Apprentice in Death (17 page)

“Did he ever talk about moving?”

“Sure, he did. He had this thing about Alaska, talked about heading there when Will was eighteen—this was before Susann. After Susann, it was a farm somewhere. Always some dream about getting out of the city, living off the land.”

“But nothing about moving within the city? He had a wife and a baby on the way.”

“Right, right.” Patroni closed his eyes as he thought back. “Yeah, yeah, they were saving up. Yeah, yeah, I remember about this. Susann was going the professional mother's route. In fact, she really wanted to quit her job and start nesting or whatever. But he said they needed her income over the next few months so they could get a bigger place. They'd looked at some townhouses, low-end, places that needed work. East Side—I remember that because it would keep Will in the same school, keep them sort of in the same neighborhood. And Mac was making noises about pushing for full custody of her. Around on Third, maybe. Or Lex. I think that's the area, in the Twenties or south of there—one of those old post-Urban places that got tossed up. Crap mostly, but you can get them pretty cheap. Ah, they wanted something where they could walk the baby to a park or playground. That was where they were looking.”

“Buy or rent?”

“They wanted to buy, or try one of those rent with option deals. You can do that with those post-Urbans, or he said you could. I figured yeah, because they're prefab boxes, mostly falling apart unless somebody's
gone in and put a lot of money and time into it. I lived in one myself—Lower West—when I was in my twenties. I swear the place swayed in a strong wind. But yeah, that's what they wanted. An investment until they fixed it up, until he could put in his papers, and they moved to that farm. Pipe dreams, I figured, but a guy's got to have them.”

“Anything else, something he said, someone else he blamed? These initials JR and MJ, do they mean anything to you? JR, MJ,” she repeated. “These two names are on his list, and as yet unidentified.”

“He stopped talking to me about the accident after I looked into it and talked to him, he didn't want to talk to me about it. There's nobody I can—wait, ‘MJ'? I don't see how it could, he could . . .”

“Who?”

“Maybe Marian. Marian Jacoby. She has a son who goes to Will's school. Divorced. Susann fixed us up once, we dated a couple times, just didn't click that way. She works at the lab. She's an evidence tech at the lab.”

“Hold on.” She yanked out her 'link. “Peabody, Marian Jacoby, evidence tech. Find her, get her covered and brought in. She's a potential.”

“I don't know why he'd go after her,” Patroni began.

“Maybe he went to her, maybe she tried to do him a favor, ran a reconstruction on her own time, studied the evidence, the reports, and told him what he didn't want to hear.”

Eve rushed up to EDD, tagging Berenski as she pushed her way on the glides.

“Marian Jacoby. Where is she?”

“Hey, I'm putting in extra hours on your deal. How the hell do—”

“Is she in the lab?”

“Repeat, how the hell do—”

“Find out. Now.”

“Jesus, she's on swing this month, so she oughta be here. If she's in the field—”

“No, right the fuck now.”

His face, one large scowl, filled her screen as he ran his counter length on his rolling stool. “Yeah, yeah, she's around. What the fuck?”

“Get off your ass, go get her, take her to a secured location. I've got cops coming in for her.”

“You think you're going to come in here and arrest one of my—”

“She may be a target, Berenski. She knows Mackie, and she may be one of his targets. Get her safe and secured until my cops get there.”

“Done.” The scowl turned to a snarl, and his face blurred as he shoved to his feet. “Nobody screws with one of my people.”

He cut her off, and with her 'link still in hand, Eve bypassed the noise and color of EDD central and shot toward its glass-walled lab.

“Marian Jacoby—potential target. Being secured now. That leaves one. Apartments, condos, townhouses, East Side, likely in the Twenties or below—the post-Urban toss-ups. Probably Third, possibly Lex.”

She caught her breath as Feeney immediately started a search and scan. “Finances,” she said to Roarke. “They were saving to buy.”

“I can tell you he all but emptied his account September eighteenth, and took the lump sum on his pension only last week. He had a two- hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar life insurance policy on his wife, doubled with accidental death, and prior savings of two hundred thousand and change. With the lump sum, he has more than enough for a downpayment, but wouldn't that be foolish?”

“He may not be thinking straight, but I agree and lean toward rental. Even if he's not thinking straight, it's becoming clear the daughter is, in her own twisted way. Other accounts, he must have put the money somewhere.”

“Working on that.”

“We've already eliminated some buildings and locations.” As he worked, Feeney gestured to a screen where Eve saw numerous buildings blacked out. “We zero in on the post-Urban prefabs, we eliminate more.”

Nodding, she answered her 'link, looked at Dickhead.

“I've got her, in my office. She's scared shitless.”

“Put her on. Jacoby.”

“Lieu—Lieu—Lieutenant, I—”

“Pull it together. You're safe, you're going to stay safe. You know Reginald Mackie.”

“Lieutenant, please, my son. My boy's home alone, just the house droid. My boy.”

“We'll take care of it. MacNab, dispatch protection detail to Jacoby's residence. Jacoby, the minute we're done, contact your kid, tell him to expect officers. Tell him to ask to see identification before admitting them.”

“He knows that, he knows that already. He wouldn't—”

“Good. You know Reginald Mackie.”

“Yes, my son and his daughter have some classes together. I knew his wife, Susann. I—”

“Did he come to you, ask you to investigate her accident?”

“He was desperate, grieving. He—”

Before Eve could shut down the excuses, she heard Berenski's voice. “Yes or no, Jacoby. Nobody's going to burn you over it. Truth and brief. Now.”

“Yes, he came to me, asked me. I did the reconstruction on my own time, and I ran the evidence, analyzed the reports, everything. I had to tell him it just wasn't anyone's fault. I didn't tell him it was Susann's, but that's the truth. He was angry, accused me of covering up. Then he apologized. He didn't mean it, but he apologized. I haven't seen or spoken to him since.”

“Okay. You're safe, your boy's safe. McNab, officers' names?”

“Task and Newman dispatched. ETA two minutes.”

“Task and Newman—make sure he verifies those officers. They'll be at your door in two minutes.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

“Use your own 'link,” Berenski said, snatching back his own. “So your kid recognizes it. Bag this crazy son of a bitch, Dallas, before he targets somebody else in my house. Shit, before he targets me.”

“We're closing in.”

She clicked off, dragged a hand through her hair.

Swing shift, she thought. Dickhead was putting in overtime, too. She made a mental note to cut him at least a sliver of a break the next time he exhibited Dickheaded behavior.

“Working on possibles on Second,” Feeney announced.

“Still eliminating on Lex,” McNab bounced back.

“Feed me the data.” Roarke worked a keyboard with one hand, a swipe screen with another. “I'll fold it into financials and ID.”

When her 'link signaled again, Eve stepped back from their chatter.

“Jacoby's secured, and being transported to a safe house. Officers are with her son now,” Peabody announced. “Nobody's hit on the nest, as yet.”

“Get me a consult with Mira.”

“If you mean now, Dallas, it's nearly twenty-hundred hours. She's not in her office. Do you want me to contact her at home?”

“It can wait.” She already had a good picture of the Mackie dynamics. “Anybody who hasn't had a dinner break takes one—thirty minutes. We pull the search for the nest at twenty-two-hundred. All officers and detectives report for full briefing at oh-seven-thirty. Until that time, everyone's on standby.”

“I'll make the contacts. You're in EDD? Can you use me up there?”

“I can always use the She-Body,” McNab said.

“Awww.”

“Knock it off.” Eve paced the lab. “We have a target outstanding.”

“I'm running the initials—actually eliminated some lawyers with them. There are so damn many lawyers,” Peabody added. “And paralegals, and ambulance chasers, and disbarred lawyers, and just passed the bar—”

“Keep at it. Take a damn dinner break, but keep at it.”

She paced some more.

“Five strong possibles. Three ranging Twenty-First and Fifteenth, between Second and Third. Two on Third at Eighteenth.”

She turned to Feeney, began to scan the data.

“Two on Lex, between Nineteeth and Fourteenth,” McNab added. “Another two between Lex and Third, one on Twentieth, one on Sixteenth.”

“Two apartments, two townhouses, one loft above retail space.”

“I've got two apartments, two townhouses,” McNab said.

Eve scanned the data. “Let's see the houses first. More privacy, and you're in control of security. ID on tenants.”

“On screen.” Eve frowned at the first ID shot when Feeney put it up, then at McNab's. “Not Mackie. Let's see the others.”

“Zip.” McNab grabbed his fizzy, slurped some. “We'll move farther south, and east to Second.”

“Wait a minute. The townhouse on Third. Pull that back up, Feeney. Gabe Willowby,” Eve murmured. “Willow, Willowby. Younger said he and the second wife picked Gabriel as a boy's name.”

Feeney's droopy eyes lit. “Too fucking tidy.”

“Way too. It's not Mackie in the ID shot, but look at the data. His height. His age bracket, his eye color.”

“Easy enough to create a dupe ID, one that pops on a search,” Roarke began. “And have another using the same name, that matches your face.” He smiled. “Or so I've heard.”

“Yeah, I bet. McNab, full level-three run on Willowby.” She pulled out her 'link again. “Cancel dinner breaks. Everyone report back to Central for full briefing. We just caught a break. Send me everything you get,” she said as she turned toward the door. “Conference Room A, as soon as you can.”

Wishing she had Whitney's elevator bypass, Eve took the glides. And as the wish made her think of Whitney, she tagged her commander—at home—then Lowenbaum, still in Central.

Peabody ran to catch up when Eve hopped off the glide and arrowed toward the conference room.

“What break?”

“McNab's running a level three on a Gabe Willowby, Third Avenue address. Not Mackie's face, but same general description.”

“Willowby. That name—I think that name popped on one of my travel runs.” Peabody pulled out her PPC to check as they entered the conference room. “I just need to— Yeah, yeah, Willowby, Gabriel, and minor son, Colt, on the manifest for a shuttle flight to New Mexico in November.”

“Colt? That's the name of a gun manufacturer. She's passing as a boy. Get Colt Willowby on screen.”

“That's not her,” Peabody said when the task was done, “but—”

“Hair and eye color, an easy change. But this kid could be her cousin. Her cousin of the same age, the same height and weight. Run a level three on that ID, use your PPC. I need the comp.”

“What are you doing?”

“Running a face recognition on the kid's ID—let's see if anything pops.” As it worked, Eve studied the board, paced in front of it. “He'll have multiple IDs for both of them. Cashed in his pension, and got an insurance payout for the wife's accidental death. He could afford them—or a twenty-year vet? He might know how to generate them.”

“More likely the kid could.” Peabody shrugged. “Kids are just quicker with tech, evolving tech, and a teenager's always interested in fake IDs, ones that'll pass a level one anyway. Like this one did.”

“Either way, he'd have more than one. Rent the place, do some travel using this one. Other travel using another. If he has an account for his finances, that's in another. Credit cards, 'link account. Mix it up.”

She spun back when the comp signaled. “There's the face, and Colt Willowby is actually Silas Jackson, age sixteen, from Louisville, Kentucky. Forget that search, we've got them. No, let it run—the more evidence the better—but use the comp now to get me everything you can on the Third Avenue property.”

“I have that for you,” Roarke said as he walked in. “Already sent.”

“Handy. Peabody, put it up.”

“I also ran a facial recognition on Willowby—who is actually Dwayne Mathias, fifty-three, from Bangor, Maine.”

“That's cop thinking.”

“And you insult me,” he said, flicking a finger down the dent in her chin, “when I have a dozen pizzas on the way.”

“Pizza!”

Eve gave Peabody and her happy dance a sidelong look.

“Nobody got that dinner break,” Peabody pointed out. “I grabbed a yogurt bar, but that's it.”

“And hungry cops may be more likely to make mistakes,” Roarke concluded.

“I thought hungry kept you lean and mean. I'm feeling mean.” Eve stared at the blueprints on screen. “But pizza sounds okay.”

Cop thinking, she mused, and he'd done the work faster than she had. Plus pizza. Hard to complain.

“Tri-level duplex,” she observed. “Johns on the first and second only, so I'd say: Keep first level clean—they're going to get deliveries, don't want weapons or plans in view—sleep second, use third for strategy sessions, storage. Fire escapes, rear, and potential roof access. Third bedroom on the second floor could be used for work, too. Subway's an easy walk, or run if you need to run. Bus stop's convenient. It's a good location, a good HQ.”

“One that's showing its age,” Roarke added, “and the effects of poor construction. Willowby rented with an option, and as the asking price is easily fifty thousand dollars over what it's worth, I'd conclude he didn't bother to negotiate.”

“He doesn't plan to buy it.”

“I agree with that. The rent's low in any case.”

Lowenbaum stepped in, looked at the screens. “You got him.”

“We will.”

“Then let's get to work.”

Cops came in from the field minutes before pizza. Eve allowed the wolf attack—Roarke was right, cops had to eat—and brought them up to date while they ate.

“McNab, your level-three results.”

He swallowed a hefty bite of pizza, loaded. “The ID cruised through a standard level one, and would have passed a sloppy, even a down-and-dirty level two, but it cracked like an egg on three. Totally bogus ID, Dallas, but a decent one. Nobody but law enforcement runs a three—and then generally only when there's a major crime involved.”

“Same on the second suspect,” Peabody put in. “Just like the one the suspect used for check-in at the hotel.”

“That keeps it clean, establishes pattern. Peabody, push the warrant through now. We go with the same op as before. Lowenbaum's got his team in their ready room. EDD will roll out, using sensors to let us know if the suspects are inside. There's an art studio on the west side of Third. McNab and Callendar will set up there.

“Lowenbaum.”

He rose, used a laser pointer to highlight the projected positions of his men. “Patroni will access the studio with McNab and Callendar. He requested the assignment,” Lowenbaum told Dallas. “He's one of my best. He'll stick.”

“All right then, saddle it up. Peabody, we roll with EDD.”

—

T
his time they rolled in the dark, after a long day of hunting. As they drove across town, Eve went over every step, tried to calculate every possibility.

“He'll want to protect his daughter,” Roarke said, but she shook her head.

“He's not running this show, he only thinks he is. She may play the student, the apprentice, but she's driving the ball now. Maybe she's been driving it for a while.”

“Do you see them as willing to die for this?”

“She doesn't want to die, she wants to kill. He has a mission, fucked-up as it is, and would probably die for it. But she wouldn't have stopped there. She wants to kill. We've taken all but one of the targets off the board. We take them down here, or she'll find that last target. Then? She can wait. She's young, she has resources, she has IDs, and likely she can get more. How long can we keep everyone she's after protected? She's got time on her side of this. We take them down here and now.”