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“Yeah, I got that.”
“And your statement would be?”
She huffed out a breath. “The full force and resources of the NYPSD will be utilized in the investigation of Ms. Bastwick’s murder. As primary investigator I will diligently pursue all leads in order to bring her killer to justice.”
“And when they ask, and they will, why you think the killer claims, in writing, to have killed Ms. Bastwick on your behalf?”
“Unless they pin me, I’m going to flick off that, keep it on her, off me.”
“Good. If you’re pinned, what’s your statement?”
“Crap.” She could get pinned, she admitted. “This will be an area I will actively pursue. It’s a question that must be answered even as the individual responsible must answer for Leanore Bastwick’s death.”
Kyung nodded, curled a finger. “More.”
“Shit.” Now she pushed up, stood, circled the tiny office. “I didn’t know Ms. Bastwick on a personal level, but a professional one. In doing our jobs, fulfilling our duties, we were opposed on the Jess Barrow criminal case. Cops and lawyers often stand on opposite sides of the line. Cops and killers always do. I stand for Leanore Bastwick as I stand for any victim—as does the New York Police and Security Department, and we will, again, use every resource available to bring Ms. Bastwick’s killer to justice.”
“Repeat it, again and again. Every resource available, bringing her killer to justice. Dance off the message left at the scene, and stay on your own message.”
“I don’t know why the fuck her killer left that message.”
“But you intend to find out.”
“Damn right.”
“And there you are.” He spread his hands. “I don’t have to tell you Roarke should also cover this. His own media people should have this in hand, quickly.”
“No, you don’t have to tell me,” she said—and thought: Shit. “I’ll take care of it.”
“All right. If you need anything from me, I’m available to you twenty-four/seven. I realize I’m not a part of the investigation, Lieutenant, but I need to know as soon as possible if you receive any communication from the killer, or anyone purporting to be the killer.”
“I’ll add you on.”
He straightened, stepped to the door, paused. “Dallas? Take care.”
She brooded a moment, looked around her office. She needed to go home, where she could work without interruption—and where she could speak to Roarke. She didn’t want to do that by ’link or text.
Besides, she realized as she glanced at her wrist unit, she would already be late getting home.
She gathered everything she needed, pulled on her coat.
She found Peabody still at her desk in the bullpen.
“Take it home. Tell McNab I want whatever he gets as he gets it. I’ll be working from home.”
“I’ll go up to EDD, see if I can hook up with him. The others on the list check out, travel-wise. None of them were in New York at the time of Bastwick’s murder. One thing? We talked how Bastwick’s murder looked professional. Maybe one of these people, or a coworker, Stern, her family—one of them hired it out. And ordered the message.”
“It’s an angle. We’ll check financials, see if anything looks off. Take it home,” Eve repeated, and walked out to do the same.
But on the way she stopped by the crime scene.
She broke the seal, walked through and into Bastwick’s bedroom.
And spent a long time reading the writing on the wall.
• • •
On the drive home she ignored traffic, ignored pedestrians thronging the crosswalks. Ignored the horns, the revving engines, the wall of noise, the lights flashing and sparkling.
