“Did he tell you why? Why he did it?”
“Yes. I’m not authorized to relate the details of the interview or the suspect’s confession that may deter from the prosecution’s case, should this matter go to trial.”
“People want to know why.”
“Callaway’s motives will be disclosed at the prosecutor’s discretion. The why matters. It matters not only to this department in order to secure arrest and confession, to the prosecutor to secure a verdict, but to the survivors of the attacks, and the families of those who didn’t survive. They should know it matters to us. More, and for now, they should know Lewis Callaway is behind bars. The NYPSD and the prosecuting attorney will do everything within their power to see he stays behind bars.”
She fielded more, as did the others, until she felt like a bone, picked clean to the marrow.
When her ’link vibrated in her pocket, she started to pull it out. Maybe she could use it as an excuse to step away, get out. But as she slid her hand into her pocket, Kyung stepped up to end the media torture.
Some reporters scrambled out, others continued—ever hopeful—to lob questions. Relieved, Eve walked out behind Whitney.
“Well done,” he told her. “Go home, get some rest.”
“More than happy to, sir.”
She turned away, reached for her still vibrating ’link, noted Peabody doing the same.
Something in her guts churned.
Even as she pulled out her ’link, McNab—his own in his hand—burst in. “Lieutenant, we need you in EDD, now.”
Whitney laid a hand on her shoulder to hold her in place. “What is it, Detective?”
“Sir. We cracked the encryption. Callendar took the journal entries, and she’s got entries detailing Callaway’s meetings with his grandmother. Gina MacMillon. She’s still alive.”
“Peabody, get me everything we’ve got on Gina MacMillon. Teasdale, get me more. When and where did they meet?” Eve demanded.
“I didn’t get all the details. As soon as Callendar hit, she alerted Feeney. We tried to tag you, hoping we’d catch you before any release.”
“Too late. His name’s out. Commander, I’ve got to get on this.”
“Go. I’ll be there myself as soon as I can.”
“I’ve got her basic data,” Peabody said on the run. “She was reported killed in the attack where her daughter—now Audrey Hubbard—was abducted. Her remains were cremated, per her wishes, and as was more usual in those circumstances.”
“Cause of death,” Eve snapped as she shoved onto an elevator.
“Who ID’d the body?”
“It’s going to take longer to—”
“Gunshot to the face,” Teasdale stated, reading her PPC. “Both William and Gina MacMillon were identified by a neighbor, an Anna Blicks, who died of natural causes in 2048.”
“Face blown away. Your neighbor IDs by body type, hair, clothes, jewelry, and because you’re in the house, because who the fuck else would you be? Goddamn it. She started him up. That was the trigger. Not finding out about the grandfather, not initially. But the grandmother.”
“Why would she fake her own death?” Peabody demanded.
“Let me think. Let me think. Put extra guards on Callaway. Now!”
“Menzini might have arranged it,” Teasdale considered. “He wanted her and the child back, located her, killed someone in her place so no one would look for her.”
“No. No. Women didn’t matter that much. The kid—she’s his blood, and part of the new world order, part of the new beginning. But not the mother. She did it. She went home for something, under Menzini’s orders, had to conv
ince her husband she was contrite—or she’d been brainwashed, abused. She’s terrified, and there’s this baby. He opens the door.”
“For all those months?” Teasdale began.