“We’d like to talk to her.”
“You can’t bamboozle me, dear.” Waterstone set the chair into an easy rock. “I was a teacher for fifty-five years. I know all, see all. I have three girl cops at my door asking about her, she did something big. Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Sneaky, unfriendly, unhappy. A bad combination. I never once saw her bring anybody home, or have a visitor.”
Waterstone paused to tap her finger on the arm of her rocking chair. “That’s not healthy. I did get out of her she worked as a seamstress at Dobb’s. That’s high society there. I like to sew a little myself, but I couldn’t get her to talk to me. Asked her in a couple of times, but she scurried away. The girl up there now, with her sweet girl? Nice as they come, but the other one? She had a look about her. The word is furtive.
“I do recall her coming in one time—late in the day—crying. Mad crying, if you understand me, not heartbroken crying. Carrying a package. I asked what
was wrong, like you do, and she yelled at me. First time she looked straight at me, first time she spoke to me above a mutter. Told me to mind my own damn business. And since she’s right above me, I could hear her slamming around, stomping around for a good hour after. There’s a bad temper inside that little mouse. You’ll want to be careful when you find her, dear.”
“Would you have any idea where we might find her?”
“I’m sorry to say I don’t. She left here in a hurry, or so it seemed. She must’ve had whatever furniture she had moved when I was out. I didn’t know she was gone, only that I didn’t hear her upstairs. I’m going to say I was worried some—and nosy—so I went up and buzzed. Then I contacted the management because, well, that kind of unhappy can come to a bad end. I thought maybe she’d killed herself. Turned out she’d just moved on. Left the rent, though, every penny. That’s when I told Gracie upstairs about the apartment. It’s a happier building now. That other girl, she carried a cloud with her. And sooner or later, clouds break into a storm.”
21
Eve walked fast, talked fast.
“Officer Carmichael,” she snapped into her comm. “I want you and Shelby to hit every building, every apartment, every shop, restaurant, take-out joint, and dive on this block. Peabody, send them and the detectives the photos of all her looks. Show all of them to every resident, shopkeeper, sidewalk sleeper, and street thief.”
She got behind the wheel. “Plug this Dobb’s place in,” she told Peabody, then contacted Santiago. “Peabody’s sending you pictures. Hit every building on DeLano’s block, and every building in the shopping area where the kid spotted the suspect. Somebody’s seen this bitch.”
She peeled out. “She’s not far, she won’t have gone far,” she stated. “Maybe changed her look again. She’s smart enough for that, but she can’t change her nature. She still has to earn a living.”
As she drove, she contacted Feeney. “Anything?”
“You’re there. The addy Peabody shot to McNab.”
“She’s blown.”
“Not surprised. She went dark from there about nine months ago. Nothing posted or sent from that location since. We’re working through another batch. Thing is, she got into a couple of tangles on one of those writer sites—didn’t take criticism very well, and she shut it down. Pulled her stuff off, from what we can see.”
“That’s her break. Nobody appreciates her art. She’ll show them. Not just DeLano, nobody. Keep at it.” She clicked off. “Callendar.”
“Yo.”
“Peabody’s going to send you what we’ve got on a search for the next target. I know you’ve only got your handheld, but pick it up.”
“Copy that. Does this AC back here—and that is frosty enough—have fizzies?”
“I don’t know.”
“It does,” Peabody told her.
“Excelente. Put one on my tab. I gotta keep the sugar going.”
Time for reinforcements, Eve thought, and tagged Roarke.
She expected to go through his admin, Caro, but he answered himself.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”
“Yeah. Listen, have you got any time for consultant work?”
“I may. Depending on the fee.” He smiled.