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“Look how Su’s dressed. Boots—more work than dress—casual trousers under the coat. Big black tote along with the suitcase. Hold it—look at her face. She’s glancing straight up at the camera. Not at the camera,” Eve corrected. “At us. She figures we’ll see this sooner or later. Look at her face.”
“Angry, but... smug.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly right.”
“She’s on her way to the others,” Peabody said quietly. “On her way to pick up the others.”
“And to get back to work on Betz. They have to take shifts. A woman’s got to earn a living, after all. So they take shifts. But they’re moving right along. Still have to try for Easterday—and in that outfit she’s not the one doing the luring. That’s MacKensie’s job this round.”
“Her vehicle, like you said.”
“Yeah, most likely. Go back—go back to yesterday, start about fifteen hundred.”
They watched Su exit at fifteen-ten. Dressed in full black, carrying the big black tote. Hair pulled back, sunshades masking her eyes. She pulled on gloves in the elevator, balled her hands into fists.
“Keep going,” Eve murmured. “Let’s see when she comes back.”
They watched the life of the building—people heading out for the evening—a party, dinner, the night shift. People coming back—late night at the office, from shopping or drinks with friends. A couple who, from the body language, had fought during the evening, came home stone-faced. Another couple who, from the body language, obviously hadn’t fought but had imbibed plenty, laughed and staggered their way inside.
Somebody was getting lucky, and somebody wasn’t.
“There she is. Just past four hundred hours. Doesn’t look smug now,” Eve continued as they followed Su’s progress into the building, up to her floor.
“No, she looks really tired—I’m not sympathizing, especially since we’re pretty damn sure she just got finished killing Wymann, and probably spent some time working on Betz. But she looks more than tired, Dallas.”
Fighting tears, Eve thought. Though Su threw one defiant look at the camera as she fumbled with her own key swipe, the look glittered with tears.
“She’s churned up, maybe even a little sick to her stomach, because the kill, this second kill, didn’t give her what she needs, what she wants more than anything else.”
“What does she want?”
“Peace. She wants that inner fucking peace.”
It’s all you want when the nightmares come, Eve thought. And the only thing you can’t find.
“The justice they tag on the bodies? That’s small change. She wants to be able to sleep at night. She wants it to be over. She wants, more than anything, for it to never have happened. But the killings? It’s not going to give her any of that. If she didn’t know it before, she’s starting to know it now. When no matter how much she washes, she can still smell the blood on her hands.”
“But they still have Betz.”
“Yeah. Knowing it won’t make her—any of them—stop. She thinks maybe, just maybe, when they finish it, she’ll find what she needs. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll be able to sleep. But she won’t.”
“I guess she looked resigned on top of the tired.”
“Resigned, resolved—pretty much the same. They’ll finish it. Or they’ll try. There’s no going back now, not for any of them. She’ll go get the van after we shake her in the morning, wherever she has it, pick up the others, and they’ll all gather where they’re holding Betz. They won’t take him back to his house. They have to be smart enough to know we’ll be on the house.”
Suddenly exhausted, Eve sat on the side of the bed. “We’ll pull Baxter and Trueheart off that, but put another team on. Wouldn’t pay to be wrong on that. The keys, Betz’s keys. Maybe they’re an angle. Let’s go harass EDD.”
“I have to say something.”
Eve shoved her hair back, rose. “What?”
“This case, and what we’re looking at as motive. It has to affect you. It has to make you think of what happened to you. But it’s not the same, Dallas. It’s not the same.”
“Yeah, it does. But my kill was justified. Him or me, and I was a child. That’s not the same. He was raping me, and my arm—” She brought her hand up, all but felt the bone snap again. “When the bone broke, when he broke my arm, that shock and that pain, it was alive. Killing him was the only way to make it stop, to make him stop, to survive. So that’s not the same as this.”
She let out a breath, but her stomach still clenched and roiled.
“But the rest? The fear, that pain, the violation, what takes root in you and never really goes away? That’s the same. So I know they’re not going to find peace, or the justice they tell themselves they’re after, through blood. I sure as hell didn’t.”
