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Irritated, Dawson barely glanced up. “The what?”
“The picture of Lottie. Different ’do, but it looks like her. Sort of.”
“Lottie? Lottie Roebuck?”
“Well, yeah. Or her cousin maybe.”
Something ugly sank into his gut as Dawson shoved away from his desk, stepped out to where he’d stuck up the sketch. “It doesn’t look like . . . Get my microgoggles,” he snapped, and leaned in, squinted, leaned out, squinted.
“Goddamn eyes. Who has time to . . .” He snatched the goggles, pulled them on.
His vision blurred so he reached up, began to adjust them until he got clarity.
Lottie? It didn’t exactly look like her unless . . . Change the hair, he thought, rounder at the chin. Put her in a sweeper’s suit.
“Oh fuck me.” He grabbed for his pocket ’link, and it beeped in his hand. He started to hit ignore, saw the readout.
“Dallas. Listen. It’s Lottie, Lottie Roebuck, one of my field techs. This is her.”
“I know. Where is she?”
“She took a personal day. First time in . . . I don’t know. She’s not here. Jesus, Dallas, she’s one of mine. She’s one of my people.”
“Check your log-in, make sure she’s not there. Contact Berenski, DeWinter. All department heads. Lock it down, Dawson, until you hear different.”
In her office, Eve broke transmission, grabbed her coat.
“We’ve got her,” she said to Peabody as she rushed out.
“What?”
“Lottie Roebuck. She’s a sweeper. She worked the scenes, Bastwick, Ledo, Hastings. Baxter, Trueheart, you’re with me. Grab vests. Uniform Carmichael, Hannigan, same goes. Peabody, tag McNab. I want eyes and ears on her building. We don’t go in until we’re sure she’s there. Then we take her, quick and quiet.”
She turned, ready with more orders. The woman, a strange, blurred mirror image of herself, stepped in.
Eve drew her weapon. “Stop right there, hands up,” she snapped, as every cop in the room surged up, weapons drawn.
“I wouldn’t.” With her left hand, Lottie opened her coat, revealed the suicide vest. “This is a dead man’s switch in my right hand. If you stun me, I release it and we all go. We all go now.”
“Nobody has to die here.”
Solemnly, Lottie nodded. “I need all of you to put down your weapons, and I need you to secure the doors to this division. All of them. If you don’t, I’ll release the switch. I’d like some privacy, I have things to say. But if not, I’ll just let it go.”
“We should talk,” Eve agreed. “Let’s get everybody out of here so we can talk in private.”
A flash of anger sparked in her eyes. “Do you think I’m stupid? Nobody leaves. Secure the doors. Now. Right now, or we all go.”
“Everybody, lower your weapons. Secure the hallway doors, Jenkinson.”
They were never closed, Eve thought, so that alone would set off an alert. But if the crazy woman in the room released the switch, it would, at least, contain the explosion. Nobody outside Homicide had to die.
Slowly, Eve slid her own weapon back in its harness. “Do you want to talk here?”
“I want everybody’s ’links and comms out, on the floor. Weapons, ’links, comms, on the floor. Nobody uses any communication.”
“No problem.” Eve turned. She wanted her people to see her face, to make sure no one tried to be a hero.
“’Links and comms,” she ordered, noted Reineke wasn’t at his desk, or in the room. She caught Jenkinson’s eye, understood when he glanced briefly at the break room. “Nobody in this room will use any sort of communication device.” She held up her hands when her pocket ’link signaled. “How do you want me to handle that? You’re in charge here.”
