“That would be the useless prick with the good job, the nice house.” Eve studied his ruined and furious eyes through the goggles. “The one who’s not a funky-junkie. Yeah, that’s a burn on the butt all right.”
“He’s not her father.”
“Nope, but she lived with him half the time. You were working to change that, to get full custody, then oops, dead wife. That got messed up.”
The trembling of Mackie’s hands increased. Red splotches came and went on his face.
“I figure you said run. ‘Get to Alaska. Live a little.’ Then you’re the sacrifice, the distraction. She can come back in a couple years, finish the mission: Marta Beck, Marian Jacoby, Jonah Rothstein, Brian Fine, Alyce Ellison. But, hey, that’s a teenager, isn’t it? Defiant, rebellious. She disobeyed Daddy. Now eighteen more people are dead.”
Eve opened a file, spread out the photos. “Eighteen people who did nothing but go to a concert.”
She watched his gaze skim over the photos, back and forth.
“Their bad luck this time. Bad luck they were in the same place at the same time as Rothstein. He’s a lawyer,” she told Pratt. “Like you. Mackie hired him to try to sue the driver who hit his jaywalking wife, and the cop who gauged the scene correctly. Just a lawyer, like you, doing his job, like you. But he couldn’t get Mackie what he wanted, so he was supposed to die.”
“My client denies—”
“But she missed.” Eve watched Mackie’s shielded eyes jerk up. “That’s her oops. Got so excited, I guess, and missed the target.”
“Will never misses.”
Eve leaned forward. “How would you know? Have you ever seen her aim at a human being?”
“I said she never misses. Where’s his picture?” He shoved at the dead. “Where is it?”
“Who chose the collaterals? Did you let her pick? You picked the main target, so did you let her pick the rest?”
“Where is Rothstein’s picture?”
“I said she missed.”
“You’re lying. Will can pick the left ear off a rabbit at a half mile.”
“Mr. Mackie,” Pratt began, laying a hand on his arm.
Mackie shook him off. “I want to see his picture on this table.”
“It was crowded. Night, late, crowded.”
“I trained her.” Not just his hands shook now, but his arms, his shoulders. “She wouldn’t take the shot unless she was sure.”
“Maybe it’s different when you’re not there to give her the green. You were there, giving her the green for the ice rink, for Times Square.”
“It’s no different, not for her. She doesn’t miss.”
“But you were there before, giving her the green, to kill Dr. Michaelson, to kill Officer Russo. Yes or no.”
“Don’t answer that,” Pratt insisted.
“Yes! Yes, but it doesn’t matter.” Insult, this time clearly for the stain on his daughter’s skill, raged through his voice. “She’s the best I’ve ever seen. Better than I ever was. She wouldn’t have missed Rothstein.”
“You’re telling me a fifteen-year-old girl made the strikes that killed Michaelson and two others on Wollman Rink. Killed four people including Officer Kevin Russo in Times Square?”
“Do you think I could make those strikes with these hands? With these eyes?”
“She made them for you?”
“For us. Susann would’ve been more of a mother to her, a real mother to her. We were going to be a family. They destroyed that. They destroyed my family! They don’t deserve to live.”
“You and your daughter, Willow Mackie, conspired to kill the people on this list.” Eve took a printout from the file. “And however many others you deemed necessary in your attempt to cover up your connection to these targets.”
“This Interview is over.” Pratt got to his feet.
“She’s my eyes! She’s my hands! It’s not murder. It’s justice. Justice for my wife, my son.”
“All these people.” Eve opened the other files, spread out more pictures. “All those who just happened to be in the same place at the same time?”
“Why do they matter more than Susann and my son? Why do they deserve a life, a family, when I have none?”
“Why do they matter less?” Eve countered.
“I said this Interview is over.” Obviously shaken, Pratt struggled to keep his voice calm. “I need to consult with my client. We’ll take our break now.”
“You do that.” Eve began to gather the photos.
“Where is Rothstein?”
“You can’t get to him.” Eve rose. “Or any of the others on your list. And she won’t. Think about that. We’ll resume in thirty. Interview end.”
She walked out, kept walking straight to her office. While Peabody moved to the AutoChef for coffee, Eve sat, studied the go-cup in the center of her desk, with a label that read: DRINK ME!
She opened the lid, sniffed suspiciously. Frowned, as it smelled like a chocolate malted.
“What is that?”
“Something Roarke came up with.” Cautiously, Eve took a sip. It tasted like a chocolate malted. A real one.
She looked at the coffee Peabody set on her desk, back at the go-cup. And thinking of Roarke, drank half of the booster.
She held the cup out to Peabody. “You look like crap. Drink the rest.”
Peabody tried a testing sip. Her eyes widened. “Oh, it tastes like a zillion calories. But—” She downed it.
“That was genius—making him think she’d missed Rothstein.”
“Just came to me. Either he’d be pissed at her for screwing up, or pissed at me for saying she did. His ego—for himself and his protégé—locked him into confessing to multiple murders, and implicating her. It was enough for the first round.”
“I’m kicking myself for not thinking of it,” Mira said as she came in. “Pride. There’s a lot of paternal pride mixed into his psychosis. She’s his eyes, his hands, his weapon, his child. They’re all conflated. He will go into a cage, Eve, and it’s unlikely he’d be deemed legally insane, but he’s a very disturbed man.”
“He can be disturbed for the rest of his useless life, as long as he’s in that cage. One down, one to go. He may not give a shit about his ex and her husband being targets. He may not give a shit about the seven-year-old kid being a target. But if she’s his eyes, his hands, they aren’t his targets. Let’s see if he can rationalize her planning on taking them out. And the school, all those kids. If that doesn’t work, and I can’t trip him up otherwise, we go with the deal. The deal gives him room to believe she’ll be safe inside for a couple years, then come out and finish. Her agenda, her hit list, that’s weight she’s not leaving the city, and he’ll lose her, lose his eyes and hands.”
“He believes he’s a good father,” Peabody commented. “He genuinely believes it, I could see it. It’s like he took her innate talent and honored it, helped refine it.”
“He’s resentful of the stepfather. More stable and successful—and with a son,” Mira added. “He still harbors anger toward his ex-wife. But the half brother may strike a nerve. I’d put pressure there.”
“Peabody, see how many cute photos of the kid you can come up with. Birthdays, Christmas, like that. Baby shots. They had a puppy, right? Puppy shots.”
“Got it.”
“Make him look at them,” Mira said when Peabody hurried out. “The innocence, the sweetness. Remind him that child shares blood with his. It will matter, I believe, that his child plots to kill her own blood. The mother, perhaps not. She’s an adult who made choices Mackie disagrees with, choices he resents. But the child has no choice. Just as his son, if he’d come to be, would have none.”
“And would have shared her blood. I got it.”
“Your color’s better,” Mira noted.
“Yeah? Roarke boost.?
??
“Is that a euphemism? When would you have had the time?”
“I just—no, jeez.” Amused, appalled, Eve held up the go-cup. “Booster. Roarke-supplied booster. He probably arranged some for half the cops in here while he was at it.”
Trying not to think of Mira thinking about her having sex, Eve shifted gears. “How come you’re not wearing a suit and ankle breakers?”
“I was a bit rushed to get here this morning. And it’s Saturday. I don’t have formal office hours on Saturday.”
“Saturday.” When did it get to be Saturday? “Oh.”
“Recharge.” Mira patted Eve’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in Observation when you start again.” Mira paused at the door. “There are cracks forming. And you’ve shaken his lawyer as well.”
“If they didn’t have the break coming, I could’ve widened the cracks. Now they have time to shore them up, steady up. But I’ll get there.”
She’d get there, Eve thought, and prepared for the next round.
—
She recharged. Maybe it was the break, maybe it was the booster, but her mind cleared, her energy lifted. Before tackling Mackie again, she checked in with Baxter.
“Yo, Dallas. The bus driver remembered her—or remembered a ‘youth’ getting on loaded down with the bags the previous wit described. It’s looking like she went straight to the flop she used to hit Madison Square. Me and my boy, we’re following up with buses on that line. I got a little tingle going.”
“Make it happen. I’m going back at Mackie. If he lets anything through the cracks, I’ll point you.”
“Make it happen.”
Yeah, she thought as she pushed away from her desk. They’d make it happen. She had a little tingle of her own going.
When she walked into the bullpen, she saw Peabody talking to a civilian.
“Lieutenant, this is Aaron Taylor. He attended last night’s concert with Jonah Rothstein.”
“I was—we were—I heard that . . . Are you sure Jonah’s . . .”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor.”
Eve’s words had him covering his face with his hands. “I don’t understand. I don’t know how this could . . .”
Peabody popped up, dragged over a chair. “Sit down, Mr. Taylor.”
“I don’t know what to do. I went out the other way—it’s closer to where I live. We had Orchestra seats, man. Jonah scored them back in November. We . . .”
“You and Mr. Rothstein were friends,” Eve prompted.
“Since high school. We came to New York together, roomed together until I got married. He’s my best friend. I just . . .”
“You went to the concert together,” Eve prompted.
“Yeah. Yeah. He’s been bragging about scoring those prime seats all over his social media. It’s all he talked about for weeks now. We went together, and . . . I went out the other way after.”
“He talked about his plans for last night on social media?”
“He had a countdown going.” Aaron pressed his fingers to his eyes, pressing at the tears that swam in them. “We’re big Avenue A fans. Jonah’s the biggest there is, since we were in college. He worked his schedule around the concert—he had out-of-town meetings all week, but he worked it so he’d be back for last night. He was saying, kept saying: ‘Dude, did you ever think back all those times we sat in the nosebleeds to see Avenue A, to see Jake Kincade, we’d be here. Orchestra seats, Madison Square.’ I went out the other exit. He said, ‘Let’s go have a drink,’ but I needed to get home. He was going to come over tonight. He’s supposed to come over tonight, but he went out one way, and I went out the other.”
“Mr. Taylor . . . Aaron,” Eve amended, studying his devastated face. “There’s no sense in it, no reason. I want to ask you if Jonah ever talked to you about his work.”
“Yeah, sometimes. Like a sounding board. We went to law school together. I’m in tax law.”
“Did he ever talk to you about Reginald Mackie?”
“The guy who’s been all over the screen? With the kid? The guy who’s doing this shit.” The threat of tears dried up in shock. “You saying Jonah knew him?”
“He never mentioned Mackie to you?”
“He wouldn’t have given me names. He might give me an anecdote, right? A funny story. Or blasted off some, but without naming the client. We’re like brothers, you know what I’m saying, but he wouldn’t have shared any privileged information.”
“Okay, but did he talk to you about a client who wanted to sue others for the death of his wife? She’d run into the street, was hit by a vehicle. She was pregnant.”
“I . . . I—I remember something about that. Is that why he’s dead?” Leading with fury now, Aaron shoved up from the chair. “Is that the reason? He tried to help that asshole. He did it pro bono because he felt for him. His own time. Mostly did it because the poor bastard didn’t have a case. She ran into the street, into traffic. People saw her. Jonah talked to all of them, even did background—on his own time. And when Jonah had to tell him there was nothing he could do, the fucker went off on him. And the kid . . . He tried to help them, his own time, his own dime. He’s a good guy, do you get that? Jonah’s one of the good ones.”
“I get that. What about the kid?”
“The . . . Jonah told me how the guy—that’s this Mackie, right? He said the guy was a wreck. Pushing for some sort of closure, somebody to blame—even the doctor because the appointment ran late, and yeah, the wife’s supervisor at work. Everybody was to blame but the person who ran into the street, you know?”
“Yes, I do. The kid, Aaron.”
“He said she was scary—that’s what he said. How she came up to him a couple weeks after he told Mackie he couldn’t help him, after he tried to steer Mackie into rehab and counseling because he said the guy was on something for sure. The kid came up to him when Jonah was grabbing some takeout on the way home. She came right up to him, said she bet he figured everybody died, so what’s the big. How he’d find out just how big. How it was too bad he didn’t have a wife because somebody might give her a reason to run out into the street. How maybe somebody would give him one, showed him a stunner, what looked like a stunner she had in her pocket. Spooked him.”
“He didn’t report the threat? Or the weapon?”
“Jewel—my wife—she pushed him to do just that, but he said the kid was like thirteen or fourteen, whatever. Just mouthing off, and he figured the stunner was a toy, a fake. But it spooked him. I know all the lawyer jokes, right? But Jonah, he really believed in the best of people. He really believed they needed somebody to stand up for them. With this guy, there was nothing to stand on, but he tried. Now he’s dead.”
“Now we’re standing for him. I promise you, I’m standing for him. You’ve helped us by coming in. You’ve helped him.”
“Can I see him? Is there somewhere I can go to see him? His parents—we were sleeping in, me and Jewel. We didn’t even know until his dad . . . They’re coming in from Florida. They do the winter in Florida thing, and they’re coming, but . . . Can I see him?”
“Detective Peabody, would you arrange that, and for Aaron to be taken to see his friend, then taken home?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He really believed in justice.”
“So do I,” Eve said, and moved off to where she’d seen Lowenbaum waiting.
“I caught some of that, didn’t want to break in.”
“Just one more reason to crack Mackie, and to hunt down his psycho daughter.”
“I wanted to ask if I can get in on the next round, if I can help you interview Mac.”
She’d expected this, and drew him out in the corridor to answer.
“I’d want the same in your place, and I may ask you. But he’s going to see you as his lieutenant, and that muddies this. You made rank, and you had to nudge him
out.”
“I get it, but I just—”
“Lowenbaum, if he’d managed to complete this mission of his, I don’t think he’d have headed off to Alaska. Or if he did, he wouldn’t have stayed there. It wouldn’t have given him what he needed, he wouldn’t have felt finished. He’d still have all that inside him. And he’d make a new list. Your name would be on that list.”
She waited a beat. “You’ve already concluded the same.”
“Yeah.” Lowenbaum looked down the corridor, looked at nothing. “Yeah, I concluded the same. My name, the ex’s husband, Patroni, probably more. But he’s not there yet.”
“Sure of that?”
After a moment, Lowenbaum shook his head. “Nah, nowhere near sure of that. It’s just . . .”
“Hard to sit back, but I’ve got to ask you to. Observe, and if you observe anything that can help me, give me a signal.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Accepting that, Lowenbaum heaved out a breath. “Okay. Push the kid, the half brother. He was still pissed about the ex—a lot of people stay pissed about exes for the rest of their lives—but he liked the kid. I heard him say Will and Zach were the only things Zoe ever did to add to the world. Dragged Willow to a couple of the little guy’s school deals—plays and concerts—because he thought it was important she participate in the kid’s life.”
“Good. Good to know. I’ll use it.” She waited while a couple of uniforms came out with Aaron, guided him to the elevator. “More ammo,” she stated, then gestured to Peabody. “Sit tight, Lowenbaum. Stay close.”
“You’ve got that.”
—
She took a moment in Observation herself, just to gauge the ground. The lawyer spoke, tense and intense by her measure, while Mackie stared straight ahead, face set in stone.
Pissed, she thought. Good, good. Stay pissed.
And his hands shook. However tightly he gripped them together, she saw the tremors had increased. He’d need another medically approved hit very soon.
She nodded to Peabody. “Let’s start the clock.”
When she walked back in, Pratt sat back, stayed quiet.