the formula, I believe he’d need someone to show him how to set up, what he’d need, how to handle the elements. This is advanced work, and I don’t think a novice could accomplish it without guidance.”
“So, back to a chemist. Stone, have a talk with Christopher Lester. See if he has any ideas on where Callaway could access the synthetics. What labs in the area—because it’s going to be in New York—routinely handle that sort of thing. There’s a connection. Find it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Russell Callaway’s a medic, now into farming. Maybe he’s got a chemical source, or has some experience there. Farms use chemicals. Callendar, see what you can find out, see if the Callaways bought any strange chemicals in the last few months.”
“On that.”
“Doctor Mira, if I could have a minute. Peabody, take a deeper dig on the Callaways’ financials. See if there’s any indication they’ve gotten any scratch from the grandmother out of England, or made any unusual purchases from a chemical distributor.”
She waited till the room cleared. “There are a lot of ifs,” she told Mira. “I need you to work with them. Let’s start with if Audrey Hubbard knew where she came from, knew her own story and passed that onto her son, does his background data give any indication?”
“It would depend, of course, how the information was related. All indications are Callaway had a reasonably normal childhood, though he would have needed to adjust to several moves during his formative and teenage years. While he was a loner, he was also uprooted several times during those formative years, and this makes it difficult to form lasting relationships. His records show no discipline problems, no juvenile record.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing. Normal, normal, but all those relocations. Did they relocate because of the father’s itchy feet, or because there was something hinky with the kid?”
“Hinky?” Mira repeated.
“Yeah, hinky. He’s acting up, or causing some sort of concern, so you pick up and move, start again. The Hubbards did that—only once, but they picked up, moved, started over. Let’s try this.”
She stepped to the board, tapped Callaway’s photo. “He didn’t know, either because his mother didn’t know, or opted not to tell him. He finds out, comes across some sort of information, or somebody slips up and says something that makes him wonder. He goes back, hunts for the information.”
She tapped Audrey Hubbard’s then Menzini’s picture in turn.
“What’s a loner by nature, with no solid or lasting relationships, who feels he’s stuck on the promotion ladder because other people are getting the breaks going to do about that?”
“You think he found out Menzini was his grandfather, and this was his trigger, or his excuse, to kill.”
“His trigger or excuse to use his grandfather’s method to make a statement, to punish, to advance himself, to use others to kill. To be important. And by doing so eliminate two coworkers, both of whom he could consider in his way. A violent nature suppressed for so long, given release. Given, in a way, permission. This is who I am, where I came from. At last I know.”
“He was raised, by all appearances, by two decent people.”
“I don’t know that yet. What I have is an older, potentially dominant father. A mother who lived her life caring for others—her parents, then her child. He’d see that as weak.”
“Do you?”
“I see it as a choice—not one I’d make for damn sure, but a choice. Unless she’s been pushed into it, which I intend to find out. I don’t look at Callaway and see myself, if that’s what you’re worried about. Bad blood? I’ve got it, but it’s not an excuse to live a crappy life. It sure as hell isn’t an excuse to kill. Maybe I’ve got a violent nature, but I channel it. Mostly.” She shrugged. “I need to bring him in before he decides to do it again. I have to keep him in, because if he walks out, he’s going to do it again. He’ll find a way. I have to know him, know where to drill. I need his trigger.”
“Until you’ve talked to the mother—and I’d also like to talk to her at some point—it’s only speculation.”
“I may not have time to pull it out of the mother first, and I’ll take your speculation over most people’s absolutes.”
Mira drew in a breath, looked from Callaway to Audrey Hubbard to Menzini. “Then, he knows. How he found out, I can’t possibly say, but in my opinion, the knowledge didn’t repulse him, didn’t upset or concern. On the contrary, it freed him.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Okay. I can work with that.”
“He’s nothing like you.”
“Damn right he’s not.”
Mira turned away from the board, focused fully on Eve. “You’ve come to some level of … is it peace?”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve got a mass murderer to take down, and I don’t feel peaceful about it.”
No, she realized, she felt revved. She felt ready. She felt right.
“But I’m good. Quick version—I had a dream, about this, about Stella. You made a cameo appearance. I finished it off punching Stella in the face. That violent nature, I guess. It felt right, just. It felt almost finished. Pretty much done. And I look at him?”
She turned to the board, again to Callaway. “And I see, yeah, I could’ve gone another way. I didn’t. And I like where I am. Most of the time I like who I am. That’s got to be good enough.”
“It’s very good.”
“I punched her in the face,” Eve repeated. “Stella. What do you think about that?”
“I think congratulations are in order.”
The laugh surprised her. “Is that like
“Yes, in fact, I’ll say that.
“Roarke nailed that one,” Eve murmured. “So, anyway, I’m going to put a lid on it by telling Peabody what went down in Dallas. I’ve avoided that, just wasn’t ready to spill it out. It’s not right to hold back from a partner, so I’ll get that over. And it’s done. As done as I can make it.”
“If you need me, I’m here.”
“I know. I wouldn’t have made it through this without you. It’s not easy for me to say that, or to know that. But it’s not as hard as it used to be.”
“That’s also good enough. I’ll leave you to work. When Agent Teasdale arranges for the Callaways to come in, as I have no doubt she will, I’d like to sit in. Or at least observe.”
“I’ll save you a seat.”
She went directly to her office, noted her blinking incoming for data and for messages. She found the bulk of the messages from reporters trying to skip through channels for the story. She forwarded them on to Kyung, with a brief update.
The incoming data reminded her just how many dead lay in Morris’s house, how much of them was even now being dissected, analyzed, studied in the lab.
Though she found nothing new, no game changer, she added the new data on each body processed to her murder book.
She checked on surveillance. Callaway was in his office. Unless he decided to cut loose in his own department, he was as secure as she could make him at the moment.
So she grabbed her coat, walked out to the bullpen.
“I’m not finding anything off on the financials,” Peabody told her. “The Callaways live within their means, have a small, but steady nest egg. No major income or outlay in the last year. And no purchases of weird chemicals. They’re organic farmers.”
“Let that go for now. I want to talk to Cattery’s wife, get a feel. If there’s time, we’ll do the same with Fisher, talk to her roommate.”
“I’m all about it.” Peabody popped right up. “I feel like I’m swimming in the data stream and getting nowhere. Hey, I talked to Mavis,” she added, pulling on her coat as they headed out. “She couldn’t reach you so she tagged me last night.”
“I talked to her this morning.”
“They’ve got Belle swimming.”
“I heard.”
“I talked to my parents, too.” Peabody jumped on the glide behind Eve. “They’re worried, you know, just
