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She looked at Roarke, nodded as she spoke and Jamie’s mother responded. “Wait for the police,” she said again. “When they get there, have them contact me so I can verify before you open the door. Do you understand me, don’t open the door. The police are on the way.”
“I can hear sirens. I hear them.”
“Good. Stay on, okay? Stay on until they get there and I verify. Just hold a minute.
“They’re safe,” she said to Roarke.
“I have Jamie on the ’link. He’s with her, spending a couple days with her on his winter break.”
“Tell him if he opens a door, tries anything before I clear it, I’ll make sure he never gets a badge.”
Roarke’s eyebrows lifted. “He heard you. See to your mother, Jamie. That’s your job.”
Satisfied, Eve switched to her communicator to speak with the responding officers and clear them.
Three strikes, she thought, and you’re out.
Eve contacted Peabody, argued with her.
“There’s no need or point in you coming in for this. Nadine’s handled. Jamie and his mother have cops in the house.”
“Handled, my butt. I handled myself.”
“Shut up, Nadine, and get your famous butt moving. Your transport’s waiting.”
“I have things I need,” Nadine began, and continued to gather discs and notes into a bag that could hold a baby elephant.
She already had a suitcase the size of Montana packed and ready.
“If you have witnesses to interview,” Peabody complained from the ’link, “I should be there.”
“I’ve got it covered. If you want to be up half the night, work on the new parameters. Have your e-genius run a search and match using the refinements Roarke made. If anything else comes through, I’ll let you know.”
“But—”
“She’s gone, Peabody. We won’t take her down tonight. But contact hospitals—emergency treatment centers, walk-in clinics. Maybe she’s burned bad enough to need medicals. Maybe she’d risk it. Hit facilities in your own neighborhood first. Let’s play the angle she lives close to my old place. Any hits, I hear about it, otherwise, zip it. Tomorrow,” she added, and cut transmission.
She turned to one of the uniforms who was waiting. “You get something?”
“A couple of teenage girls, Lieutenant, two floors down. Bocco family, apartment seven-twelve. Girls are Savannah Bocco, Thea Rossi, both age sixteen. They rode up in the elevator with her.” He handed her a pair of discs in an evidence bag. “Security feed from the exterior and the elevator, sir. No hallway cams in this building.”
“Good. Secure this unit once Ms. Furst is the hell out of it. Expand the canvass to emergency treatment centers and clinics in the area. She’s burned, right hand and/or wrist. Try outlets that sell medical supplies—over-the-counter burn meds, pain meds.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nadine!”
“I’m going, I’m going.” She’d changed into black skin pants, boots, sweater, had actually taken time to slap some gunk on her face and fuss with her hair.
Eve all but shoved her out of the apartment. “Make certain she’s secure,” she told the transport officers. “In and locked down.”
“I appreciate the hospitality,” Nadine said, “however rudely offered.”
“Get the hell out.”
She turned to Roarke. “I’m going to talk to the teenagers—God help us all. You can be Peabody, if you swear not to sulk.”
“I think I can mask my bruised feelings. She wants to help—and be in on the action,” he added as Eve stepped out.
