She pulled up across the street, contacted them.
“Hold there until Callendar gets her read. Officer Carmichael?”
“Parking, Lieutenant. We’ll move into position in a couple. First floor, rear door. We’ll cover it until you say different.”
“Callendar?”
“Take me a sec. It’s a nice old building. Could use some work, but that’s good, solid brick there. And … crap windows with crappier screens. I got you a heat source like bang. Far side of the room, looks to be sitting down. One source, Dallas. Sitting, but active.”
“We move in. Uniforms, take the back. Detectives, wait until we enter, then take the first floor. Callendar.”
“Wait once. I can keep this running, transfer to my pocket piece, and keep an eye on her. You want the eyes and ears?”
“Shouldn’t need them. Ready?”
“Set,” she said.
Peabody muttered, “Go,” as they got out of different doors.
They moved fast, not at a run, but a quick New York walk down the sidewalk to the building entrance. Eve mastered it open, gave her detectives the signal, then went in.
She gestured up a set of narrow stairs. “You knock, say somebody gave you her name about tailoring.”
“What do I want tailored?”
“Oooh, a wedding dress! Say a wedding dress,” Peabody urged.
“Frosty. I can play that.”
“She starts to open the door, step back.”
“I’m a real cop, you know.”
“You’re a real cop, and you’re coming in behind us. Draw your weapon, and keep your hands out of view.”
Eve judged the doors they passed. A couple solid kicks, she estimated. If Smith didn’t open, they’d take the door down, and her with it.
“Where is she?” Eve kept her voice low as they approached the apartment.
“Same spot.”
“Peabody, take the other side of the door. Santiago?”
“Got the door and the stairs.”
“Officer Carmichael?”
“On the back, Lieutenant.”
“Stand by.” She nodded to Callendar.
Callendar put on a happy face, stepped up, weapon held low, and buzzed.
A staticky intercom clicked on. “Yes?”
“Hey! I’m Debby! A friend of mine gave me your name. It’s about my wedding. She said you’re really, really good, and my mom really wants me to wear her dress, so it has to be altered before the big day.”
“Sorry? What?”
“In May. The wedding’s in May. I’ve got a picture. Can I show you?”
“Hold on.”
A chain rattled. Callendar stepped back.
“Door’s opening,” Eve murmured into her comm.
When the lock clicked and the door creaked open a crack, she shoved through, had the woman spun around against the wall.
“Oh my God, oh my God, take whatever you want!”
“We’re the police.”
And though she was already cursing silently, Eve turned the woman to face her to make sure.
“It’s not Smith. Where is Ann Elizabeth Smith?” Eve demanded.
“I don’t know.” The woman’s gaze, full of fear, bounced from face to face. “I don’t know anybody like that. Please, my kid’ll be home soon. Take whatever you want.”
“NYPSD.” Eve holstered her weapon, took out her badge. “This apartment is listed under the name I gave you.”
“I’m Gracie Lipwitch. I’ve got ID. I can show you.”
“No need, Ms. Lipwitch, and I’m sorry we frightened you.”
“Frightened? I may have wet my pants! I’m sitting here, on my day off, icing cupcakes for my kid’s scout meeting, and the next thing I know. You said wedding. I thought you were looking for a wedding cake. The damn intercom’s a piece of crap.”
“Ms. Lipwitch, how long have you lived in this apartment?”
“Eight months, three weeks, and two days.”
“That’s very specific.”
“We moved in exactly one month after my kid’s no-good father took off on us. I’m going to sit down. My legs are shaking.”
“Can I get you some water?” Peabody asked, but Lipwitch waved her off.
“You scared the life out of me.”
“I’m very sorry,” Peabody said, adding a look of concern. “The person we’re looking for lists this as her address.” She pulled up the photo on her PPC. “This woman.”
Lipwitch looked at it. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I know her. But the way you came barging in here, she better have killed somebody.”
At the beat of silence, her face went pale. “Oh God, you think I killed somebody.”
“No, we don’t,” Eve assured her. “Can you tell us if the previous occupant left anything behind?”
“The place was empty—and not all that clean—when me and Darby moved in. My girl. I cleaned like a maniac for a full day. A lot of, like, slivers. Of material. A lot of smudges on the wall, like from taping stuff up. That’s about it. You said wedding.” Now she let out a long breath. “I thought you wanted a wedding cake. I’m a baker. I work at a bakery a couple blocks from here, and do some cakes on the side. My day off,” she added. “And what am I doing but making three dozen cupcakes for my kid’s scout group.”
“They look really great.”
Lipwitch looked at Callendar, sighed. “You can have one. I made a few extra.”
“Seriously? We’ll split one.” Callendar chose one with a swirl of creamy white icing, broke off a chunk. “They’re terrific.”
Eve dug out a card. “You can contact me. I’m going to make sure the address is changed so no one bothers you again.”
“Okay. Listen, did somebody who lived here really kill somebody?”
“We’re looking for this individual in the course of a homicide investigation.”
“That’s even scarier than having you barge in here. I don’t know if it helps, but I got this place fast because one of the people who lives downstairs comes in the bakery a lot, and she knew I was looking for a place for me and my kid. It’s just a one bedroom and I wanted two, but the price was right and it’s close to work, and it was available. Whoever lived here before just walked out. I mean, she left the last month’s rent in an envelope with the keys, took her stuff, and left. It looks like nobody knew the difference for a couple weeks.”
“That is helpful. Can you tell me the name of the person who told you about the empty apartment?”
“That’s Mrs. Waterstone, down in 103. She’s probably home. Don’t scare her.”
“We won’t, and I apologize again.”
“I’m mostly over it. I might even think it’s exciting later. Look, take her a cupcake.” Lipwitch transferred one onto a little paper doily. “She’s got a sweet tooth. And I guess if anybody knows anything about anybody, it’s Mrs. Waterstone.”
Eve started downstairs with the cupcake. “Officers Carmichael and Shelby, mission abort. Suspect no longer lives here. Do a canvass of the neighborhood, show her photo. Maybe we’ll hit something.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Detective Carmichael pointed a finger. “That’s a cupcake.”
“Excellent powers of observation, Detective.”
“You’ve got a cupcake.”
“No, Mrs. Waterstone in 103 is getting a cupcake.”
“I got one I’m sharing because that’s the kind of exceptional human being I am. Break off a bite.”
“Thanks.”
“Then head back to DeLano’s neighborhood and keep at it,” Eve told them.
Santiago broke off a bite himself. “She’s slippery, boss.”
“Yeah. She’s damn slippery.”
“Want, Peabody?”
Peabody eyed the chunk left in Callendar’s palm. “Half of that because loose pants.”
“Half. Dallas?”
Eve shook her head, headed to 103.
“She is Woman of Steel,” Callendar observed. “Who says no to cupcake?” And since it was there, she popped the last bite in her mouth.
Eve buzzed at 103, got another staticky intercom.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Waterstone, I’m Lieutenant Dallas with the NYPSD.”
“You’re a little out of your neighborhood, dear.”
“Yes, ma’am. Your neighbor upstairs, Ms. Lipwitch, said you might be able to help us with information on a former tenant of the building. And she sent you a cupcake.”
A rattle, a click, and the door opened to a tiny black woman with a snow-white bubble of hair and a cheerful smile. “She knows my sweet tooth. Goodness, three of you, and all girls. All girl police?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. That, and that cupcake. Well, come ahead in. I just finished all my chores and was about to sit down with my book. This should be even more fun. Do you want tea?”
“No, thanks.”
If chores meant cleaning the apartment, the little woman was a champ on chores. It all but glimmered. While the furniture showed years of use, it didn’t carry so much as a speck of dust.
By book, Eve realized she meant the real thing. Roarke would have approved of the shelves packed with them.
Photos tucked in here and there, a lot of kids’ faces.
“Now, you girls have a seat and tell me what you want to know.”
“Did you know Ann Elizabeth Smith?”
“The little mouse who used to live upstairs? Couldn’t say I knew her. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose, whatever the hell that means. Why would anybody? What’s she done?”
“We’d like to talk to her.”
“You can’t bamboozle me, dear.” Waterstone set the chair into an easy rock. “I was a teacher for fifty-five years. I know all, see all. I have three girl cops at my door asking about her, she did something big. Wouldn’t surprise me.”