sirens a block from MacKensie’s building. Rather than search for parking, she flipped on her On Duty light, double-parked.
The bitter resentment of other drivers and the frantic breaking of noise pollution laws slid off her back as she jogged to the sidewalk.
“Uniforms on their way, both locations. Even if Lipski breaks her word—and I don’t think she will,” Peabody added, “she wouldn’t have time to warn all three before we move in.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Eve used her master, then charged up the stairs.
“Loose pants,” she heard Peabody pant. “Loose pants.”
“Get your mind off your ass.”
On MacKensie’s floor, Eve slowed to a walk. She pressed the buzzer, waited, then used a fist on the door.
“That’s what I was worried about.” She turned, pressed the buzzer on the door across the hall.
“I said I’d meet you down in the—” The woman who opened the door stopped short. “Who are you?”
“NYPSD.” Eve held up her badge. “Where’s Carlee MacKensie? Across the hall.”
“How would I know?” The woman’s forehead wrinkled under the big fuzzy black hat she wore. “Look, I’m running late. I was just heading out.” To prove it she finished buttoning her coat. “Anyway, I think she’s away for a while.”
“Away where?”
“How should I know? I was heading out this morning at the same time she was. We rode down in the elevator together. She had a suitcase, so I asked—you know, neighborly—if she was taking a trip. And how it would be nice to get out of the city and the freaking cold. She said yeah. That’s about it. I’ve got to go. I was supposed to work the rest of the day at home, but we got called back in. I have to go.”
“One minute.” Eve just shifted to block the woman’s path. “What kind of suitcase?”
“Jeez, how should I know? A regular rolly. Taking a winter vacay—fixed up for traveling.”
“Fixed up how?”
“Did her face and hair—and she hardly ever does, that I’ve seen. Had on nice boots. And perfume. I even said how I liked her perfume. You think she’s done something, you’re barking down the wrong alley. She hardly leaves her apartment, never has anyone over, that I’ve seen. Keeps to herself. Quiet, maybe stuck-up, maybe shy. I don’t poke my nose in anyway.”
“What time this morning?”
“Oh, jeez!” The woman looked pointedly at her wrist unit. “About eight-thirty, ’cause I was leaving for work.”
“You went down together, so you went out together. Did she get in a cab?”
“Shit, like I’m supposed to keep tabs? No, now that I think about it. A car pulled up and she got in.”
“A car?”
“Well, a van. The side door opened, and she got in with her rolly. I noticed because it was cold, and I thought how I wished I had a ride instead of having to go down to the subway just to make the damn morning meeting.”
“Describe the van.”
“Well, for—” Her ’link signal, a blast of horns, had her digging into her handbag. “Don’t give me a buncha crap, Georgie. I’m at the door, but so are the cops about Miss Mumbles across the hall. I don’t know what the hell. Just wait for me.”
She stuck the ’link away. “Now both me and Georgie are going to be late.”
“The van,” Eve pressed.
“How should I know? It was maybe white. Maybe. Not black anyway. Looked new. I had to get to the damn subway. I wasn’t taking notes.”
“Did you see the driver, another passenger?”
Now the woman heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe the windows were tinted, but maybe I caught a glimpse when the door opened of a woman driving. Petite, I thought she was so little to be driving that big van. Dark hair—in a pony—sunglasses. That’s all I’ve got. Look, arrest me or let me go.”
“Don’t tempt me. Pictures, Peabody. Have you seen any of these women? And the more you bitch, the longer this is going to take.”
“How come you can’t find a cop when you need one, and when you don’t they’re in your face?” But she took the photos. “No, no, no, no . . . wait.” She shuffled the photo of Charity Downing back to the top again. “Maybe. Yeah. Maybe. I saw her, maybe, a couple weeks ago. I was coming out of the building and she was going in. Wasn’t watching where she was going, and shoulder-bumped me pretty hard. I started to give her a little what for, but she stopped and apologized. Looked like she’d been crying and was about to start up again. It was maybe about ten—I was meeting some friends, and running late. Ten at night,” she qualified. “Boyfriend trouble’s what I thought, since I’ve had some of my own. Anyway, pretty sure it was this one here. Only time I saw her around I can remember. I got a busy life, unlike Miss Mumbles.”