“Then don’t worry about it. Continue.”
“Okay. They’d go down, and more would come at us. I don’t know how many we stunned before we got some control, because some of them didn’t go down on the first stream. By the time we did, we had a riot brewing out here, with people who’d seen, some who’d started to go inside and got attacked before they managed to get out again.”
He nodded toward the black-and-whites that pulled up. “There’s backup. And the MTs.”
“What time did you stop at this location. Be precise.”
“Logged the stop at thirteen-eleven, sir.”
Fourteen minutes. Odds were they’d be clear.
“All right. Work with Detective Peabody. Get statements, names, contacts.”
She moved toward the arriving uniforms, snapped out orders.
“You—” She pointed at a pair of MTs. “I need you to start moving the wounded out. Seal up first. With me.”
She stepped inside, noted cracks and breaks in the entrance door. Might’ve saved some lives, she thought.
Beside her the MT sucked in his breath. “We’re going to need more transpo.”
“Get it.” She sealed up herself, moved carefully through the café, around bodies, crouching now and again to check for vitals.
She began to mark the dead as she had at the bar.
As she worked the moans began, and the weeping. A hard sound, she thought, and still, it meant life.
“Reineke and Jenkinson are on scene,” Peabody said as she came in. “They’re getting statements. I logged Mr. Costanza’s ’link into evidence. Watched it with him first. He sort of changed his tune when he viewed it with me. It clearly shows the officers under attack.”
“I’m not worried about that. Does it show anything we can use?”
“Not much. It’s from outside, on the sidewalk, but you can see people fighting inside, the movements, hear the screaming.”
She had to swallow. “It’s pretty awful.”
Peabody crouched as Eve ha
d when someone reached up to her. “Help’s coming,” she comforted. “You’re going to be okay. We’ve got you now. They’ve got about a dozen wounded out, Dallas.”
“Smaller place, not as many people. Somebody smashed the glass in the front door. It may have helped dilute some of the agent.”
“Might be why so many people out there were ready to rumble.”
“That’s just New York. Forty-one dead. Start getting IDs, TOD, COD.”
She moved outside again. “Baxter, Trueheart, with Peabody.” She spotted McNab—a celery stick in his green cargos—ducking under the tape. “Inside,” she told him. “Start bagging electronics.”
She walked over to the comfortably rumpled Feeney. “Not as bad as the first. Smaller place, and they got outside air from the broken door, more when the cops broke in. I didn’t spot any cams inside. One on the front door, another on the alley exit, but I haven’t checked them.”
“We’ll take it.”
As Feeney glanced around, Eve noticed the dried blood smeared on the cuff of his trench coat. From yesterday, she realized. Only yesterday.
“I didn’t figure he’d hit again so fast,” Feeney said.
“And I figured when he hit again, he’d go bigger. So he goes faster and smaller. But he’s sticking to the same general area. Places he knows. People he knows?” she speculated. “Heavy on the business crowd again. Lots of dead suits in there.”
“Happy hour rush, lunch rush.” His basset hound eyes went grim. “He’s hitting prime times.”