“Good. If you’re pinned, what’s your statement?”
“Crap.” She could get pinned, she admitted. “This will be an area I will actively pursue. It’s a question that must be answered even as the individual responsible must answer for Leanore Bastwick’s death.”
Kyung nodded, curled a finger. “More.”
“Shit.” Now she pushed up, stood, circled the tiny office. “I didn’t know Ms. Bastwick on a personal level, but a professional one. In doing our jobs, fulfilling our duties, we were opposed on the Jess Barrow criminal case. Cops and lawyers often stand on opposite sides of the line. Cops and killers always do. I stand for Leanore Bastwick as I stand for any victim – as does the New York Police and Security Department, and we will, again, use every resource available to bring Ms. Bastwick’s killer to justice.”
“Repeat it, again and again. Every resource available, bringing her killer to justice. Dance off the message left at the scene, and stay on your own message.”
“I don’t know why the fuck her killer left that message.”
“But you intend to find out.”
“Damn right.”
“And there you are.” He spread his hands. “I don’t have to tell you Roarke should also cover this. His own media people should have this in hand, quickly.”
“No, you don’t have to tell me,” she said – and thought: Shit. “I’ll take care of it.”
“All right. If you need anything from me, I’m available to you twenty-four/seven. I realize I’m not a part of the investigation, Lieutenant, but I need to know as soon as possible if you receive any communication from the killer, or anyone purporting to be the killer.”
“I’ll add you on.”
He straightened, stepped to the door, paused. “Dallas? Take care.”
She brooded a moment, looked around her office. She needed to go home, where she could work without interruption – and where she could speak to Roarke. She didn’t want to do that by ’link or text.
Besides, she realized as she glanced at her wrist unit, she would already be late getting home.
She gathered everything she needed, pulled on her coat.
She found Peabody still at her desk in the bullpen.
“Take it home. Tell McNab I want whatever he gets as he gets it. I’ll be working from home.”
“I’ll go up to EDD, see if I can hook up with him. The others on the list check out, travel-wise. None of them were in New York at the time of Bastwick’s murder. One thing? We talked how Bastwick’s murder looked professional. Maybe one of these people, or a coworker, Stern, her family – one of them hired it out. And ordered the message.”
“It’s an angle. We’ll check financials, see if anything looks off. Take it home,” Eve repeated, and walked out to do the same.
But on the way she stopped by the crime scene.
She broke the seal, walked through and into Bastwick’s bedroom.
And spent a long time reading the writing on the wall.
On the drive home she ignored traffic, ignored pedestrians thronging the crosswalks. Ignored the horns, the revving engines, the wall of noise, the lights flashing and sparkling.
She kept herself back in that bedroom. Elegant, stylish, quiet colors, rich fabrics.
Bastwick’s sanctuary? she wondered. Or had she taken work there, too? Reading over case files in bed, planning strategies, studying the style of opposing counsel. Studying information on any witnesses for the prosecution.
A woman who seemed to prefer her own company to the company of others, who was skilled, dedicated, ambitious – and who enjoyed the media spotlight when she could get it.
Yeah, she’d taken work into her sanctuary.
Had the killer known her?
More and more Eve doubted that genuine personal link.
Known of her, yes. Researched and studied her just as Bastwick researched and studied. Watched her.
Had to know, had to be certain the target was alone.
Some way of accessing her calendar?
That could take it back to a coworker again, or support staff at the law firm. And that took it back to personal, didn’t it?
It didn’t feel personal.
Set up the board and book at home, she told herself as she drove through the gates. Start fresh, start over. Back to the beginning.
The house dazzled, the rise and spread of gray stone with its towers and turrets all sparkling with lights, draped with greenery. It reminded her they’d barely finished Christmas, were days away from a new year.
And a planned getaway. To the warm, Eve thought as she parked and stepped out into the bite of the wind. To the quiet, just the two of them, on an island surrounded by blue water, as far away from murder and business as they could get.
A place she could have mai tais of her own, if she wanted.
And now…
She had an UNSUB – no gender, no age, no face, only the probability of race. And the only tangible motive was herself.
Blue water, white beaches, and solitude weren’t looking very likely.
She stepped inside the lofty foyer, sparkling like the exterior with lights of the season. And spotted Summerset, naturally, in his funereal black, with their pudge of a cat sitting at his feet.
Both eyed her coolly.
“Ah, you remembered your home address.”
“I thought if I stalled long enough, you’d crawl back in your coffin. No luck there,” she added as the cat padded over to wind through her legs like a fat ribbon of fur.