Thirty-nine
Eloise and Charlie stopped for a couple of slices of pizza before heading back across town. She didn't want to take the time to sit at a table, so they put the box between them and ate in the car. 'I didn't know you like pizza,' he said admiringly as they sat in a no-parking zone on Lex.
'Who doesn't like pizza?' she demanded.
She'd requested extra napkins and spread them out across her chest, hopeful of catching the oily drips—an unrealistic wish. It didn't bother her that much. She was herself, take it or leave it. Charlie watched her wrestle a long string of cheese into her mouth, then cleared his throat.
'The boss doesn't,- for starters. She's kind of a dainty eater,' he remarked.
'No kidding.' Eloise was not surprised. The lieutenant was always pristine in tasteful, clean, well-pressed clothes, and Eloise had never seen her eat anything. Tea seemed to be her CO's only indulgence. She raised the folded slice of extra cheese, extra pepperoni, to her mouth, and two heavy drops of grease hit the thin layer of napkins in her lap. Dainty and tasteful didn't seem to be in her repertoire. 'What did you think of Miss Anderson?' she asked.
'That one's not playing with a whole deck,' Hagedorn snorted. 'What was that outfit?'
'Vintage. Don't you know vintage when you see it?' Suddenly her appetite was gone. She dropped the crust into the pizza box and wiped her hands on a napkin. 'I wish 1 had a Handi Wipe,' she said wistfully.
'Here.' Charlie reached into his pocket and passed one over.
'Gee . . . thanks,' she said, for once restraining the urge to make a stinging remark. Who but a complete nut carried foil-wrapped hand cleansers in his jacket pocket?
'Let me get that box out of your way,' he said as he grabbed it and hopped out of the car to dump it in a garbage can. He didn't look like a guy who could hop, and once again, she withheld the smart remark. Being a staunch New Yorker, it wasn't easy.
They got back to the precinct with no further incident. Charlie took one of the files that Jo Ellen Anderson had given them, and left Eloise the other. After she'd returned a bunch of calls and talked to all the people who wanted to talk to her, she opened the file. It was Remy's. It contained the Anderson application form, which showed some basic information about her education and previous jobs, as well as a list of her skills. She'd grown up out West, gone to a local high school and state university. Along the way she'd worked in a bunch of chains—baking, frying, grilling, prepping salads, making desserts. She liked kids and could drive, didn't have a passport. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the resume except several dozen notes on three-by-five cards in tiny handwriting, presumably Jo Ellen's.
Eloise counted them and found, to her surprise, that the file contained more than forty comments about every aspect of Remy's conduct. Jo Ellen was concerned abut the amount of food Remy consumed at the house, her hours, her demeanor, her personal habits, the amount of money she spent while running errands. Jo Ellen had mounting doubts about Remy's viability as a domestic.
Half an hour after Eloise started, Charlie came into her office. 'This is worse than one of our files,' he said. 'This girl sounds like a nightmare. She was fired from her former job. Jo Ellen was giving her a second chance. At this job she was accused of stealing a diamond bracelet, but nothing could be proved. There were other people in the house at the time. What about yours?' he asked.
'No accusations of theft, but that Anderson woman seems to be something of a nightmare herself.'
The phone rang, and Eloise picked up. 'Sergeant Gelo.'
'Hey, I'm at the lab. What did you find out?'
'Hello, Lieutenant. We paid a visit to the Anderson Agency.'
'How did that go?'
'It went well. We got the files. It seems Lynn was fired from her former job. Perkins was her last chance at Anderson. She may have stolen a diamond bracelet from Alison. Remy was too cozy with Wayne Wilson and had an attitude problem. The two girls were closer than Anderson liked. The Anderson woman seems to be unusually intrusive for a placement person.'
'Okay, what about the warrant check?'
Eloise smiled at Charlie. 'Charlie's working on that now,' she said. 'Are you coming in?'
'Maybe later, I'll let you know,' Woo replied.
'Okay.'
'Anything else?' Woo asked.
'Yes, in a few minutes, we're meeting the stripper from Spirit who gave the drugs to Peret.'
. 'I wish I were there,' Woo said.
'How do you want us to handle it?' 'You have her number in his cell phone and her message from that night in his voice mail, right? We can put her away for dealing if we need to.'
'What if she has no priors?' Eloise asked.
'Hang on to her for a while, and give her a little taste of the law. She'll tattle on her boss and everyone else she knows.'
'Will do.'
'And keep in touch,' were Woo's last words.
forty
April hung up with Eloise and went downstairs to the Crime Scene unit. She found Woody talking to Chad, who looked as if he had all the time in -the world. Although she and Igor went way back, Chad and Mark were pretty new to the unit and she'd never worked with them before. Chad Westerman was a skinny guy with a round shaved head and pale blue eyes—a real white ghost. Mark wasn't around. At the task force headquarters in the Seventeenth Precinct there was an electric atmosphere of urgency. Here, it didn't look as if much was happening.
The lab was where the engineers of crime brought the hundreds of tagged items taken from every crime scene to be analyzed. Here was the nuts-and-bolts world of forensic science. The CSU worked with the specialists and were the ones who stayed on task day and night, making models—of rooms, buildings, sometimes whole areas. They prepared the charts, graphs, and computerized reen-actments of homicides, and tested the tools of death for a match. In a multiple-stabbing case like that of Maddy Wilson, they would find or create something that closely resembled human tissue and bone and use a variety of sharp instruments on it to try to find patterns consistent with Maddy's wounds. Ingenuity was the name of the game. The two detectives idly watched her hurry toward them through the maze of desks.
'What's going on?' she asked.
'I filled him in on Perkins,' Woody said.
Chad looked pensive. 'Maybe this is some kind of mission killer,' he said.
That was someone who had a sick purpose for his crimes, who wanted to punish a particular type of person like nurses, prostitutes—or young mothers. Nobody had used the term before, and April swallowed the feeling of panic that had been building in her all morning. Maddy's murder had looked like a single tragic, but isolated, event. Alison's murder was unexpected and raised the serial-killer specter. The FBI would come on the scene and the case would mushroom in the press. But beyond that, the killing itself was a frightening escalation that didn't fit with any
