They went down a short stairway to another door, repeated the procedure, and the warning.
Eve took out her flashlight, swept with it and her weapon.
“Feels empty,” she said quietly, “but we clear.” She gestured him one way, took the other.
There were rooms full of furniture, but more like storage areas than livable spaces. A pristinely clean bathroom, and stairs leading down.
“Clear,” she called out.
“And clear here, but you should come see this.”
She wanted to go down, clear the second floor, the first, but she moved in the direction of Roarke’s voice.
And found a small, well-equipped lab.
“I’m going to venture I’ll find another account or two,” Roarke said, “as it looks as if Betz has a small illegals operation here. And I’ll wager he’s cooking rape drugs in his leisure time.”
She stepped in toward a glass-fronted refrigerated cabinet, studied the organized crates of vials.
“He has family money, family business—though my data is he doesn’t do a lot. He likes to bet on the horses. So he cooks up illegals on the side to support his habit, to have more to stow away. This is his fucking hobby,” Eve said and turned away. “Let’s clear the rest.”
They went down to the next floor, split up again.
This time she called Roarke.
“Suitcase—guest room. Bed’s mussed up like somebody stretched out there. Bottle of liquor, a glass.” She spoke softly as she eased open the suitcase.
On top of a jumble of clothes—a handmade sweater she recognized from the work Peabody did—was a framed photo of Petra Easterday.
“Easterday,” she told Roarke. “He came here to hide. A brother would have access to a brother’s house, right?”
“He didn’t unpack, or repacked hastily.”
“I think didn’t unpack. Brought the suitcase up, got a bottle, laid down, and drank.”
“Feeling sorry for himself,” Roarke concluded.
“Yeah, poor, sad serial rapist had a fucking bad day. Let’s go down. If we box him, he’ll try to run. He may try to fight, but he won’t be much trouble.”
They turned out of the room, toward the stairs. And stopped halfway down when they saw Betz.
The first floor and its entranceway remained dark but for the beam of her flash. And that spotlighted the man hanging from the pendant light above the main floor hallway.
She’d known the chances were slim she’d find him alive, take him alive into the box and batter him into a shaking mass over what she knew. But she’d hoped. She’d hoped deeply after viewing the recording she’d have her chance at him.
“And that’s four of six,” she stated. “They didn’t wait to deal with him, took the chance and got him in here, finished him way before their usual time frame.
“Clear first. They’re not here, but Easterday might be.”
She found an overturned table and broken glass on the floor leading toward the rear of the house.
Then blood—some spatter, some smears.
She stepped around it, continued to clear, saw drag marks.
“The house is clear,” she told Roarke, “and they’ve got Easterday. It reads he was down here, probably a little drunk, when they came in. Maybe he figures his brother Betz is coming in, then he sees them, tries to run. They go after him, stun him. He goes down, takes that table with him, hits his head. They drag him back. I bet they wanted him to watch. Like he watched Betz rape them. Now he can watch while they execute Betz.”
She holstered her weapon, called for the lights. “I need to let the locals know what we’ve got here, but it’s our case. I’ll pull Peabody in after all.”
“If you suggest I go back home, you’ll make me very angry.”
“I should, but I won’t. And I don’t want to,” she admitted. “I can handle this. I will handle it. But I want you with me. It helps having you with me.”
“Always.”
“It helps knowing that, too. I think, unless they’re stupid—and so far, not a bit—they know they don’t have much of a chance to get to the last one, to MacNamee. They might take more time with Easterday. They might because he’s the last one they’ll have. Otherwise, he’s already dead, and they’re in the wind.”
Because he knew her, he brushed a hand down her hair. “If it were me, and I’d come this far, was this determined, it would be the first. I’d want to . . . do justice to the last.”
She nodded, took out her ’link to tag her local contact. “This is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, NYPSD. I’ve got a body.”
She contacted Whitney, leaving it to him to play politics with the Bronx brass, if necessary, called in her own sweepers, and had a conversation with the two local detectives who came in on the roll.
By the time Peabody and McNab arrived—riding in hot in a black-and-white—she had the latest victim lowered to the floor, and had established TOD.
“Twenty-fifteen. We didn’t miss them by a full hour. They had to get this address out of Betz—or one of the others. They went to town and back on him. Shorter time frame, bigger beating.”
“He’s the one who drugged them,” Roarke said.
“Drugged them?”
Eve glanced up at Peabody. “It’s on the recording from the bank box. We have all six of them. Gang rape, by turns—like a sporting event. This one injected the vic—their first the way it reads—with something that made her go from screaming, fighting, and begging them to stop to begging for more.”
“They injected her?” Under the bright splash of his watch cap, McNab’s green eyes went hard and cold. “With something like Whore?”
“Something like it, this one cooked it up himself. He’s got a lab upstairs here where he’s kept at it.”
She saw something on McNab’s face that had her speak sharply. “We’re on the record here, Detective.”
He simply swung away and went to work on the entrance door.
“As with previous victims,” Eve continued, “the victim has a symbolic tattoo in the groin area. ME to determine if this victim was stunned in this area as well, as the damage to said area is very severe. Weighted saps again, most likely. However, further injuries are burns that may have been caused by the same heated implement used to sodomize the victim. Other evidence of burning and bruises on the torso, which was not evident on the two other victims connected to this one. The facial bruising is, again, severe. The gouges around the neck and throat were most likely caused by the victim himself in an attempt to free himself from the noose. There is skin tissue and blood under the fingernails, both hands.”
She rubbed the ache in the center of her forehead, then straightened up. “Bag and tag. Morris has already been notified. McNab.”
He turned back, his face still stony. “Sir.”
“We’ll need all electronics. The consultant has already determined the security equipment was compromised, as with the other incidents. They took the hard drive. But I want all the comps taken apart, and any communications devices you find. Send for assistance.”
She turned back, blew out a breath. “Our sweepers will take the scene, and local PSD will secure. Peabody, we’ll go through Easterday’s belongings on the second floor. Let’s see if there’s anything in there that will lead us to where they took him.”
When she went up, Roarke walked over to McNab.
“Don’t think she doesn’t feel it, that there isn’t a rage in her as you feel yourself.”
“I know it. It’s just . . .” He shoved off his winter cap, stuffed it in one of his pockets. “I saw a lot of bad shit when I was on Vice, okay? And rape is bad enough. Gang rape’s beyond. Then you add sticking Whore into her? Like it’s not enough you’re going to rape her, but you’ve got to make her part of it? And it can come back on the vic, you know? If she’s dosed wrong or too much, she can have flashbacks so she wants anybody to do her, then and there. I saw a lot of it. Too much of it.”
“So has she.” He gave McNab’s shoulder a squeeze.