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“He fell apart, Mac did. No one could blame him. Willow wanted to spend more time with her father, and I allowed that. I felt he needed her, and she needed him. But he started drinking too much, even coming by to get her when he was drunk. And I had to tell them both she couldn’t stay with him under those conditions. When I made her come home, when I drew that line, that’s when the puppy . . . That’s when it happened.”
“You knew she’d done it,” Peabody said gently.
Tears leaked through her lashes when Younger shut her eyes. “I believed she had. I couldn’t prove it, but yes, I knew she had. And she knew I knew. I was comforting Zach. He was crying, and I was holding him, comforting him, and I looked over. She stood there, watching us. And smiling. She looked into my eyes, smiled, and I was afraid.”
She drank more water. “That’s when I started going through her room. I never found anything, and I hated myself for it, but I went through her things routinely. I spoke with Grace—she’d moved to Chicago, and she advised me to do what I knew I should do. Get Willow into structured therapy. I couldn’t.”
Now Younger used her hands to wipe away tears, made an effort to straighten her shoulders. “You can say I’m her mother, and she had to do what I told her to do, but her father refused to back me, and she warned me if I forced it, she’d accuse Lincoln of abuse, she’d go to court—she was old enough for that—and petition to live with her father. She’d go to the police, with her father, and get a restraining order on Lincoln. She’d ruin him. I tried to reason with her—we’d all go to counseling—but she wouldn’t budge. These last months, she’s spent more time with Mac, and I didn’t interfere. Her grades went back up, the trouble at school never reoccurred. If things were strained at home, at least she wasn’t disruptive or angry. But once in a while, I’d look up or over, and she’d be standing there. Just standing there, smiling at me. And I was afraid.”
Younger dissolved into tears again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did or didn’t do. What I should or can do now. She’s my child.”
“Ms. Younger, you have another child to protect.”
“I know. I know.”
“Your daughter is a psychopath, trained by an expert in the science of killing.”
As Younger’s sobs increased, as Peabody opened her mouth to speak, Eve shook her head.
“The signs are all there, the evidence is all there. The dead are all there. We need to stop your daughter and her father. We need to prevent them from killing again. We need to find her, stop her, and get her the help she needs. Where would they go?”
“Alaska.”
“What?”
“Mac actually talked about going there after Susann died. He was drunk or—or maybe high. I think he’s been using, too. But there was enough detail for me to know he’d looked into it. He and Will—he never calls her Willow—would take off for Alaska when she got out of school. They’d live off the land. It sounds like drunk talk, but once I did find some information on Alaska on her computer—like a school report, but it wasn’t. And the next time I looked, she’d deleted it all.”
“They’re not in Alaska. They’re in the city.”
“I don’t know where they are, I swear to you.” Like a plea, Younger held out her hands. “I swear it. I was married to a cop, and a cop has been killed. I know what that could mean for my daughter. Mac has lost his mind, Lieutenant. Losing Susann and their baby broke him. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe some of this was always there in him, but contained. The way Willow seems contained so much of the time. But he broke, and he’ll die trying to finish what he started. Willow’s fifteen. Do you remember fifteen, how you feel at fifteen? You feel immortal, and you feel like dying for a cause is romantic, whatever the cause might be. I don’t want my baby to die. I’ll do anything I can, tell you anything I know.”
She took a deep breath.
“His hands shake.”
“Mackie’s hands shake?”
“Yes, not always, but it comes and goes. I haven’t seen him for nearly a month, but the last time I did, he looked . . . off. On the frail side, shaky. I haven’t been a cop’s wife for a long time, but I don’t think he could execute these strikes. I think, God help her, I think he’s trained Willow to make them.”
She stared down at the table. “I want to believe it’s against her will, but I know it isn’t. But he’s used her love for him, her admiration. He’s made her think what she’s doing is heroic, is right, is what her father wants and needs. She’s only a child. She isn’t responsible.”
Yes, Eve thought, she is, but let it go. “Do they have a favorite restaurant, pizza joint? Somewhere they went habitually?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said she competed, won trophies. Anywhere he’d take her to celebrate when she won?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t want me there, didn’t want to share that with— Wait. Divine’s.”
“Ice cream.” Peabody put in. “They’ve got froz
en desserts and yogurt, but they also have the real deal.”
“Yes. Willow loved that place, loved their caramel sundaes. They’re pricey, and you often have to wait up to an hour to get seated, but Mac and I started taking her when she was a toddler, and . . . I guess it got to be their place. He’d take her there on special occasions.”
“Peabody, send Uniform Carmichael and Officer Shelby to Divine’s, with the ID shots, and the sketches.”
“Yes, sir! Peabody exiting Interview.”
