“Yeah. It probably has to do with the gash in her right thigh. She bled out. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”
“Hold the line,” Eve told him, and ended the communication.
“She’s not on the list,” Roarke told Eve before she could do a search of her own. “We could go through the books, but I assume you want to get there quickly.”
“Let’s move.”
She retrieved her badge, her weapon, changed skids for boots before rushing down to where Roarke already had her vehicle waiting. “You can drive,” she said. “I want more info on the vic.”
She pulled out her PPC as he drove, keyed in the data she had. “Lowry, Kellie, age twenty-four, unmarried, no offspring. Employed by Knight Productions for two and a half years. Assistant to an assistant producer. Residence in the West Nineties, born in Queens, studied broadcasting at NYU. No criminal.”
She lowered the handheld. “Why does he kill her? Was she a source, an accomplice who had to be cut off? Did she see or hear something? Knight was a target, Mars—according to Nadine’s source—breezed in and out of the studio at will, and often when someone screen and gossip worthy was there. Somebody fed her that info. Might have been Knight herself, but she never mentioned that and she told me things a lot more damaging. Maybe Mars had something on Lowry. The killer, protecting Knight, kills them both.”
“Knight’s longtime partner?”
“He’s protective, devoted. He loves her. But … he respects her. At least that was my sense. Does the shiny knight respect the—what’s it? Maiden?”
“Love and devotion do not preclude respect.”
“No, but a couple of murders do, at least in my book.”
Roarke pulled up to the police barricades blocking off Rockefeller Center at Forty-ninth.
People massed. Plenty of tourists, she thought as she badged them through and worked her way to the crime scene tape, the shields erected. Tourists who’d come out on a cold night to watch the skaters, eat hot pretzels from a cart, throng along the gardens, the shops.
And now got the bonus of a murder to tell their friends back home about.
She ducked under the tape, pushed through the shield.
Lowry’s long, wavy black hair spread like wings over the sidewalk. She lay faceup, brown eyes staring out of a pretty face gone slack with death. It bore a raw, bruising scrape on the right side of the forehead, another on the right cheek. Blood soaked her cheerfully flowered pants. The trail of blood, much of it smeared by foot traffic, ran east.
“TOD’s nineteen-eighteen, LT,” Baxter told her. “We’ve got a couple wits inside the lobby who saw her go down, tried to help her. They turned her over.”
“Yeah, I see where she hit the pavement.” She crouched down, sealed her hands, then carefully spread the slice in the bloody pants to examine the wound. “It looks pretty deep. He wasn’t taking chances.”
Looking up, she studied the blood trail. “How far did she get?”
“Sir, the blood trail starts fifteen feet, seven inches from the main doors.” Trueheart gestured back. “Security has her logging out of Knight Productions at nineteen-oh-eight.”
“Alone?”
“The guard’s still at the desk inside. He doesn’t have anyone logging out with her. I went up to Knight Productions, inquired. She left alone according to the swipe log up there. And I brought down a coworker—a friend, Lieutenant. One of the vic’s roommates. I’ve got her with a uniform. She spoke with the victim before she left. She’s pretty broken up.”
“Any shot on security feed?”
“In the lobby—we’ve got that, and she walked out alone,” Baxter told her. “Out here—nada. She was about a couple feet out of range of the door cams.”
“He’d have known.” Looking up, Eve visualized it. “Had to know when she was coming out, that she—at least usually—came out alone. Walking toward her, that’s how it looks, weapon down at his side. Does he bump into her? Does he just give her the slash? Either way, he can just keep walking.
“Your wits give you anything?”
“A couple of guys here from Boston. A pal’s getting married. They noticed her staggering, thought she’d had one too many. She bumped into some people, kept staggering, then went down. When she hit, they were right behind her. Still thought she was drunk, until they tried to help, turned her over. Saw the blood, called for a cop, a medic. She was gone before either got here.”
Slick, fast, done, Eve thought.
“Did you check the purse, that bag?”
“Gym bag—yoga-type clothes, confirmed by office pal. She had a seven-thirty yoga class. A couple blocks away,” Trueheart added. “She’s got her wallet, her ’link, a mini tablet, her swipe ID for work, and what we assume are her apartment keys. The friend can confirm that. Other personal items, you know, the makeup and hair stuff.”
Nodding, Eve checked her wrist unit. She’d hoped Peabody would arrive before she took the roommate.
“You’re right.” Eve pushed to her feet. “This connects to mine, no way around it. I’m going to step on your toes, Baxter.”
He lifted his shoulders, dropped them. “Figured. You want the assist?”
“I do. Peabody’s on the way. Trueheart, since the roommate’s already talked to you, we’ll take her together. You can call it, Baxter. Bagged and tagged, and the sweepers are going to want to do what they do.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
She glanced around, surprised not to find Roarke behind her.
“Whenever Roarke gets back from wherever, tell him—”
She broke off as he stepped inside the shield with a take-out tray of coffee. “It’s a cold night,” he said.
“You are the man.” Baxter helped himself.
“You can be the man with Baxter,” she told Roarke. “I have statements to take inside. With me, Trueheart.”
They’d blocked off the front lobby area, detouring anyone leaving or coming in for business to alternates.
Eve saw the two male witnesses sitting together with a uniform, and the female, weeping silently, several feet away with another.
“What’s her name?”
“Terren Alta.”
Eve walked to her. “Miss Alta, I’m Lieutenant Dallas. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Okay.” The tears spilled and flowed. “They said I can’t tag her mom. Her mom’s really nice. We go over and have dinner sometimes.”
Trueheart signaled for the uniform to leave, moved in. “Don’t worry, Terren. We’ll talk to her mom.”
“Kellie’s just … I don’t feel like it’s real, but I can’t stop crying.”
“You talked to her before she left tonight.” Eve sat.
“Yeah. She said she was heading to yoga, and I said, see you at home. I’m working on The Glory Hour. We come into work and leave together otherwise, but I got assigned to The Glory Hour. It’s new this winter, so I don’t come in until later, and don’t leave until nine-thirty. Sometimes ten.
“She’s my roommate. When Kendra moved out and in with her boyfriend, Haley and I needed another roommate. Kellie and I got to be friends at work, and she was commuting from her mom’s in Queens because she couldn’t afford a place on her own, so I said how about sharing the apartment with me and Haley, and … It doesn’t matter, does it?”
“You were friends, and this is hard. Did she have a boyfriend?”
“Nobody special. She dates sometimes, but mostly the work keeps you going, and none of us are much interested in anything serious. Haley had a girlfriend for a few months, but it didn’t work out. And that doesn’t matter, either. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Did she date anybody from work, or hang out with anyone in particular?”
“It’s not smart to date out of the work pool, and she’s smart. It gets sticky. She had friends, sure, but since she moved in—like, six months ago—we’ve been hanging more. The three of us.”
“Was this her usual time to leave?”
“It depends on the work, but yoga nights she’d take off about seven. She’d stay later than usual because the gym’s close by. Otherwise, she’d be out by five-thirty or six. Maybe six-thirty like.”
“But on Thursday nights, about seven.”
“Tuesdays and Thursdays. She really loves yoga. I went with her a few times before I started with The Glory Hour.”
“Tuesday.” The night Mars was killed. “Did she leave at seven this past Tuesday?”
“Ah.” Terren closed her eyes, sighed. “I remember. Yeah, sure, just after seven. I remember because I had a seven-thirty meeting and I checked the time when she came over to say she’d see me at Rush. It’s a club, we were going out after I got off work, after her class. Haley was meeting us. We had a lot of fun.”
“Just after seven,” Eve said thoughtfully. “Just a second.” She rose, moved to Trueheart. “Check the vic’s log-out time—I want exact—on Tuesday night.”
Eve saw Peabody come in, signaled her to wait. “The swipe cards—the studio security has you log in and log out.”
“Yeah,” Terren brushed at tears, sniffed. “There was some trouble a few years ago, with some fans getting in. You have to get cleared from the lobby now, or do the swipe.”
“Where did she keep hers?”
“Ah, in her purse.”
“Always?”
“Well, everybody sort of leaves them on their desk if they have one, or sticks them in their pocket. Or a purse.”
“Did she leave hers on her desk?”
“I guess, yeah.”
“They all look the same. How do you know whose is whose?”
“You can write your name on them, or initials. Some people draw something. I’ve got a dragonfly I drew on mine.”
“I bet you don’t really look when you just grab it up to go.”
Terren shrugged. “It’s right on the desk, or in my pocket.”
“Right. It’s got your data inside, programmed in.”
“Sure. Your name, your area, your ID number.”
“Do you ever grab someone else’s by mistake?”
“I haven’t, but Wally and Misha got theirs mixed once. I remember because it was just a couple weeks ago.”
Trueheart came back, whispered in Eve’s ear.
She just nodded.
“Terren, would you like us to contact Haley, make sure she’s home, or comes home? We’re going to arrange for you to be taken home.”
Fresh tears spurted. “I want Haley.”
“Detective Trueheart’s going to take care of all that.”
“Her mom?”
“We’ll go see her mom. Thanks for your help. And I am sorry for your loss.”
Eve crossed quickly to Peabody. “Take statements from the two male wits, and make it fast. We’ve got him.”
“Who? How?”
“That fucker Hyatt—Knight’s admin. I’ll fill you in when you’re done. Get full statements, but don’t screw around.”
She went out, took a deep breath of cold air. She’d get justice for Larinda Mars. That was duty.
But she’d damn sure get it for Kellie Lowry.
22
Eve moved to Baxter.
“Trueheart’s arranging the female wit’s transpo, making sure her other roommate’s home. When he’s done, and you’re done here, I need you to make the notification.”
Though he nodded, Baxter pointed at her. “You hit.”
“Apologies for putting you on notification, but we need to move on this.”
“Throw me a bone.”
“Knight’s admin, Bill Hyatt. I knew I didn’t like that rat bastard, but he had an alibi—his log-in had him in the building here when Mars was attacked. Except it wasn’t his swipe. He switched on Kellie Lowry. She’s the one who was in the building until nineteen-six. And he’s the one who left—logging her out—at seventeen-fifteen. Plenty of time for him to get downtown when we can place him entering Du Vin.”
“He killed that girl, had her bleed out on the sidewalk, for her log-in?”
“He did.”
“Get the rat bastard, boss.”
“Count on it.”
She turned to Roarke, who offered her a go-cup of coffee. “Thanks.”
“The knight protecting Knight. Strangely poetic.”
“I couldn’t connect him to Mars—he’s not in her books, on her list, and I looked. Then today, I find out Mars made herself at home up there. He’d have had some dealings with her. He figured out what was going on, didn’t like it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he confronted her at some point, warned her off, got in her face some like he did with me. And it wouldn’t surprise me if she laughed in his face. He’s just an assistant, right? A lackey. He didn’t worry her.”
“Murder’s somewhat over and above for an employee,” Roarke commented.
“Some people take their job way too serious. You can head out, go on home. I’m going to bag this.”
“Mars, whatever she was, bled out on my floor,” Roarke reminded her. “I’ll see it through.”
“Fine. Baxter, you and Trueheart need to go up to the studio, get more statements. I’ll get you a warrant for Hyatt’s office and his electronics.”
“We know the drill, Dallas. We’ve got this covered.”
Sure of it, she pulled out her PPC, pulled up Hyatt’s info. “Handy, he lives about five blocks away.”
Pleased, she tagged Reo. “I need some warrants.”
By the time Peabody came out, the warrants were in the works.
“Somebody tell me something,” Peabody demanded.
“Talk and walk.”
In long strides, Eve headed to the car, giving Peabody the details on the way.
“For her log-out,” Peabody said as she settled into the backseat. “He killed someone for their log-out. But … why? He used it, switched it back obviously. Nobody knew.”
It gnawed in Eve’s craw. “I pushed him on his alibi, and made sure I pissed him off. And I pushed on it again with security. Nadine worked on a source inside Knight’s studio. I’d say he got wind of the second push, he got worried.”
Son of a bitch, Eve thought. Son of a bitching bastard.
Blood-soaked flowered pants, black wings of hair spread on the sidewalk. A girl from Queens with a nice mom.
“He killed Lowry,” she continued, “to cover his ass, but just like killing Mars exposed Knight’s secrets, what he did by taking Lowry’s life? He exposed himself and his cowardly white dick of an ass.”
“‘Dick of an ass’?” Roarke repeated.
“I’m pissed. I need to get through being pissed. Mars didn’t have any problem exploiting lives for profit. She made a goddamn science out of it. But she didn’t kill people. He did Mars, more than likely, because he has some pathological obsession with protecting Annie Knight—and you can bet your non-dick of an Irish ass he harbors a strong loathing for Bicford, because Bicford has access to Knight he doesn’t, has a relationship he doesn’t.
“Lowry he killed because maybe, just maybe, we’d have looked more closely at the log-outs.”
“You didn’t like him right off,” Peabody acknowledged.
“No, I didn’t like him. But I don’t like a lot of people who don’t decide they can kill people. Who don’t decide to slice someone’s artery so they can bleed out on the floor or on the street. And you know what?”
God, she was pissed!
“Sooner or later, there would’ve been somebody else. Somebody he deemed didn’t treat Knight the way she should be treated, somebody who he judged stood in his way for something. He’d have done it again, because now it’s his solution.”
Roarke opted for a lot rather than the second-level street spot available. The walk would give his wife, his thoroughly pissed cop, a little more time to cool off.
“It wasn’t done for gain, for love, for hate, not because he’s just batshit crazy. Not in hot blood, but cold. It was just done.”
She took out her ’link when it signal
ed. “Okay, Reo came through. Both search warrant and arrest warrant. Get us a little backup, Peabody,” she added as she got out of the car. “We’re going to have him taken in while we go through his place. I’m betting he didn’t ditch the weapon, and I know damn well we’re going to find some data on his electronics on his killing method, on both vics.”
“I can tag McNab for that.”
“We’ve got our e-geek right here. Tag McNab and tell him to pack, you’re leaving tonight.”
“I— What?” Peabody nearly bobbled her ’link. “Tonight? Now tonight? But—”
“He’s a coward, he’s an amateur, he’s an asshole.” Eve ground the words out. “Do you think I can’t handle him in the box?”
“Yes, I mean, no. But—”
“Tell McNab to clear it with Feeney. You can have a shuttle for them tonight?” she asked Roarke.
“Anytime.”
As Peabody’s eyes welled up, Eve jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t piss me off a-fucking-gain. I’m just getting through it.”
“Okay, but I just have to…” She shook her fists in the air, bopped her hips, did a quick dance. Then threw her arms around Roarke. “She’ll hurt me if I hug her, too. So this is a double. Thank you, so much.”
“I’ll take the double.” And kissed the top of her head for good measure. “You’re more than welcome.”
“If you’re done now,” Eve said coolly, “maybe you could see about that backup. You know, just so we can have this murdering dick-ass taken in.”
“I’m going to get the best backup in the history of backups.”
She proceeded to do so while Eve studied Hyatt’s building. More than decent, she decided, a faux brownstone of twelve stories. One built to look old, with more than decent security.
She mastered through it.
The lobby stood empty and quiet with secondary security requiring guests to register and residents to use swipes for the elevators or the stairwell.
Fucking swipes, she thought.
“Bypass that, will you?” She gestured Roarke toward the security station while Peabody tagged McNab.
“We’re wrapping it. Yeah. I’ll tell you later. Tag Feeney, okay? Dallas says we can go tonight. Yeah, tonight. Woo! I know, I know.”