“We logged out for the break at seventeen-forty-five. I don’t think we were in there over five minutes, Lieutenant.”
“Okay. Continue.”
“The female was unable to speak coherently, but she pointed to the door. While my partner attempted to calm the female, I opened the door.”
He paused, cleared his throat. “I’ve got twenty-two years in, Lieutenant, and I’ve never seen anything like this. Bodies, everywhere. Some were still alive. Crawling, crying, moaning. I called it in, called for medicals. There was no way to keep the scene undisturbed, sir. People were dying.”
“Understood.”
“We got eight or ten out—the medicals, Lieutenant. I’m sorry, I’m not clear on the number. They were in pretty bad shape. They worked on some of them here, transported all survivors to the Tribeca Health Center. At that time we secured the scene. The medicals were all over it, Lieutenant. We found more in the bathrooms, back in the kitchen.”
“Were you able to question any of the survivors?”
“We got some names. The ones able to speak all said basically the same thing. People were trying to kill them.”
“What people?”
“Sir? Everybody.”
“Okay. Let’s keep everybody out of here for now.” She walked with him to the door.
She spotted her partner. She’d parted ways with Peabody less than an hour before. Eve stayed back at Central to catch up on paperwork. She’d been on her way to the garage, thinking of home when she’d gotten the call.
At least, for once, she remembered to text her husband, letting Roarke know she’d be later than expected.
Again.
She moved forward to block the door and intercept her partner. She knew Peabody was sturdy, solid—despite the pink cowgirl boots, rainbow-tinted sunshades and short, flippy ponytail. But what was beyond the door had shaken her, and a beat cop with over twenty on his hard, black shoes.
“Almost made it,” Peabody said. “I’d stopped by the market on the way home. Thought I’d surprise McNab with a home-cooked.” She shook a small market bag. “Good thing I hadn’t started. What did we catch?”
“It’s bad.”
Peabody’s easy expression slid away, leaving her face cold. “How bad?”
“Pray to God you never see worse. Multiple bodies. Hacked, sliced, bashed, you name it. Seal up.” Eve tossed her a can of Seal-it from the field kit she carried. “Put down that bag and grab your guts. If you need to puke, get outside. There’s already plenty of puke in there, and I don’t want yours mixed in. The crime scene’s fucked. No way around it. MTs and the responding officers had to get the survivors, treat some of them right on scene.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Record on.” Eve stepped back inside.
She heard Peabody’s strangled gasp, the jagged hitch of her breath. “Mother of God. Jesus, Jesus.”
“Strap it down, Peabody.”
“What the hell happened here? All these people.”
“That’s what we’re going to find out. There’s a wit of sorts out in the black-and-white. Get her statement.”
“I can handle this, Dallas.”
“You’re going to.” She kept her voice as flat as her eyes. “Get her statement, call in Baxter, Trueheart, Jenkinson, Reineke. We need more hands, more eyes. At a glance, we’ve got more than eighty bodies, and eight to ten survivors at the hospital. I want Morris on scene,” she added, referring to the chief medical examiner. “Hold off the sweepers until we deal with the bodies. Find the owner, and any staff not working tonight. Get a canvass started. Then come back in here and help me work the scene.”
“If you talked to the wit I can round up the rest.” Not yet sure she had a solid hold on her guts, Peabody let her gaze skim over the room. “You can’t start on this by yourself.”
“One body at a time. Get started. Move it.”
Alone, Eve stood in the horrible quiet, in the sick air.