Page 17
Peabody had finished the bulk of the setup. Eve walked over to help complete the board.
“He’d know the whole group’s in New York now.”
Eve nodded. “He knew they’d come. He knows they’re here now, but not where. Ivanna has electronic surveillance on her apartment, so we’ll know if he tries there. But he hasn’t so far.”
“He could waste his time trying to find them at hotels.”
“If they weren’t with us, they’d have rented a house. All together. He can waste his time trying to find that. He thinks he can lure the women out with a lunch date. He doesn’t give them any credit for brains.”
“Us, either,” Peabody said.
“Us, either. DeWinter confirmed DNA. Not Potter.”
“XL!”
“Excel at what?”
“No, XL. Excellent. And Abernathy has the prison doctor.”
“He’s not going to know dick, but he’s going to find out what it’s like on the other side of a cage.”
Feeney walked in, nodded at the board. “Moving right along. You know, those old boomers can do some serious damage.”
“Now this one can’t and won’t.” She pulled out her signaling ’link. “Berenski, text. Bitch, bitch, whine, whine, bitch. Fingerprints on housing, on timer, etc., etc., confirmed as Potter’s. And a bitch to cap it off.”
She replaced her ’link. “DNA confirmed as not Potter’s.”
“Moving right along,” Feeney repeated. Hands on hips, he studied the board. “Lab rat and Yancy are working on the face.”
“Peabody told me.”
“They may just pull it off. Not before the op, but it’ll look fine in the file. You’ll take him in the box before they haul him back to England?”
“For Rossi, yeah, for the bomb.”
“Good. Is that Roarke’s coffee in there?”
“No,” Peabody told him. “But I can make that happen. If?”
“Shit, go ahead.” Eve stepped back, scanned the board as her detectives started coming in. “Get coffee, take a seat. The commander and Dr. Mira are sitting in. We’ll wait for them.”
McNab bounced in, wearing neon-blue baggies and a shirt that held the solar system. Some of the stars gleamed and Saturn’s rings sparkled.
“Callendar got held up, but she’ll be here. I smell real coffee.” He made a beeline for the AutoChef.
When Lowenbaum came in, wearing sensible black, Eve crossed over to have a word with him before Whitney and Mira arrived.
Then she walked back to stand between the screen and the board.
“Chatter off. The target is Conrad Potter. The remains purported to be his are not, but the partial remains of another inmate. Dr. DeWinter confirmed this morning. The prints on the explosive device have been confirmed as his. Potter is seventy-eight. Caucasian male, five-ten. At the time of his imaginary death, one hundred and sixty-three pounds. We don’t have his current face.
“If you read the file, you know his background. He was, in London during the Urbans, a skilled operative, a double agent who betrayed his team and killed two of them. He was captured, tried, and convicted and served the last few decades in max security in Manchester, England.
“His accomplice in faking his death and his escape is now in custody. Potter is also responsible for the death, here in New York, of Giovanni Rossi, another member of The Twelve, Potter’s Underground team. He used an Urbans-era gas to kill Rossi.”
She skimmed through the details, gave a brief nutshell of the targets housed in her home, and moved on to the contact the night before.
“He again used an Urbans-era device, incendiary, planting it under the table he’d booked.”
“Does he think the women he targeted are lamebrains?” Callendar wondered.
“Yeah, he does. Had this device worked as he planned, he would have killed the three women and anyone else within approximately a ten-foot radius.”
“Collateral damage,” Baxter muttered.
“Which wouldn’t concern him at all. This is his war. It’s retribution, sure, but it’s also finishing his mission. And that was to eliminate the entire team.
“If you haven’t read Dr. Mira’s profile, do so. He doesn’t take the simple way, considers himself too clever for simple. He considers the layers of complications and unnecessary steps a puzzle the opposition can’t solve.”
From his seat, Santiago pointed to the board. “Wrong about that.”
“Damn right. While he’s had a few years since his escape to sharpen his skills, they’re not as sharp as he believes. He won’t resist being in the area, having a view of the target area today. Thirteen hundred for their arrival, fifteen minutes more to detonation. There are multiple areas where he can find that view. We need to cover as many as possible.
“Peabody, on-screen. The target, here.”
“He’d like to be inside,” Jenkinson said. “Watch his work. But unless he’s a serious fuckhead…”
“He won’t be,” Eve finished. “Across the street’s most probable. Plenty of good views. My information says he’s not a sniper. But he may want that bird’s-eye. Lieutenant Lowenbaum’s team will sweep and man the rooftops. DS Jenkinson and Detective Reineke will cover this restaurant.”
One by one she assigned teams while Peabody worked the screen.
“He works alone, he’ll be alone. Just a well-dressed man browsing a shop, having a bite to eat, taking a walk. But he will, almost certainly, be armed. He will, following patterns, very likely be armed with an Urbans-era weapon.”
Eve scanned the room. “He had a stockpile; he’s using it. I’m running rentals on the residential and commercial spaces above street level. If he snagged one, it would be within months, as he couldn’t be sure of this step until his targets were in New York. He’s got money, but his funds have limits.”
“And that neighborhood don’t come cheap,” Carmichael pointed out.
“As he has some B and E skills, we’ll sweep any empty unit, make sure he hasn’t set up shop. EDD will monitor comms and the street. Questions.”
She fielded them.
“Commander Whitney, are we a go?”
“You’re a go.”
“Be ready to roll at noon. If anyone catches a case—”
“I’ll see it’s covered,” Whitney said.
“Thank you, Commander. Peabody and I will be in the field. Peabody, with me. Keep the conference room,” she added as they started out. “We’ll break it down when we have him.”
“It’s a lot of area to cover. With binocs, he could hole up in any building on that side of the block.”
“He could, and he might.” Without hesitation, she chose the glides. “But he’s a risk taker. He’ll want to be close, close enough to hear the bang.”
Fast-walking on the glides, she glanced at Peabody. “What do people do when there’s a boom?”
“Scream, panic, run.”
“He put a cam in the back of the limo so he could watch Rossi die. None in the restaurant, but he’ll want to watch that panic, hear the screams.”
They took the clanging metal stairs to the garage.
“That’s not going to happen.” As they crossed to the car, Peabody caught her breath. “What does he do next?”
“We watch for someone who reacts to nothing at thirteen-fifteen.” Eve got behind the wheel. “Easiest for us if he’s set up in one of the restaurants or shops. But you’re right, a lot more area to cover than that. Check the in-dash incoming for those search results.”
“Okay, first up, commercial and residential units rented within the last six months.” Peabody slid her gaze toward Eve. “Not as bad as I figured, but a lot.”
“Prioritize with leaseholders, male, over the age of sixty. Street-view units.”
“That’ll whittle it some. More than some.”
“While that’s working, we look at empty units. Street views.”
“I’m transferring this to my PPC, and yours, so we both have it mobile. And happily, people like the neighborhood, only fourteen unrented street-facing units on the block.”
“Combine those with the other filtered results. We’ll take it building by building.”
After congratulating herself on finding a street spot, Eve parked at the head of the block. While the distance equaled low probability for her, they had to cover it.
They pulled out the super and got started.
By the third building, they’d eliminated a sizable chunk.
“Some nice spaces. None of the recently rented came close to our guy. I thought we might have something with the one in the last building. Had the age range, the height and weight close enough. Until you got there and he’s babysitting his toddler grandkid who lives in the same building.”
“And he had a cat. Potter hates cats.”
“Couple of empty units that could work.”
“With no sign anyone’s been in there, no tampering with the locks. What have we got here?”
“Two vacant two-bedroom units, street facing. Two occupied with leaseholders that fit our parameters.”
“Let’s get the super.”
The super, a dark-skinned woman with improbable blond hair worn in waist-length coils, gave Eve the wide eyes.
“Oh my God, it’s you! It’s you. Who’s dead? Somebody’s been murdered? I saw the vid. It was wild.”
“No one’s dead, Ms. Oglebee. We’re—”
Oglebee sucked in air, and her eyes went wider. “We’ve got clones?”
“No, ma’am. You could help in an area of an investigation.”
“Bet your ass I will. Sorry, that’s rude! I’m a little, you know, aback. Who’d say no to Dallas and Peabody?”
“We’d like to look through two empty units. Peabody?”
“Units 5-A and 3-C.”
“Oh my God, are you looking for your own place? You’re busting up with Roarke?” She slapped a hand on her heart. “Don’t do it!”
“I’m not. This is part of an investigation. If we could look through those units, and if you could tell us more about the occupants of…”
“Units 5-C and 2-A.”
“Are they suspects? Holy hell!”
“This is a standard inquiry,” Peabody put in. “Unit 2-A is a Jared Cross.”
“Sure it is. Good-looking gentleman, moved in about six weeks ago. And what happens not two weeks later? A woman half his age moves in with him, her and her dog. One of those dogs about the size of your hand. Cute little guy though.”
“So he doesn’t live alone?”
“Not anymore. Good-looking, and he’s got some…” She rubbed her fingers together. “Not like Roarke, but he’s got some, all right. Pushing seventy if he hasn’t already pushed it, and her maybe half that. And a couple days ago, he takes her off to the Olympus Resort, and that takes…”
Fingers rubbed.
“Me, I’m not going off-planet for love or money, but they’re off.”
“And 5-C?” Peabody asked. “Claude Roster?”
“Poor guy. His wife left him for her yoga instructor. Thirty years married, and that’s it for you, buddy. Moved in about three months ago. His daughter helped him. She and her man and their kids visit him, get him out of the apartment. They brought him the sweetest little kitten a few weeks ago so he’d have company.”
She offered a brilliant smile. “Am I helping?”
“Yes, thanks. Those fall outside our area of investigation. If we could see the empty units.”
“Absolutely. I’ve got my pass swipe right here.” She patted her pocket.
“I have a master,” Eve said. “If it’s all the same to you, we’d like to take a look on our own.”
“Oh, well, sure.” Oglebee’s disappointment flooded the area. “It’s all official and everything, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. We appreciate your time and cooperation.”
“Is there going to be another vid?” she called out.
Since she could feel Eve’s inner shudder, Peabody glanced back. Smiled. “They’re working on it.”
“Can’t wait!”
“Think of it this way,” Peabody began as they started up the stairs. “We got a lot out of her because she saw the vid.”
“I’m trying not to think about it at all. Women, dogs, cats, family. Potter likes complications, but no way he could build that kind of cover in a matter of weeks or months. And he works alone.”
“Can’t argue there.”
Eve turned into the hallway. “Good soundproofing, clean, good security on the apartments.”
She mastered through at 3-C.
“And a really nice space again.” Peabody walked in, turned a circle. “Nice, street-facing windows. Without the rain, there’d be lots of natural light.”
As she was more interested in the view, Eve walked to the front windows. “Prime spot. He wouldn’t need binocs from here. Might use them to get a closer look.”
“They must’ve just painted the place.”
“Yeah, I can smell it.” She went back to the door, crouched down to examine the locks. “Top-of-the-line. He may have gotten his hands on a master, otherwise, there’s no sign of circumventing them.”
“I’ll say the painters couldn’t have finished more than a day ago. Breaking in after hours, maybe, but the building has cams, too, and tight security.”
“Go give Oglebee a thrill. Ask her to let you scan the security feed for the last forty-eight, find out when the painters finished, and if either of the units have applications in. I’ll go through here, and if you’re not back, you can meet me at the one on five.”
Alone, Eve walked through over shining floors with the smell of fresh paint everywhere. She found every surface immaculate. Including the kitchen, bathroom, and the tiny powder room drains.
When her ’link signaled, she scanned an incoming from Nadine. The intrepid reporter had managed to amass considerable data on Potter, which Eve already had.
But she’d managed to track down one of the cops—female—who’d served with Potter.
Interview attached, but to summarize, DCI Gemma Standish, a young constable at the time she was on the cops with Potter, describes him as—and I quote—a right prick. Heavy-handed with suspects and prisoners. She doesn’t recall him having any particular friends in the unit, no one who’d buy him a pint or socialize with him after hours. A loner. He treated all female officers with overt disrespect, often referring to them as Cunt Coppers.
“Yeah, that sums him up.”
Eve secured the apartment, and took the stairs up.
On five, she repeated the routine. Here the walls needed that fresh paint, and she spotted a number of holes where someone had hung art. Clean enough, she judged, but not pristine.
Unlike on three, these windows held a thin film of dust inside and some street grime outside.
Still, she thought, another prime view of Chez Robert.
And more recently vacated, she concluded, than 3-C.
Peabody confirmed when she joined Eve.
“Tenants moved out of this one just two days ago. They bought a house. Painters are coming in today, she hopes. It’s not publicly advertised yet, and won’t be until they paint, deep clean, and inspect. Nothing on the security feed, Dallas. Couple of lone males coming in or going out, but none in the right age frame. And she identified one as a tenant, the other as a frequent visitor. She sure knows her building.”
“All right. Let’s move on. Nadine sent some data,” Eve added as they started out. “Most just confirms what we already know about him. She also dug up a female officer on the job with him back then. No friends, a loner who referred to women officers as Cunt Coppers.”
Peabody hissed out a breath. “I really, seriously don’t like this asshole.”
“You’re not alone there. It adds more weight to the lone wolf, no friends, associates, long-term accomplices. He’s on his own, and that’s how he likes it.”
Building by building, floor by floor, they worked the block.
“None of the newer tenants fit,” Peabody said. “No sign on security feeds of him entering buildings with vacancies. In any case, it’s easier—and a hell of a lot cheaper—to get a table right out here.”
On the way back, Peabody stopped at the first restaurant. “Book a table for like one, maybe twelve-thirty, but probably one, take your seat. Order yourself a nice Cobb salad, maybe a glass of wine. Front-row seat. And in the inevitable confusion after, you walk away.”
“Easier. Simpler. And that’s why it doesn’t slide in smooth for me. Let’s go across the street, find out who booked the bomb booth.”
Though the restaurant wasn’t yet open, Eve’s badge got them in. The manager, a fussy little man with jet-black hair and a blond goatee, blended concerned with annoyed.
“We open at noon, and we’re eighty-eight percent booked through the lunch shift. We’ve barely begun our prep.”
“Then the quicker you help us out, the quicker you can get back to it. We need to know who booked that back corner booth yesterday.”
He sighed, a huge huff from the gut. “At what time?”
“At any time.”
He mumbled, grumbled, fussed with his facial hair, and finally brought up the previous day’s bookings on the station screen.
“Noon for Ms. Johnstone-Trevor and party. As she’s a frequent guest and never lingers over ninety minutes, we took a two-thirty booking. Mr. Pouncy, party of three.”
“Is the server here?”
“Of course! We’re in lunch prep.”
“Get her.”
“Officer—”
“Lieutenant.”
“Whatever. This is adversely affecting our schedule, and that can affect our service. Poor reviews can lower our rating and damage our reputation.”
“Get her fast.”
“Melinda!” He lifted his hands, fingers facing backwards. Wiggled them.
The server—early twenties, curvy, big smile, auburn hair back in a smooth tail—hurried right over.
“These are the police. They have questions.”
Wide brown eyes showed alarm. “Oh!”
“For you, not about you,” Eve qualified. “You handled that booth yesterday?”
She glanced back. “Yes, that’s my table.”
“Can you describe your two-thirty?”
“Oh, sure. Um, two men, one woman. Brothers. They took Mom out for lunch. They were both really sweet to her, and the older one—”
“How old?”
“About… maybe forty? He paid, and he tipped well.”
Eve glanced back at the manager. “Who handled the dinner service?”
“Oh, I did,” Melinda said. “I worked a double. There’s a stomach virus going around.”
“We’re short-staffed,” Mr. Fussy said, mouth pursed. “So if that’s all.”
“It’s not. Tell me about that table, dinner service.”
“Sure. I had a seven-thirty. It was supposed to be a party of six.”
“Supposed to be?”
“That’s right. With a seven-thirty booking, party of six, we wouldn’t do a turnover. The single arrived right at seven thirty, and said his family would be coming along. Joked how they were always a bit late. He ordered a bottle of Charman’s sparkling water and a gin fizz.”
“Describe him.”
“Well, older, you know, grandfather-type old. Very distinguished, I guess. Beautiful suit. Dark hair, with the temple gray. Distinguished.”
“Was he carrying anything?”
“Oh right, yeah. A really mag leather man bag.”
“What did he do?”
“Well, he took his time with the cocktail. I saw him checking his watch a couple times. I refilled his water glass. I guess it was about seven-forty-five or so when I started over to ask if he wanted another cocktail, but noticed he was on his ’link.”
“The rest of his party never arrived.”
“No. He got up really quickly, put some cash on the table to cover the drinks, and a nice tip, too. He said there’d been a family emergency and he rushed out.”
“What name did he use to book?”
Scowling now, the manager checked. “C. S. Urban.”
“He just can’t resist,” Eve murmured. “Melinda, if I could have your full name, your contact information, I’m going to send a police artist to work with you.”
“Really? Did he do something? He was so nice.”
“He’s not, and if you see him again, keep your distance. Contact me.” Eve dug out a card.
“I insist you allow us to get back to our work.”
Eve spared him one long, cool look, and had the satisfaction of watching his bristle turn to a wither.
“We appreciate your cooperation, Melinda. The police artist will be in touch.”
Peabody waited until they walked out. “That guy’s a dick. I’d hate to work for somebody who’s that big a dick. Potter planted the bomb before he contacted Iris. What if she’d said she couldn’t make it?”
“They’re lamebrained women, remember? He played the odds in his view of women. He could always come back and retrieve the device. Or hell, blow it up because he was pissed they didn’t bite.”
“I think he might have done that.” As if she felt a chill, Peabody rubbed her arms. “Just let it go off.”
“I wouldn’t bet against it. See if you can get Yancy to hook up with the server. If he’s too involved with this find-the-face project, ask him who’s next best and tap them.
“Let’s get back to Central. I don’t want to be on the street on this block where he could spot us when he gets here.”
They went, and Eve grabbed coffee, wrote it all up, sent it all out.
She had the map up on her screen again when Roarke came in.
“You’re a little early. That’s helpful. Let me catch you up.”
When she had, quickly, efficiently, he nodded.
“The facing restaurants, particularly the sidewalk tables, are prime spots. Which is why you’re worried he’ll go somewhere else.”
“I can’t put cops in every building on the block. But he’s not expecting cops. He’s expecting three women. He should be at one of those tables. There’s no indication he’s cased any of the units, vacant or otherwise, and every indication he hasn’t.”
“But.”
“But. Still, it’s barely raining now, and the sidewalk areas have cover.”
“You’ve done everything you can to box him in. Now it has to play out.”
“His server was about twenty-four, pretty as it gets. He’d have blown her to hell without a second’s regret. Just a casualty of his war. He’ll be armed today, with something from his stockpile.”
“Something easily concealed. Most likely an Urbans-era handgun. Semiauto, quick-release holster. And likely a secondary, a clutch piece.”
She’d calculated the same, and that calculation formed a weight in her gut.
“A stunner on full can do some damage, but bullets fly, Roarke. They fly and they ricochet, and they can rip holes in a dozen people in a matter of seconds.”
He heard her concern, brushed a hand down her arm. “And not everyone has a magic coat.”
“For all we know the son of a bitch carries hand grenades in his pockets. It’s not possible to clear a whole block of civilians, the businesses, the apartments, the streets and sidewalks. I don’t want any casualties, not on my team, and not with civilians who just happen to get in the way. We need to close that box.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
“Are you wearing Thin Shield?”
He opened his light jacket to show her.
“Okay. Time to move out.”
In the bullpen she gathered with the team again.
“There are a handful of unoccupied units along the block, and no sign of illegal entry. No sign he’s cased any of them. The probability reads he’d choose his view from one of the restaurants or shops, or just time it so he’s on the street when it’s set to blow. I’m going to emphasize again. He will be armed, most likely an Urbans-era handgun, potentially more than one weapon.”
She paused, felt that weight in her belly.
“Protect and serve. Protect and serve the civilians, and each other. You all know your positions. Feeney, Peabody, Roarke, and I ride with you. He knows our faces.
“Now let’s go get this fucker.”