Uniformed security stopped them at the door.
“Ma’am, you’re under surveillance. Please surrender your weapon immediately.”
“Lieutenant. NYPSD. Badge,” she said, and two fingered it out.
He scanned it, gave her the hard eye. “Bank policy requires you to secure your weapon before entering to do business.”
“I’m here on police business, and my weapon’s secure. On me. Reo?”
“Of course. Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Cher Reo.” Reo flashed a smile, opened her briefcase. “Warrant,” she said, offering it. “We’re duly authorized to enter the premises—and as we’re conducting police business, the lieutenant is under no obligation to remove her weapon—and access the safe-deposit box clearly listed on the warrant.”
“You need to wait here for the manager. Bank policy.”
“While this warrant trumps your bank policy, we’re happy to wait for precisely one minute.” Reo checked her wrist unit. “Beginning now.”
He gave her the hard eye, but hurried off.
“Nice,” Eve said. “The one-minute deal. Will that hold up?”
“If we don’t mind causing a scene.”
The bank was quiet as a church and ornate as a museum with fake marble columns pretending to hold up the sky-view ceiling. Tellers sat on stools behind blast shields and conducted business with patrons in hushed tones.
Eve decided she wouldn’t mind causing a scene.
A woman, long strides in skinny black heels, crossed the wide lobby. She had dark hair in a precise wedge and a stern expression on her face.
“What seems to be the problem, Officer?”
“Lieutenant.” Eve tapped her badge. “I’ve got no problem as long as you recognize the warrant APA Reo is showing you, and lead the way to the deposit box listed on same.”
“The privacy of our patrons, both through bank policy and federal regulations—”
“Does not supersede this duly administered warrant,” Reo interrupted. “A fact you’re fully aware of if you’re the manager of this bank. If you choose to attempt to block the execution of this warrant, Lieutenant Dallas will arrest you for obstruction.”
“As the manager of this bank, I’m obliged to contact Mr. Betz and inform him of the situation.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.” Eve rolled her shoulders. “You do that—after you take us to the box, and open it. We’re going by the minute here, right, Reo? You’ve got one minute to decide how you want to play this. Starting now.”
“It will take me longer than one minute to contact and inform Mr. Betz.”
“At the end of one minute, you’re going to be in restraints, and the only contact you’ll want to make is to your lawyer. Make that forty-five seconds.”
“I will be reporting you to your superiors. Both of you.”
But she turned on her heel, used those long strides to recross the lobby with Eve and Reo following closely behind, swiped a card over a security pad, tapped in a code.
Two steel doors parted in the middle and slid open to a small warren of rooms lined with steel boxes.
“You’re required to show your identification, and to sign the log. Again, both of you.”
While they did, the manager took the warrant and scowled over every word.
“You’ve left me no choice, but I do this under protest. Our patrons’ privacy—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Eve moved past her, following the numbers until she came to Betz’s box. “Go away.”
The woman gave a long sniff and departed, yanking a smaller steel door behind her.
Eve took out the evidence bag, took out the swipe. Before she used it, she turned on her recorder, read in the data.
The box popped out from the wall so she could lift it out, take it to a table. She slid back the lid.
“Oh my,” Reo murmured. “That’s a whole bunch of paper money.”
“It’s going to be a whole bunch of unreported-to-the-tax-guys paper money.”
“How much do you think?”
“About half a mil, ballpark.”
“That’s a very green ballpark. We’re going to need a bag.”
“Yeah, we’ll get one.” Eve lifted out stacks of hundreds, and found the collection of small, sealed bags.
“Are those—they’re locks of hair.”
“Yeah.” Eve’s stomach knotted. “Souvenirs. They’re going to be DNA matches for women he—most likely they—raped.”
“Christ have mercy, Dallas, there are dozens. They have names.”
Eve did a quick count. “Forty-nine. Forty-nine souvenirs. A lot of fuckers can’t resist taking a souvenir. And here’s one marked Charity, there are a couple of Lydias, but only one Charity, only one Carlee spelled the way MacKensie does. First names only, but it’s going to help.”
Frowning, she uncovered a large disc in a clear plastic case.
“Look at the size of that. I’ve never seen one that big.”
Eve turned it under the lights. “I’m guessing it’s old. Maybe as much as forty-nine years old. Handwritten title.”
She turned it over for Reo to read.
“‘The Brotherhood: Year One.’”
“Get that bag, will you, Reo?”
“All right.”
When Reo stepped out, closed the door again, Eve tagged Roarke.
“I’m sorry, I know you’ve got stuff.”
“The amount of which is easing up for the day. What is it?”
“I could use some help. See this?” She held up the disc so it would show on his ’link screen.
“Ah, an antique.”
“Yeah, out of Betz’s bank box in the Bronx.”
“Say that five times fast.” But Roarke didn’t smile, just kept his eyes on hers.
Did it show? she wondered. Did the sickness she felt inside show on her face?
For him it would, she thought. He’d see it.
“Listen, I—”
“Do you need me to come?”
“No, no. I— Can you jury-rig something to play this thing?”
“I can, of course. Are you going home?”
“I’ve got a couple of stops to make, then, yeah. I think I know what’s on here, and . . . I’d rather be home when I view it than asking Feeney.”
“I can be home in about ninety minutes. Sooner if you need me sooner.”
“Ninety’s great. Thanks. I’m with Reo, and I’ve got a couple things. I’ll fill you in when I see you.”
“You take care of my cop, body and soul.”
“Trying to. See you in ninety.”
She clicked off and stood staring down at the little sealed bags with the locks of hair. Stood staring and fighting off waves of revulsion.
18
“I’m not going back downtown,” Eve told Reo.
“Just take me as far as you’re going, and I’ll get a cab.” Reo made quick notes as they sped away from the bank. “Forty-nine, Dallas. Do they all have souvenirs?”
“Can’t say. Not yet.”
“I need to see what’s on that old disc.”
“When I get it transferred, I’ll send it to you. Reo, I’m taking it home, the money, too. I’ll count it on record, seal and log. But I’m not getting it into Evidence until tomorrow. Most likely tomorrow morning.”
After finishing her notes, Reo tucked her PPC away. “Dallas, not only am I not worried about you preserving the chain of evidence, that fortress you live in is at least as secure as Central.”
“Great, but I’m going to ask you to get the hair to the lab. To Harvo. That can’t wait. We need to start IDing these women.”
“I can do that. I’ll take care of that. Are you okay?”
“Forty-nine. You always think you just can’t be surprised anymore by what people do to each other. Then you are.”
“If they started that long ago, the first victim is in her sixties, most likely her late sixties. Nearly fifty years. The statute of limitations . . . She’s put it behind her. Or I hope she has.”
She’d have put it behind her, Eve thought, but it was always behind you. In a corner, in the dark. Squatting there behind you and chuckling in its throat.
“I’m trying Easterday first. With what we found, I might shake more out of him.” Eve set her teeth. “I’ll use his wife if I have to. Then I need to speak to Mr. Mira before I go home and work on this.”
“I can catch a cab from there. Do you want me to go in with you, press some prosecutor buttons before I drop the samples with Harvo?”
Eve considered. “Yeah, why not?”