New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

“I expect you’ve read Detective Jones’s statement and report.”

“I have. But I’d rather hear her account, if you don’t mind.”

“Bree?”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t get home until a few minutes after four this morning. My partner, Detective Walker, and I worked a long one. My sister and I share an apartment. I assumed Melinda was home in bed. I never checked. I went directly to bed, and as I’d taken the next day off, I slept late. I . . .”

She wavered a moment.

“It’s my policy,” Ricchio said, “when my detectives put in long hours, close a case, and have nothing hot waiting, they take a day to recoup.”

“Understood.”

“I didn’t get up until about ten-thirty,” Bree continued. “And I assumed Melinda had gone to work. There was a message from her on

the fridge, as is our routine. She said she’d gotten a call, had gone out to meet with a rape victim she’d been counseling. She left the message at twenty-three-thirty.”

“Is it usual for her to meet a vic that late?”

“Yes, ma’am—sir. Pardon me, Lieutenant, I understand you prefer sir.”

“Ma’am’s somebody’s tight-assed aunt.”

It nearly got a smile from Bree. “Yes, sir. It’s never too late or too early for Melly. If somebody needs her, she’d be there. I didn’t think anything of it. I’d have known if she’d left the message under duress. She didn’t.”

“She didn’t tell you who she intended to meet or where?”

“No, but that wasn’t unusual, but . . . if she’d come back, she’d have deleted the message, so it gave me a bad feeling. I decided to check in with her. When I did so, I got McQueen’s message.”

As she said McQueen’s name, Bree began to turn a silver ring around and around her finger.

“I checked the apartment, cleared it. I contacted my lieutenant and apprised him of the situation. He dispatched two officers and a Crime Scene Unit to my location, and put out an alert on Melinda and her vehicle. Her vehicle was found in the unsecured lot of a motel approximately three-quarters of a mile from our apartment. No one interviewed remembered seeing Melinda or McQueen.”

“Has the picture of the female we believe is McQueen’s current partner been shown?”

“As soon as we received it from your department, Lieutenant. We didn’t get any hits. We’ve run down or are running down everyone booked into the motel last night. So far, we’ve cleared everyone.”

“They didn’t book,” Eve put in. “They didn’t stay there. They dumped her vehicle there, possibly transferred her to another. Most likely a van. You might re-interview asking about a van parked near where you located your sister’s car. Highest probability?” she continued when Bree took out a notebook. “The female suspect met Melinda Jones outside of the designated location. Probably some sort of restaurant—down-scale, but busy. Café, diner, bar. Requests the vic to take her somewhere else, maybe quieter. She wouldn’t want to go in with her target, be seen with her. The suspect’s behavior is nervous, upset—as the vic would expect, and being predisposed to help she lets the suspect into her vehicle. Is that consistent with your sister, Detective?”

“Yes.” Bree paused in her notes, circled the ring again. “Melinda would have taken her wherever she wanted to go.”

“At some point the suspect asks your sister to pull over, or maybe pull into an empty lot. She feels sick, or she becomes hysterical. It’s smarter, simpler to incapacitate the—your sister and gain control of the vehicle if they’re stopped. Suspect takes the wheel, McQueen joins them, or suspect drives to the motel, meets McQueen. They make the transfer, leave your sister’s vehicle. Doesn’t matter if you find it. It’s better if you do, then waste time looking for them in that area. They’re nowhere near that area.”

“If I’d checked when I got home—”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference.” Eve cut Bree off. They didn’t have time for the luxury of guilt. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d been home when she got the contact. She’d have responded, exactly as she did. She may have given you the name of the woman she intended to meet, but that wouldn’t have mattered either because it’s a lie. And within . . . I don’t know the traffic patterns and routes around here, but I’d say in no more than an hour, long before you’d have felt any concern, she was secured in the location they had ready.”

Eve turned to Ricchio. “That’s the most likely scenario.”

“In your opinion, would he have taken her out of the city?”

“He’s an urbanite—and he’s been confined for years, away from the action, the energy, the movement. Neighbors tend to pay more attention to each other in the suburbs or outlyings. Best guess is an apartment or condo, mid-level. Nothing too flashy. His partner would already be established there. Could be weeks or months, but she’s got it all set up for him. It’s soundproofed, has top-grade security, and plenty of room. In prior partnerships, the female maintained her own residence. I don’t see that changing. He doesn’t want her in his space night and day. He likes his privacy.”

“You have an accomplice in custody.”

“Randall Stibble,” Eve confirmed for Ricchio. “We’ll call him a broker. For a fee he set McQueen up with potential partners who visited him in prison. My partner and another detective have him in Interview. If he’s got anything more to give, they’ll get it. Jones knew the female suspect, you said someone she’d counseled. You have her records?”

Ricchio nodded at Bree. “We’ve accessed them, and we’ve run searches on every patient she’s counseled in the last six months. We’ve found no matches on face recognition, DNA, or prints.”