“Why do you call her that?”
“It’s what she does. If I happen to run into her in the lobby, or whatever—and that doesn’t happen much—and I say the neighborly, she mumbles. Won’t meet your eyes, either. Keeps her head down. Probably an axe murderer, right?”
Close enough, Eve thought. “If you remember anything else, contact us. If you see Ms. MacKensie again, contact us—and don’t talk to her. Peabody, give Ms. . . .”
“Lacey. Deena Lacey.”
“Give Ms. Lacey a card. Thanks for your help.”
“I’ll be showing my boss this card when he says he’s going to dock me and Georgie for being late. You may get a tag from him.”
“No problem.”
Eve waited while the woman closed the door behind her and hurried to the elevator, yanking out her ’link as she went. “I’m heading down, Georgie. You won’t believe this!”
“Get an update from the uniforms.” Eve pulled out her own ’link. “Reo,” she said without preamble. “I need a warrant.”
She paced, relating the details to the APA, paced while Reo pushed for a warrant to enter and search MacKensie’s apartment.
“Downing doesn’t answer the door, and isn’t at work—didn’t work yesterday. Uniforms are talking to neighbors,” Peabody reported. “Su hasn’t shown up at work, doesn’t answer her ’link, or her door. Looks like they’ve gone rabbit.”
Eve shook her head. “Look at the timing. MacKensie packed up and got picked up—in a van, female driver—about an hour after we pushed on Su. But she took time to fix herself up? They’re not running, not yet, because they’ve got Betz and they still want Easterday. They’ve gone to ground.”
“You think we spooked them.”
“I think they planned all this out, step-by-step, but it went off wrong for them right from the start, when Mr. Mira walked in on their session with his cousin.”
She paced, trying to will the warrant through.
“Then the cops are on them a lot quicker then they expected. Su’s supposed to be questioned as an alibi, but we pushed there, pushed her on her connection with not just Downing but MacKensie. None of these women are idiots.”
“So they panicked.”
“Panicked? I don’t think so. MacKensie fixed herself up, according to the neighbor. Makeup, hair, perfume. You don’t take time for that if you’re panicked. This is like Plan B. Things get too hot, we go to ground. She fixed up, so maybe she’s the bait set to lure Easterday.”
“They’d have to be crazy to go after him now.”
“They’ve already spread the wound, Peabody. It’s all there is. And they’ve got a place we don’t know about, a place they make their plans, a place they can take these men and torture them, pay them back. Start digging now—any property under any variations of their names, mothers’ names.”
She yanked out her ’link. “Reo.”
“Coming through now,” Reo told her.
“I need two more. Lydia Su—that’s S-U—and Charity Downing.” She rattled off the addresses.
“Dallas.”
“These three are working together, Reo. They’ve killed two and they’ve got number three. He’s got hours at best if I don’t find them.”
“I’ll push.”
“Push fast. Warrant’s coming through. I’ll get back to you.”
Eve checked the readout on the warrant—no mistakes now, she thought—then nodded to Peabody. “We’re clear to enter.”
She checked her recorder, used her master. Drew her weapon.
“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering residence of MacKensie, Carlee. We are duly warranted and authorized.”
She gave the door one more good pounding. “Carlee MacKensie, this is the police. We are entering the premises.”
They took the door, high and low, did a quick sweep.
Eve straightened. “She’s gone, and she isn’t coming back.”
“Furniture’s still here.”
“She cleared her workstation. She took the electronics. Let’s clear the place, but she’s gone.”
The bed was tidily made, the bathroom and kitchen areas spotless. Never let it be said Carlee MacKensie didn’t keep her area clean.
“It looks like some clothes are missing,” Peabody said, “just by the way they’re arranged, but she left plenty behind.”
“Didn’t matter to her. The mission matters. She took what she wanted—and didn’t leave any electronics. Nothing we could use to trace her that way, nothing where she might have communicated with the others.”
Eve circled the small, dull living area. “They all probably have a drop ’link. Something they use only with each other. If they use a comp, they use codes. But no chances taken: Don’t leave any behind. But do you remember everything? Every little thing? Let’s turn this place inside out and see.”
“They didn’t get the keys. Betz,” Peabody said while they worked.
“Not his. Might be Wymann had the same, or the senator. We’re dealing with a brotherhood there, so it’s my take they all had keys. Just like we’re dealing with a sisterhood on this end. United purposes, loyalties, a singularity.”
Eve paused, closed a drawer, looked around. “No sign she had sex in this apartment. No toys, no enhancements, no sexwear.”
“She could’ve taken that stuff with her.”
“Why? It’s not mission-oriented. She left clothes, some jewelry, photos, book discs, all the flotsam and jetsam of life. But she took the electronics, any spare discs, memo cubes, and any hard copies of business. Food in the kitchen, in the AutoChef. The neighbor claims not to poke in, but she’s not blind and deaf.”
Eve wandered, searched for a sense. What came to her was this was an alone place. She knew it, recognized it. She’d had one of her own once.
The apartment—the one Roarke had replicated for her.
Her alone place, because she’d had little but the mission—the job—in her life.
She knew MacKensie, she thought. She knew her under the skin.
“The neighbor? I bet she’d have remembered if MacKensie had a lover—male or female—show up regularly. There’s no love in this place—just work and sleep. The neighbor remembered Downing because they bumped into each other, and Downing was crying. That stuck. She’d have remembered seeing her before, so either coming here hadn’t happened before, or it was rare and they kept it on the down low.”
“You think she and Downing are lovers?”
“No. I don’t think she had anyone for that, not for that. They’re sisters, that’s what counts here. A shared experience—and one Su also shares. And a shared goal.
“What do you do when a sister comes over crying?”
“Ah. You listen, you sympathize.”
“You provide alcohol and crying food. Let’s check the kitchen.”
They found a nearly empty bottle of white wine, a half-pint bottle of bourbon.
“Let’s get the sweepers in here, do it right.” Eve stepped over to the AutoChef, ran the program. “Keeps it pretty well stocked, healthy crap.”
“Got ice cream—the real deal—in the freezer. Chocolate Coma, which is awesome. It’s unopened, Dallas.”
“Bet she got it to replace what she gave Downing. Downing comes to her, crying. How about this: Downing’s the one they’ve got doing the senator. She’s set up as his sidepiece. And she’s wearing thin, doesn’t see how she can keep going with it. Su doesn’t strike as the have-a-drink-and-some-ice-cream type, so she comes here for sympathy. Comes here because MacKensie had played the same role earlier. MacKensie knew what she was dealing with, could empathize. And maybe because Downing’s wearing thin, they decide to move on the mission.”
“One of them poses as the Realtor,” Peabody continued. “Like posing as the biographer, and like—don’t you think MacKensie was probably the one who got Edward Mira into Eclectia, so she could switch him off to Downing?”
“Yeah, I do. Taking turns with it, working on him.”
“So the young, sexy Realtor, who isn’t a Realtor, is willing to try to help the senator circumvent the deathbed promise.”
“That’s what plays. Unless there are four of them.”
“Crap.”
“Or more.”
16