10

 

 

Lowenbaum caught up with her—Eve moved fast—took her arm. “They may have a point.”

“The reporters? Most of them only have a point on the top of their heads.”

“I didn’t see a killer, Dallas. He was one of mine, and I didn’t see what he was.”

“Because he wasn’t.” She had to keep moving, but she also needed Lowenbaum, and needed him steady. “If that was in him all along, the Army missed it, the NYPSD missed it, his former LT missed it. Testing missed it. What makes you so damn special?

“And where’s that gum you always have?”

Perplexed, Lowenbaum pulled it out of his pocket as they worked their way through the maze of glides toward Homicide. “You want?”

“No. It smells purple. How do you chew something that smells purple?”

Since it was in his hand, Lowenbaum unwrapped a piece, popped it in. “I used to smoke.”

“And Mackie used to be a pretty solid cop. Things change. Our job’s to stop him, and after that it’s Mira territory.” She paused outside her bullpen, took a good look at him, and saw what she felt in herself. Anger, frustration, and adrenaline warring with bone-deep exhaustion.

“Tactical has scenarios, right, for containing attacks throughout the city? Your basic plays?”

“Yeah, and we’ve been running them holographically since the first strike. I’ve got the tech guys running probabilities—feeding them

data as we get it—trying to project when and where he’ll strike next. It’s a crapshoot.”

“What’s your sense? Once he sees we’ve ID’d him and his daughter? Pause and reflect or up the schedule?”

“He’s had months to pause and reflect. He’ll want to take down as many targets as possible.”

“Agreed. We’ve got all but three where he can’t get to them. Talk to your men. Maybe, just maybe, he mentioned names.”

“Been doing that, but I’ll try a different angle.”

“Do that. Good talk. I’ve got people to interrogate.”

She left him looking bemused, and strode into the bullpen. “Reports.” She snapped everyone to attention. “Younger first. Go.”

She pointed at Baxter.

“Right call to have Trueheart soften her. She came in with a chip on the shoulder, bitching for a lawyer, demanding blah-blah. And where was her daughter? Trueheart suggested she contact the daughter, and the chip started wobbling some when she was unable to reach same, when she contacted the school and was told Willow Mackie was no longer a student at that facility. She started to ream the school office a new one, but they had the paperwork—with her signature along with Mackie’s.”

“Her reaction to that?”

“Pissed off and scared. Trueheart played both. Over to you,” he told his partner.

Trueheart shifted in his shiny black shoes. “She said she never signed anything, and that rang true. She believes Mackie abducted their daughter, so I worked that. We put out an Amber Alert, and she was more cooperative in providing information.”

“Such as?”

“She last saw her daughter three days ago, when she left to switch off to Mackie. They haven’t communicated, which Younger stated wasn’t unusual. Her relationship with her daughter has been somewhat strained for the last several months.”

Trueheart hesitated, then lifted his shoulder. “I think longer than that, but it got bigger, harder over the last several months. Ms.

Younger stated Willow idolizes her father, resents the stepfather, often picks fights with her younger brother and/or her mother. Ms.

Younger feels it’s a stage, but has tried to persuade the daughter and Mackie toward family counseling.”

Trueheart shifted his feet again. “She cried a lot, Lieutenant, claimed she hated her daughter’s obsession—her word—with weapons, but as it was Willow’s only real interest and outlet, and a connection to her father, she didn’t want to forbid it. Couldn’t have, as the shared custody put Willow out of her supervision half the time.”

“Round it up for me.”

“She’s scared and she’s holding on to the belief Mackie has the girl against her will, or at least is deceiving the girl. But . . .”

“Finish it.”

“I think, I feel, she’s as scared of her daughter as she is scared for her.”

“Good. I can use that. Interview A?”

“We just had her brought up. She’s pissed again,” Baxter added. “Wants to go home, doesn’t like being brought up and separated from her husband and son.”

“I’ll use that, too. Who took Marta Beck?”

“We had her.” Santiago looked toward Carmichael.

“I’m just writing it up,” Carmichael said. “She remembers Susann Mackie, and remembers hearing about the accident, and accompanying Dr. Michaelson to the memorial.”

“They went to the memorial?”

“Not unusual for Michaelson, according to Beck. When they offered condolences to Mackie, he made no response, seemed cold and angry, which Beck considered understandable. We questioned her about Mrs. Mackie’s appointment on the day of the accident, and Beck looked up the records. It was a standard exam—the mother in good health, the fetus progressing normally. There had been an emergency in the office earlier, with one of the patients going into labor. While that patient was seeing the midwife, Michaelson assisted, and appointments were backed up. The records show Mrs. Mackie’s appointment ran forty-three minutes behind schedule. She was offered the option of seeing the PA or rescheduling, but opted to wait.”

“What time was her appointment?”

“Scheduled for twelve-fifteen. She didn’t get in for the exam until nearly one.”

“That eats up a lunch break, doesn’t it? You’d probably be in a hurry to get back to work. Who’s got her supervisor—Mackie’s supervisor at work?”

“She’s on her way in,” Jenkinson told her. “Reineke and I took Lincoln Stuben, the stepfather. He paints a darker picture of Willow Mackie than her mother. Sneaky, disruptive, disrespectful. Says she’s a liar, stated she once threatened him with a knife and said if he told her mother, she’d claim he’d tried to rape her. Said she knew ways to make that stick. And when it stuck, her father would kill him.”

“Did he tell the mother?”

“Did better. He hid a cam in the kitchen, goaded the girl into saying it again, and showed the mother the recording. When confronted, the girl responded with belligerence, locked herself in her room. She subsequently apologized—but Stuben didn’t buy it like the mother did. Marriage is on shaky ground at this point, and he refuses to leave his son alone with the girl. Might be resentment, but he says Willow Mackie wouldn’t need to be coerced or manipulated into being party to murder.”

“They got a puppy for the boy his last birthday,” Reineke continued. “Kid was crazy for it, slept with it, took it for walks himself. Couple months later, the kid comes home from school, and sees the puppy come flying out of the window on the third floor, goes splat at his feet. Broken neck. Kid’s hysterical, people stop to help— somebody even calls the cops. A few minutes later, Willow shows up.”

“Nobody can figure why the window was open, or why the dog went up there, why he’d jump out, but that’s the way it looked.

Except Stuben’s dead sure Willow broke the dog’s neck, tossed him out when she saw the boy coming. Then went out the back, circled the block.”

“Nothing like practicing on puppies and kittens.”

“I’ve got a little more on Mrs. Mackie, if it helps,” Peabody put in. “I’ve talked to some family, some teachers, some employers and coworkers. The gist is, Mrs. Mackie was a nice woman—a polite, well-mannered, personable individual. A dreamer more than a doer.

No particular ambitions, no career path. More a romantic who saw herself as waiting for her prince to come. Kind, soft, pretty, sweet, and a little on the ditzy side. Those are the terms that came up most often from various sources.”

“All right. Trueheart, take the kid—the half brother. Reineke, take the father in with him. Let Trueheart lead on the boy. Willow Mackie strikes as the type who may have threatened the kid, and kept him afraid to tell anyone. She may have said more to him, bragged some. Peabody, with me. We’re on Zoe Younger.”

“Younger’s what you’d say is the opposite of the second wife,” Peabody said as they walked to Interview. “Has a career, is solid there. From the data anyway, a more practical type of person. She may not be realistic about her daughter, but she’s not a dreamer.”

“Younger than Younger—ha—and softer, and someone who looked at him as her prince. Clearly, the accident was a result of her running late, not paying attention, but he can’t have that. She was his ideal, and there has to be blame.”

She stopped outside Interview A. “Trueheart softened her up, played to the maternal. I’m going to kick her ass.”

Eve stepped in. “Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview with Younger, Zoe, in regards to case files H-29073 and H-29089. Ms. Younger, have you been read your rights?”

“My rights? I don’t understand. We— I was brought in for protection.”

“Correct. You’re also here to answer questions regarding your daughter, Willow Mackie, and your ex-husband, Reginald Mackie, the primary suspects in seven homicides. Maybe you’ve heard about the Wollman Rink attack and the Times Square massacre.”

“My daughter is only fifteen. Her father—” “Have you been read your rights?”

“No.”

“Peabody.”

“It’s just procedure, Ms. Younger. You have the right to remain silent.”

As Peabody recited the Revised Miranda, Eve circled the room.

“Do you understand these rights and obligations, Ms. Younger?” Peabody asked.

“Yes, I understand them. I understand I’m entitled to legal counsel.

I want to contact my attorney.”

“Fine. Arrange that, Detective. We’re done here.”

“I want to know what you’re doing to find my daughter!”

Eve glanced back, cold as winter. “You don’t answer my questions, I don’t answer yours.”

“She’s only fifteen. Her father—” “Tell it to your lawyer.”

“I want to be taken back to my husband, my little boy.”

“I don’t care what you want. You’ll sit right here, wait for your lawyer. Your husband and son will, after interview, be taken to a safe location. You’ll stay here.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why am I doing this? I’ll answer that one.” Eve grabbed the file Peabody had brought it, tossed it open, spread out morgue shots of the seven victims. “They’re why.”

“Oh God. Oh my God.”

“There’s an eighth in the hospital. It’ll be a while before she can walk again. Over fifty more who suffered injuries, including a boy younger than your own, with a broken leg. Peabody, arrange for that lawyer, then report to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can’t believe I had anything to do with this.” Dark eyes shone with tears, with shock. “You can’t believe a child of fifteen could take part in this.”

“Ms. Younger, I’m not here to answer your questions, and as you’ve invoked your right to counsel, we have nothing to say at this time.”

“Forget the damn lawyer then.”

“Are you waiving your right to counsel?”

“Yes, yes. For now, yes.” Younger pressed her fingers to her eyes, eyes the same deep green as her daughter’s. “You have to understand. My daughter has been kidnapped by her father.”

Eve sat, waited a beat while she stared at Younger. Smooth brown skin, deep green eyes, black hair in a mane of mad curls.

And lips that trembled.

“You don’t believe that. You want to believe that, you’re trying to convince yourself of that. But you don’t believe it. Was her father there when she threatened your husband at knifepoint?”

“I— She was acting out.”

“With a deadly weapon. Was her father there when she killed your son’s puppy and threw him out the window?”

Younger’s body jerked. “She didn’t.”

“You know she did. You’ve seen the signs. You’ve lain awake at night afraid of what she might do. Tell me, look at me and tell me when you last left her alone with your son?”

“It’s because she’s irresponsible.”

“She’s hurt him before, hasn’t she? Just little things. He’d tell you he fell or he bumped his arm or make an excuse, but you knew. You couldn’t control her, so you tried to control everything else. You had to deny what she is so you could live with it.”

“I’m her mother. Don’t you tell me what she is.”

“Then I’ll show you.” Out of the file, Eve took copies of the hit lists, the blueprints.

“This one—that’s the one your ex and your daughter put together. But this one? That’s all hers. Look at the names. Your son’s tops the list. You son, your husband, you, then the school psychologist, the principal. Your husband’s sister.”

“Lynda. Lynda? No.”

“And this? Recognize this? It’s her school. Tactical uses plans like this, marked like this. She’s learned very well. How many sons and daughters could she take down, how many teachers, parents, innocents?”

Younger’s fingers shook as she drew them away, as she gripped her hands together. “This—this is Mac’s, not hers. I go through her room, her computer every week. I would have found this.”

“Like you found the secret weapon drawer in her dresser?” “What? What are you talking about.”

“Where’d she get her bedroom dresser.” “It—Mac. He—for her thirteenth birthday.”

“It has a secret drawer designed to hold weapons. She had blasters in your home.”

“No, no. I don’t—we don’t allow . . .”

“You went through her room regularly. Because you’re afraid of her, because you know, under the denial, you know what she’s capable of. We didn’t find this list on her computer, in her room. Or in the apartment where Mackie lived and she lived half the time. We found it hidden on your son’s computer, a place you wouldn’t think to look.”

“Zach? On Zach’s computer?”

“Where he did his schoolwork, played his games. She marked him for death. How old is he?”

“He’s seven. He’s seven years old. She hates him.” Younger covered her face with her hands. Tears slid through her fingers. “She hates him. I can see it in her eyes. He’s so sweet, so sweet and funny and easy, but she looks at him with hate behind her eyes.

“She grew inside me.” Lowering her hands, Younger pressed them to her belly as tears ran down her cheeks. “I didn’t have so much as a sip of wine while she did. I ate so healthy, I did everything the doctor said to do. I took such good care, and when she was born, when I held her, I promised I would always take such good care. I loved her, so much. I fed her from my body, I bathed her, and sang to her. Mac, I knew he’d wanted a boy, but he was good with her— really good with her. He loved her, do you understand? He was a good father, and then . . . he wasn’t such a good husband anymore. Closed off, cold, disinterested in anything I was interested in, other than Willow. He said we should have another child, try for a boy, and I wanted another child.”

“But not with him.”

“He resented my work, my time away from Willow. I took two years as a professional mother, to give her that time, to take that time, but I wanted my work, too. Still, I took another six months, and another six working only part-time. You’re cops. You don’t know what it’s like to be married to one.”

“We’re cops. We have a pretty good idea. It’s not easy.”

“I tried. But he wouldn’t talk to me unless it involved Willow, and even then . . . I loved my baby, but I needed to be a person as well as a mother, a wife. But I tried. I stayed in the marriage longer than I wanted, because we had a child. And when it finally ended, she was

angry, too. With me. She adored him, and I broke our family. But for a while, it was better. She had her time with him, without me in the way. Then . . . she was barely seven when I found out he was teaching her how to use weapons. I found a stunner in her room, and we fought over that. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve done something more. But all I could do was forbid her to bring weapons into our house, and after a while, for a while, I told myself it was good she had an interest—one I didn’t share. She entered competitions and won trophies, so I told myself it was a sport. She didn’t want to play ball or run track or join school groups, so this was her outlet. And if I didn’t try to get in the way, she’d be happy.”

She swiped at her face with her hands. “Lynda, I work with her.

She’s my closest friend. I knew Lincoln long before we . . . We didn’t start seeing each other until after Mac and I separated. I swear to you we never—”

She broke off, closed her eyes. “That doesn’t matter at all now. It’s true, but it doesn’t matter at all. Willow never liked Lincoln, though he was kind to her, tried to connect with her. I told myself she’d come around, because I swear to you, he’s a good man. Then we conceived Zach. She was so angry when we told her. I can still see her standing there, barely eight, just a bit older than Zach is now, with her hands in tight fists, her eyes so full of this cold, cold fury.

She said: ‘I’ve never been enough for you.’ She said, God, she said: ‘I hope you both die, then I can live with Dad.’

“Can I . . . I’m sorry, can I have some water?” “I’ll get you some.” Peabody rose, stepped out.

“Detective Peabody, exiting Interview. Ms. Younger, did you consider counseling or therapy for Willow?”

“Yes, yes. I have a friend, but because Willow and Mac were so angry and opposed to the idea, I had her talk to Willow unofficially, you could say. Grace Woodward—she’s a psychologist. Anger issues, obviously, displacement issues. We kept it to talk therapy, very casual, and it did seem Willow settled in. She wasn’t interested in Zach when he was born, spent more time with Mac—I allowed it.”

Younger shuddered, let out a couple of shaky breaths.

“It was easier. She never wanted real mother/daughter time. She made it seem like punishment if I took her out shopping or to a salon

or a show. So I stopped, told myself it was all right that she didn’t share my interests or I hers. But I’d go to some of her competitions, until she told me she could feel me disapprove and it messed her up. She asked me not to go.”

She paused when Peabody brought her a cup of water, drank it slowly. “I was happy when Mac found Susann. He was so obviously enchanted with her, and she was so sweet, so kind. I worried Willow would resent her, too, but she didn’t seem to. I think . . . Honestly, I think it was because Susann was—I don’t want to say weak, that sounds critical. But she was soft, and undemanding. Willow didn’t seem to be angry when Susann got pregnant, but that’s when she got into trouble at school. She refused to do assignments, back- talked teachers, threatened one of the other girls with bodily harm.

We agreed to in-school counseling—” “With Rene Hutchins.”

“Yes. Oh God, yes, with Ms. Hutchins. And Willow seemed to settle in again. Mac took her on a hunting trip out west, just the two of them, and we all felt that time with him showed her she wasn’t being replaced.

“Then Susann was killed. It was a horrible time for everyone, for all of us. For Mac to lose Susann and the son they wanted so much. They’d already named him Gabriel, and then they were gone. I liked her very much, I really liked her. And I admit I’d hoped Mac’s marriage to her, having another child—the son he’d always wanted— would help ease some of the resentment he still had toward me.

Toward Lincoln. He was always so warm and lovely to Zach, but the cold would come back whenever he dealt with me or Lincoln.”

“Did he ever threaten you or your husband?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that. It was resentment, and contempt. I could feel the contempt for both of us, and wanted that family therapy, as I felt Willow took her lead from him there.”

“Yet you say she hated her brother, and Mackie was good with him.”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes again. “Yes, that’s true.” “How did things change after Susann’s death?”

“He fell apart, Mac did. No one could blame him. Willow wanted to spend more time with her father, and I allowed that. I felt he needed

her, and she needed him. But he started drinking too much, even coming by to get her when he was drunk. And I had to tell them both she couldn’t stay with him under those conditions. When I made her come home, when I drew that line, that’s when the puppy . . . That’s when it happened.”

“You knew she’d done it,” Peabody said gently.

Tears leaked through her lashes when Younger shut her eyes. “I believed she had. I couldn’t prove it, but yes, I knew she had. And she knew I knew. I was comforting Zach. He was crying, and I was holding him, comforting him, and I looked over. She stood there, watching us. And smiling. She looked into my eyes, smiled, and I was afraid.”

She drank more water. “That’s when I started going through her room. I never found anything, and I hated myself for it, but I went through her things routinely. I spoke with Grace—she’d moved to Chicago, and she advised me to do what I knew I should do. Get Willow into structured therapy. I couldn’t.”

Now Younger used her hands to wipe away tears, made an effort to straighten her shoulders. “You can say I’m her mother, and she had to do what I told her to do, but her father refused to back me, and she warned me if I forced it, she’d accuse Lincoln of abuse, she’d go to court—she was old enough for that—and petition to live with her father. She’d go to the police, with her father, and get a restraining order on Lincoln. She’d ruin him. I tried to reason with her

—we’d all go to counseling—but she wouldn’t budge. These last months, she’s spent more time with Mac, and I didn’t interfere. Her grades went back up, the trouble at school never reoccurred. If things were strained at home, at least she wasn’t disruptive or angry. But once in a while, I’d look up or over, and she’d be standing there. Just standing there, smiling at me. And I was afraid.”

Younger dissolved into tears again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did or didn’t do. What I should or can do now. She’s my child.”

“Ms. Younger, you have another child to protect.” “I know. I know.”

“Your daughter is a psychopath, trained by an expert in the science of killing.”

As Younger’s sobs increased, as Peabody opened her mouth to speak, Eve shook her head.

“The signs are all there, the evidence is all there. The dead are all there. We need to stop your daughter and her father. We need to prevent them from killing again. We need to find her, stop her, and get her the help she needs. Where would they go?”

“Alaska.”

“What?”

“Mac actually talked about going there after Susann died. He was drunk or—or maybe high. I think he’s been using, too. But there was enough detail for me to know he’d looked into it. He and Will—he never calls her Willow—would take off for Alaska when she got out of school. They’d live off the land. It sounds like drunk talk, but once I did find some information on Alaska on her computer—like a school report, but it wasn’t. And the next time I looked, she’d deleted it all.”

“They’re not in Alaska. They’re in the city.”

“I don’t know where they are, I swear to you.” Like a plea, Younger held out her hands. “I swear it. I was married to a cop, and a cop has been killed. I know what that could mean for my daughter. Mac has lost his mind, Lieutenant. Losing Susann and their baby broke him.

Maybe, I don’t know, maybe some of this was always there in him, but contained. The way Willow seems contained so much of the time. But he broke, and he’ll die trying to finish what he started.

Willow’s fifteen. Do you remember fifteen, how you feel at fifteen? You feel immortal, and you feel like dying for a cause is romantic, whatever the cause might be. I don’t want my baby to die. I’ll do anything I can, tell you anything I know.”

She took a deep breath. “His hands shake.” “Mackie’s hands shake?”

“Yes, not always, but it comes and goes. I haven’t seen him for nearly a month, but the last time I did, he looked . . . off. On the frail side, shaky. I haven’t been a cop’s wife for a long time, but I don’t think he could execute these strikes. I think, God help her, I think he’s trained Willow to make them.”

She stared down at the table. “I want to believe it’s against her will, but I know it isn’t. But he’s used her love for him, her admiration.

He’s made her think what she’s doing is heroic, is right, is what her father wants and needs. She’s only a child. She isn’t responsible.”

Yes, Eve thought, she is, but let it go. “Do they have a favorite restaurant, pizza joint? Somewhere they went habitually?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said she competed, won trophies. Anywhere he’d take her to celebrate when she won?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t want me there, didn’t want to share that with— Wait. Divine’s.”

“Ice cream.” Peabody put in. “They’ve got frozen desserts and yogurt, but they also have the real deal.”

“Yes. Willow loved that place, loved their caramel sundaes. They’re pricey, and you often have to wait up to an hour to get seated, but Mac and I started taking her when she was a toddler, and . . . I guess it got to be their place. He’d take her there on special occasions.”

“Peabody, send Uniform Carmichael and Officer Shelby to Divine’s, with the ID shots, and the sketches.”

“Yes, sir! Peabody exiting Interview.”

“Is there anywhere else that strikes you, any other routine they had?”

“The target range—the indoor one in Brooklyn, I don’t know the name. And there’s some other place for target shooting, indoors and out; it’s in New Jersey.”

Eve shook her head. “Anywhere less structured?”

“I know he took her out west—Montana. And I think they went out west without clearing it with me. I stopped asking because they’d lie, and Willow would lie in a way that made it clear she lied. Do you have any children, Lieutenant?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t know what it’s like to fail as a mother.” Younger looked away, her eyes shattered. “I don’t know how to save her now.”

“Ms. Younger, we’re going to do everything we can to find her, to bring her in without harming her, to stop her before she causes more harm. What you’ve told me may help us do that. I’m going to have

you taken back to your family. We’re going to take all of you somewhere safe until we find Willow.”

“Will I be able to see her, to talk to her when you do?” “Yes.”

But she may not talk to you, Eve thought.