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“I talked to my parents, too.” Peabody jumped on the glide behind Eve. “They’re worried, you know, just getting all that bullshit from the media. I told them enough to calm them down some, and to make sure they didn’t decide to rev up the camper and drive to New York. They were out of the Urbans, you know.”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Well, they were young, really just getting started when all that went on. Just a couple of Free-Ager kids doing their commune thing. They made clothes, grew food for people who needed it, but they were never in the hot areas.”
“It’s good they were.”
“My dad said he can’t remember hearing about Red Horse at the time. It was after, like a history book footnote. A lot of people barely heard of them, or not at all. I bet everyone’s heard of them now.”
Eve paused before they transferred to the garage elevator. “That’s a point, isn’t it? It could, maybe should’ve been a major deal, but it not only got crushed, it got buried. Some footnotes for historians and researchers, but no big play. Until now.”
“Do you think that’s what he’s after?”
“I think he’s a selfish, bastard coward, but it’s a factor. His grandfather might have been up there with Hitler given more time, more exposure. The powers that be snatched away his infamy. Recognition’s part of it.”
“Jeez, who’d want to be Hitler’s grandson?”
“People who think white’s right, lunatics, and selfish bastard cowards who want recognition.”
“Yeah, I guess there are those, but …”
“Your Free-Ager’s showing, Peabody. A lot of people are no damn good, and a lot of those people are proud of it.”
She got in the car. Maybe that was an opening, she thought as she programmed Cattery’s address.
“You should know what went down in Dallas.”
“With McQueen?”
“With McQueen’s partner.” She drove out of the garage, concentrated on traffic. It might be easier to lay it out if she had to pay attention to the external. “She was no damn good, and I’d say she was proud of it.”
“She was as fucked up as he is. Maybe more.”
“Yeah.” It tightened her belly to hear it, but she could live with it. That was the key, she reminded herself. Just living with it. “When we were looking for his partner, running the list and images of women who’d visited him in prison, something about her—as Sister Suzan—kept pulling me back. I thought maybe I’d busted her sometime, or interviewed her. Same deal with her other IDs. Just something that tugged, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.”
Curious, Peabody shifted toward Eve. “Had you busted her?”
“No.”
“Maybe you just recognized the type. Instinct kicking in.”
“That’s what I thought, but that wasn’t it. Or not all of it. You read the reports. You know we had her and her place covered. We were right there when she walked out of that townhouse, going to meet up with McQueen. Bad luck. A kid on a bike, a little dog, oncoming car. She made us, took off.”
“I wish I’d been there. I probably wouldn’t have at the time, flying down the streets after her van, crashing. You got banged up.”
“Not bad, it wasn’t bad.” A little bloody, a little bruised, Eve thought. The bad came later.
“She got banged up more—no air bags, safety gel in that clunky van. And she hadn’t taken time to hook her seat belt.”
“Good. She deserved to get banged up.”
“I was so pissed,” Eve continued. “Afraid she’d been able to tag McQueen during the chase, knowing damn well, we’d lost the best chance to find him and get the kid and Melanie back safe. So fucking pissed.”
All that rage, Eve thought, gushing through her like an open wound. And then …
“I yanked her out of the van, got her blood on me. I spun her around. Stupid pink sunglasses, crooked on her face. Pulled them off her … I looked at her face, into her eyes. And I knew her.”
It was Eve’s tone that had a chill working up Peabody’s spine. She spoke carefully. “You didn’t put that in your report.”
