* * *
The briefing ran long; then again, any media briefing more than five minutes struck Eve as long. Chief Tibble spoke first after making a point, as was his way, of thanking every officer involved in the arrests. Whitney followed him, speaking briefly, with both of them stating questions would wait until the end of the statements.
When it came to Eve, she took her place at the podium with her PPC in one hand. “The NYPSD, through the work, skill, and courage of the officers here, and with the cooperation and resources of the FBI, have made multiple arrests, confiscated many thousands of dollars’ worth of illegals, of weapons, of fraudulent IDs and the equipment used for creating them. Our EDD has reviewed data from confiscated electronics documenting crimes including murder, the enforced sex slavery of minors, extortion, illegals distribution, destruction of property, fraud, and other crimes perpetrated by members of the urban gangs known as the Bangers and the Dragons.
“These investigations launched with the murder of Lyle Pickering. His murder didn’t get much media attention. He was a former member of the Bangers, an ex-con, a recovering addict. He was also a man who rehabilitated himself, who learned a skill and used that skill to gain employment, who went to meetings, removed himself from his former gang ties, and lived a productive life. For these reasons members of his former gang plotted and carried out his murder.
“The investigation into Lyle Pickering’s murder, and the subsequent murders of two others involved in it, led to the arrest of these individuals.
“Kenneth Jorgenson, murder in the first, three counts. Assault on a police officer, one charge; possession of a deadly weapon, two charges.
“Denby Washington, murder in the first, three counts. First degree rape, one charge. Possession of stolen property, two charges; possession of illegal substances, one charge.”
She read them off, every one.
When she finished and stepped back, questions exploded. Tibble held up his hands, moved forward, took the first wave. Kyung caught her eye, nodded, murmured, “Well done, Lieutenant.”
Maybe, she thought, maybe. But she couldn’t yet shake out the sad.
When it finally ended, she let Roarke drive, and sat back, eyes closed. Roarke gave her silence. He thought she needed the quiet, and a bit of pampering. But he had an idea what might help lift that sadness that crowded her.
When he stopped the car, she sat up, opened her eyes. And frowned.
“I wanted a stop before home,” he told her.
“I was just thinking about a really big glass of wine.”
“We’ll get to that, but first.”
He got out, waited for her. She didn’t know how the hell he’d found a parking place, but that was Roarke.
Then as she joined him on the sidewalk, the fog cleared in her brain, and she realized they stood in Hell’s Kitchen.
The building still looked old, she noted, but in a classy, dignified way with its bricks cleaned and repointed, with new windows that would undoubtedly let in light.
He’d replaced the entrance doors with ones of deeply carved wood. Above them, a simple brass plaque.
“An Didean. ‘Haven,’ right? It works.”
“Let’s see what you think of the rest.”
He moved to the doors. Excellent security, of course. She took the two steps up to join him.
“I know you’ll think of the girls we found,” he said before he opened the door. “The ones you found justice for. I hope what we’ve done here, what we’ll do, might add some peace as well.”
She remembered what she’d seen before, the crumbling interior, dirty walls, the hole in one of them Roarke’s sledgehammer—ceremoniously—had opened.
And the remains of those young girls behind it.
Now, as Roarke called for lights, she saw a clean, fresh space, with walls a warm, sort of toasty color, with open archways leading to other rooms and spaces.
“You changed the—” She used her hands.
“Configuration, yes. It’s more open, I think more welcoming. And even so, should be more efficient. Over here we have a common area, a place students can relax, hang. We’ll have a screen in here, easy furniture, games, music, books. We have another common area, no screen, a quiet space for studying, doing assignments, reading, and that sort of thing. Some classrooms on this level, and administration offices.”
She wandered with him, and what she saw equaled a lot of thought, a lot of care. Warm colors—not dull or institutional—the touches of crown molding, good lighting.
A room for computer science, a room for art studies, one for group therapy sessions, a s