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Eve set photographs of the two victims on the desk. “This isn’t justice served.”
Lipski sat back, sighed. “These men. Powerful, influential, wealthy. Does it matter to you what they might have done to engender this sort of rage?”
“It matters. And if they raped their murderers, I would have done everything within the law to bring them to justice.”
“‘Within the law.’” Lipski pointed a long, bony finger. “I believe in the law, Lieutenant, Detective. I couldn’t sit here if I didn’t. But there are times, and too many, when I believe the law is cold and hard and blind. And still, if I knew who’d done this I would try to convince them to stop, to turn themselves in.”
“The first thing I’m going to tell you, and look at me,” Eve demanded. “Look at me and hear what I’m telling you. If you know, or you figure out who’s doing this, you do not contact them, do not approach them. What they’re doing is done with a rage so cold it would turn on you. I believe they have three more targets, and they won’t stop until they’re finished, they won’t stop because you reason with them, sympathize with them.”
With her jaw set, Lipski peered up at Eve. “And what of those targets? If you stop them, if you lock them up for what they’ve done, what of the men they targeted?”
“If these men raped the women I lock up? If they abused and raped them, I don’t care if they’re as powerful, influential, and wealthy as God, I will bring them down.”
Eve set her hands on the battered desk, leaned in. “But these women will kill again, and again. Now that they’ve gotten a taste for retribution, what’s to stop them from targeting other men? This one raped, this one tuned up his girlfriend, this one might have raped. Is that what you serve here? You get raped, go after the rapist and kill him?”
“No, that’s not what we serve here. But I believe in violence.”
“Hey. Me, too.”
For the first time the faintest smile cracked the stern, thin face. “Despite what we do, you and I, seeing, dealing with, living with violence every day of our lives, we believe in using it to protect and defend.”
“This isn’t for protection. This isn’t for defense.”
“If these men raped the women who killed them, their deaths protect women they would have raped.”
“Are we condemning people for crimes not yet committed? I’m not here to debate with you over what rape does to the body, to the mind, to the spirit. I’m here about murder.
“Charity Downing, Lydia Su, Carlee MacKensie, Allyson Byson, Asha Coppola, Lauren Canford. Do you know any of these women?”
Lipski’s chin jutted up while her arms folded over her bony chest. “I can’t and won’t disclose any confidential information about any woman who has come into this center.”
“The support groups. Cecily Anson and Anne Vine volunteer in some of the groups you’re associated with. Ms. Anson’s name was used to lure this man.” Eve jabbed a finger on the crime scene photo of Wymann.
“Her time, her compassion, her generosity have been twisted into a tool for someone’s revenge.”
“And I’m appalled.” Lipski pressed her thin lips together, and genuine anger flared in her eyes. “I’m talking to you now because using them pisses me off. CeCe and Annie are two of the kindest people I know. And still, if one of these women attended one of their groups, they’re under no obligation to give their name, and even when names are used, we only use the first name. Anonymity is an essential brick in the wall, Lieutenant. Added to it, I simply don’t know everyone who attends the groups. There aren’t enough hours in the day to tend to all.”
Eve glanced at Peabody.
“Maybe you’d recognize a face,” Peabody began, and took out photos. “Um. I’m a Free-Ager.”
Lipski lifted her brows, smiled more fully. “A Free-Ager cop. Rare.”
“I walk a line, I guess. But one thing I know from how I was raised, and from the job. Cold-blooded revenge? It doesn’t heal, Ms. Lipski. It only deepens the wound. The women who are doing this aren’t going to find peace. They aren’t going to erase the pain they may have endured by ending lives. If they’re not stopped, they’re never going to get over what was done to them. So . . .”
She held up Lauren Canford’s photo, then Asha Coppola’s.
Eve saw a kind of relief settle into Lipski’s face, which remained when Peabody offered Allyson Byson.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen any of those women before.”
“I have a few more.”
Peabody held up Lydia Su’s ID shot.
Eve figured Lipski probably played a solid game of poker. But her skills weren’t good enough to completely mask the quick awareness. She waited, saw something similar come with Charity Downing.
She started to speak, then saw something else when Peabody offered Carlee MacKensie. That was both an instant of puzzlement, and, Eve thought, deep sorrow.
