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“Scheduled for twelve-fifteen. She didn’t get in for the exam until nearly one.”
“That eats up a lunch break, doesn’t it? You’d probably be in a hurry to get back to work. Who’s got her supervisor—Mackie’s supervisor at work?”
“She’s on her way in,” Jenkinson told her. “Reineke and I took Lincoln Stuben, the stepfather. He paints a darker picture of Willow Mackie than her mother. Sneaky, disruptive, disrespectful. Says she’s a liar, stated she once threatened him with a knife and said if he told her mother, she’d claim he’d tried to rape her. Said she knew ways to make that stick. And when it stuck, her father would kill him.”
“Did he tell the mother?”
“Did better. He hid a cam in the kitchen, goaded the girl into saying it again, and showed the mother the recording. When confronted, the girl responded with belligerence, locked herself in her room. She subsequently apologized—but Stuben didn’t buy it like the mother did. Marriage is on shaky ground at this point, and he refuses to leave his son alone with the girl. Might be resentment, but he says Willow Mackie wouldn’t need to be coerced or manipulated into being party to murder.”
“They got a puppy for the boy his last birthday,” Reineke continued. “Kid was crazy for it, slept with it, took it for walks himself. Couple months later, the kid comes home from school, and sees the puppy come flying out of the window on the third floor, goes splat at his feet. Broken neck. Kid’s hysterical, people stop to help—somebody even calls the cops. A few minutes later, Willow shows up.”
“Nobody can figure why the window was open, or why the dog went up there, why he’d jump out, but that’s the way it looked. Except Stuben’s dead sure Willow broke the dog’s neck, tossed him out when she saw the boy coming. Then went out the back, circled the block.”
“Nothing like practicing on puppies and kittens.”
“I’ve got a little more on Mrs. Mackie, if it helps,” Peabody put in. “I’ve talked to some family, some teachers, some employers and coworkers. The gist is, Mrs. Mackie was a nice woman—a polite, well-mannered, personable individual. A dreamer more than a doer. No particular ambitions, no career path. More a romantic who sa
w herself as waiting for her prince to come. Kind, soft, pretty, sweet, and a little on the ditzy side. Those are the terms that came up most often from various sources.”
“All right. Trueheart, take the kid—the half brother. Reineke, take the father in with him. Let Trueheart lead on the boy. Willow Mackie strikes as the type who may have threatened the kid, and kept him afraid to tell anyone. She may have said more to him, bragged some. Peabody, with me. We’re on Zoe Younger.”
“Younger’s what you’d say is the opposite of the second wife,” Peabody said as they walked to Interview. “Has a career, is solid there. From the data anyway, a more practical type of person. She may not be realistic about her daughter, but she’s not a dreamer.”
“Younger than Younger—ha—and softer, and someone who looked at him as her prince. Clearly, the accident was a result of her running late, not paying attention, but he can’t have that. She was his ideal, and there has to be blame.”
She stopped outside Interview A. “Trueheart softened her up, played to the maternal. I’m going to kick her ass.”
Eve stepped in. “Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview with Younger, Zoe, in regards to case files H-29073 and H-29089. Ms. Younger, have you been read your rights?”
“My rights? I don’t understand. We— I was brought in for protection.”
“Correct. You’re also here to answer questions regarding your daughter, Willow Mackie, and your ex-husband, Reginald Mackie, the primary suspects in seven homicides. Maybe you’ve heard about the Wollman Rink attack and the Times Square massacre.”
“My daughter is only fifteen. Her father—”
“Have you been read your rights?”
“No.”
“Peabody.”
“It’s just procedure, Ms. Younger. You have the right to remain silent.”
As Peabody recited the Revised Miranda, Eve circled the room.
“Do you understand these rights and obligations, Ms. Younger?” Peabody asked.
“Yes, I understand them. I understand I’m entitled to legal counsel. I want to contact my attorney.”
“Fine. Arrange that, Detective. We’re done here.”
“I want to know what you’re doing to find my daughter!”
Eve glanced back, cold as winter. “You don’t answer my questions, I don’t answer yours.”
“She’s only fifteen. Her father—”
“Tell it to your lawyer.”
