Peabody got into the back of the car before Roarke could.
“I can use the room,” she told him. “I’m getting a couple offspring suicides.”
“Hanging only. Mirror details.” “Okay, that changes that.”
“It’s a connection.” Eve hit the lights, the siren and streaked out of the garage. “To Noy, or someone like him, and Greenleaf. Someone who came to the memorial, and went to the house after. Someone who’s inserted themselves into the Greenleaf family. Had to know them, had to have been in the apartment before, in the daughter’s house before. Had to know the layout to make this work.”
She sped through a red light, and swung hard around an all-terrain that didn’t take the siren seriously.
“Why don’t I let Feeney know this last development,” Roarke suggested. “He can add it to his search.”
“Do that. Cops right on scene,” she muttered. “Webster and Angelo for sure, and likely others. It’s fucking ballsy.”
“Add cruel with it, trying to kill, and perhaps succeeding, the son on the day his father’s memorialized.”
Eve spared Roarke a look. “The cruelty’s part of the point.”
She braked in front of the townhome, double-parked beside a cruiser. A beat droid stood at the door.
She engaged her recorder.
“Lieutenant. Sir, Detective Webster is inside, and the scene is secure. I have the door. My counterpart has the rear. Two uniform officers are assisting the detective.”
“Stay on the door.”
She’d expected to find more people inside. About a dozen sat or wandered the living area—including a couple of cops she’d seen at the memorial service.
The uniform on watch turned to her. “Sir.” “Webster.”
“In the back, Lieutenant. My partner is upstairs, holding the crime scene secure.”
Roarke handed Eve a field kit.
“Peabody, start taking statements. I’ll start on the scene. Roarke, do me a solid and tell Webster we’re here.”
She went upstairs and found a uniform standing at a doorway. “Report.”
“Sir. The nine-one-one came in at sixteen-forty-eight, for the MTs and a police response. My partner and I arrived along with the MTs at sixteen- forty-two. The beat droids responded. They were just down the block. Detective Webster ordered them to take the front and rear doors. The victim, ID’d as Benjamin Greenleaf, the brother of the owner of the residence, was unconscious on the floor inside this room. Detective Webster told the MTs he’d performed CPR, successfully, as the victim wasn’t breathing when he found him, and with the assistance of a Chief Angelo, cut him down. The MTs transported him to Saint Anne’s. He was still out, LT.”
He gestured behind him. “The noose is there, the overturned chair.”
She glanced back when Webster came up the stairs, Darcia and Roarke behind him.
“I’ve got this, Officer. We’ll keep the droids on the doors. You and your partner head to Saint Anne’s and keep the victim secure.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Shit. Roarke, I’ve got these officers blocked in.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He laid a hand on Webster’s shoulder before he started back down.
“Don’t say I have to stay out of it. I know it. I found him. Beth saw him go upstairs, said he looked upset. She asked me to go up, maybe talk to him. It took me a few minutes.”
He dragged his hands over his face. “Goddamn few minutes, just like with Martin.”
“Don.” Darcia took his hand. “You know better.”
“I came up. I didn’t know exactly where he’d gone. I called him. He didn’t answer. I almost went back downstairs. Jesus, I almost went back down. Let him have a few minutes to himself, I thought, some privacy. But all the doors were open up here, except this one. So I opened it, and saw him.”
“What did you see?”
“Okay.” He breathed in, breathed out. “I saw Ben hanging from a rope— that rope. I saw the overturned chair. I shouted, rushed in, grabbed his legs, shoved him up. Darcia came in.”
“I was at the base of the stairs,” she said. “I’d just come in from the small parlor where I’d gathered up some dishes. I heard Don shout, set them down, and ran up.”
“She cut the rope. I had a penknife in my pocket. She got it out. The rope was secured to the hook near the window—you can see the swing chair they took down from it. She got up on a chair, cut the rope.”
“The overturned chair?”
“No.” Darcia shook her head. “The one by the little desk. I didn’t want to disturb the scene more than necessary.”
“I got the rope from around his neck, started CPR because he wasn’t breathing. Darcia.”
“Some of the family started up, I held them off, then took over CPR so Don could call it in.”
“We got him breathing,” Webster continued. “The MTs, the uniforms and droids got here fast. The MTs stabilized Ben, got him transported. I ordered the beat droids to take the exterior doors and the uniforms to stand on the scene here, and on the wits downstairs. I let the family go, Dallas. Luke and Shawn took the younger kids to their place. And the rest are at the hospital.”
“All right.”
“Ben would never do this. Never. And here? Look around. This is the kids’ playroom, their game room. Their room. He’d never—”
“I know it, Webster. Not attempted suicide, attempted murder. Where are all the people who came to the wake?”
“Most everybody had left. Darcia and I were cleaning up the debris, hoping the rest would take the hint. Beth was exhausted. Carlie was in the kitchen, ah, Mina, too. I took dishes in before I went up to check on Ben.”
“Whose blood?” Eve gestured to drops on the floor, smears on the rug.” “His. Blow to the back of the head.”
“I need you to put together a list of who you know was here.” “Okay.”
“Go be with your family. There’s nothing else you can do here.”
“Someone hit him from behind. Blood on the back of his head. They hit him from behind, then lifted him up high enough to put that noose around his neck. There had to be two of them. He’s not a heavyweight, but it would take two. Haul him up, hold him up, secure the noose. That’s more than one person.”
He scrubbed at his face again. “And I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”
“Try this. Why would he come in here?”
“I don’t know.” Webster dropped his hands. “I just don’t know. Beth said he looked upset. She thought maybe he got a text or call that upset him because he was putting his ’link back in his pocket as he went upstairs.”
“I’ve got the scene, Webster. We’ll come in, take statements at the hospital when we’re done.”
“Come now.” Darcia took Webster’s hand. “The family needs you there.
We go where we’re needed.”
As Darcia led him away, Eve pulled Seal-It from her field kit. When Roarke started back up the stairs, she tossed it to him. “Might as well seal up, too. He came upstairs, to this room. Kids’ playroom. Potentially got a call or text, and that’s what lured him here. Had to have it set up, because Webster was only a few minutes behind him.”
From where she stood, she scanned the scene again.
“Victim is identified as Greenleaf, Benjamin, older brother of the owner of this residence, and currently being treated at Saint Anne’s Hospital.”
She stepped into the room, gestured again to the blood trail. “The victim entered the room. Blood spatter indicates he was struck. Blow from behind. Hit him as soon as he came into the room.”
“That makes it hard to fake a suicide,” Roarke pointed out.
“They weren’t worried about that this time. The suicide didn’t stick with the captain, so that’s blown. The point here? Kill the son, murder by hanging, and that mirrors Noy. Maybe others, we’ll see, but Noy.”
She took samples of the blood for her kit, marked it before she crossed over to the window.
“According to Detective Webster’s statement, corroborated by Chief Angelo, he discovered the victim hanging no more than ten minutes after the victim came upstairs and entered.”
She crouched to examine the rope, and where Darcia had cut it.
Pulling over another chair, she examined the short length of rope still secured to the hook. “Strong knot. Two fresh cuts. One cut from Webster’s penknife to get the victim down. It looks like the other end was cut from a longer length of rope. The lab will confirm, if so. It’s a sloppy noose— effective, but sloppy. Strong cord, and the length used? You could easily hide this in one of those elephant-sized handbags, a good-sized briefcase, messenger bag. Hook’s handy,” she continued. “But you had to know it was here.”
“A room set up for kids to enjoy.” Roarke scanned it. “Gaming station, the chairs, sofa that would take a beating. Colorful walls, a crafts table and supplies, so on.”
He looked down at Eve. “Of all the rooms up here, they chose this. A destruction of innocence, another emotional blow to the family. How could the children ever play in here again?”
“Exactly. A deliberate choice. And one they’d cased before today. Webster’s right. It’s all but impossible for one person to do this. The rope, secured only to that hook—strong hook, designed to hold some solid weight. But the slack wasn’t long enough so someone could put the noose around his neck while he’s prone, then use the length to pull him up, secure the slack elsewhere.”
She rose. “Angelo kept her head, didn’t move that chair. I’m going to bet we find a mirror in the files—how it’s placed, even the type of rope used. Maybe down to the sloppy noose.”
She walked over to a pair of shelves, took down a Little League trophy. “Kid got MVP last season—good for her.”
“Christ Jesus, they’d use a child’s trophy for this?”
“And didn’t bother to wipe the blood off it.” She bagged it, sealed it, labeled it. “Didn’t have time, or didn’t care. Probably both. Had to move fast—so much risk. Do they get off on the risk? But you’ve got to get out and away before anyone wanders upstairs.”
She moved back to the door, studied it. “No inside lock. Couldn’t lock the door from in here. Gotta get back downstairs, or…”
She took out her communicator as she walked out, contacted the sweepers. And went room by room. Found it.
“Here’s the way.” She walked to the French doors in the main bedroom. “The smart way if you know the house. “Small terrace, steps going down to the not-much-bigger patio area. Go out, down.”
She did just that.
“There’s a gate—locks and security on it, but a way out.”
“The security feed might tell the tale if they were sloppy there as well.” “I’m not counting on that, but we need to check. How about you find the
security hub? I want another pass upstairs.”
She went up, timing how long it took at a fast walk to reach the door of the crime scene. Eighty-six seconds. Even at a cautious slink, under two minutes. At a jog or run, a lot less.
Say your goodbyes, she thought. If you’re close enough to the family to know the house, you’d have to say your goodbyes, make it look like you’re leaving.
You’d want people to notice you’re leaving. Then slip upstairs.
Or …
You’ve already unlocked the gate, the French doors—if they were locked. Double back that way, go up, into the playroom and shut the door.
Pull out the rope, secure it to the hook.
Text the target. Text is smarter than a call—no conversation. Wait. One of you behind the door with the trophy. He comes in, strike.
You need him unconscious—no struggle, no noise, no wasted time.
Shut the door, drag him over. One holds him up, the other gets on the chair, secures the noose. Turn the chair over—that mirror—slip out, down to the master bedroom.
Out, gone while the victim strangles to death.
Somebody’ll come up eventually, she thought, as she started downstairs.
But how long does it take for a man to strangle?
Sloppy noose gave him half a chance, but even with that, ten minutes? A lot less for brain cells to start dying.
You have to feel pretty confident the job’s done.
But a grieving woman worries about her son, and a friend goes to check on him.
You lose.
“I just finished getting statements,” Peabody told her. “Most of the ones still here were Mrs. Greenleaf’s friends, the ones we’ve already talked to— except for Arnez—and the one who came down from Maine. Their spouses, a couple of the daughter’s friends and theirs who helped with the food, and a couple of IAB cops.”
“Upshot?”
“Some were in the kitchen area, dealing with dishes, putting food away, the rest were in the living area. I have all the names and locations. The two cops were on the point of leaving when they ran upstairs, heard the commotion and ran up. Ah, Darlie Tanaka noticed the victim go upstairs, but didn’t think anything about it. Just that he needed some quiet time.
“No one noticed anyone going up before he did,” Peabody continued. “Anja Abbott was sitting next to Mrs. Greenleaf, and heard her ask Webster to check on her son. She did see Webster go up, and thinks it was maybe five minutes later. She can’t be sure, but about five minutes. Everyone still here’s accounted for, Dallas. No one was alone during the time frame.”
Roarke walked in. “The security system, cameras, alarms, were shut down.”
“Shut down?”
“Manually, at fifteen-forty-five.”
“I want to see the feed, what we have before shutdown.”
“I thought you might. I sent a copy to your PPC. Or we can look on the monitor in the security room.”
“Let’s take the room.”
“The hub’s in the basement.”
“Peabody, the sweepers should be here any minute. Get them started.
Where’s the basement?”
Roarke led the way. “It’s nicely finished,” he commented. “A sort of media room. It looks to me as if the younger ones gathered down there. Another family area. Dishes still scattered about.”
A casual family area, Eve noted, and yeah, dishes scattered, empty tubes that hadn’t made it into the recycler. Half-empty ones, a nearly empty bowl of chips.
They’d set up the security hub in a storage room where tubs, clearly labeled, held holiday decorations, off-season clothing, beach gear.
“It was up and running.” Roarke cued up the feed to seven hundred hours, set it on fast-forward, slowing when the victim and his family arrived that morning, then again when the younger brother and his arrived. Again with Webster and Angelo.
She watched Webster leave—it matched the time he’d come to Central to speak with her. Watched him return, go inside.
Then the family left together.
No one entered until the family returned. Then others, in couples, in groups.
The first of those left about fourteen-thirty. Departures started out as a trickle, then a steadier stream until the feed cut off an hour later.
“That’s it,” Roarke said. “The whole system was shut down.”
“Smart,” Eve mumbled. “You can say you’re leaving—hug, hug, wipe a tear away, then either not or double back and no cam to catch the lie. We’ll have the sweepers down here, too. They wouldn’t be that sloppy, but we’ll go over everything.
“I need to talk to the sweepers, then get to the hospital. I need to take statements from the family, and hopefully the victim.”
“I’ll stick with you.”
As they walked upstairs, she glanced over at him. “Is it off that Arnez is the only one of the ‘let’s go out and drink wine and gab’ group who wasn’t there?”
“Well, when I was a member of a ‘we’ll have a pint or two and shoot the shite’ group, it wasn’t unusual for one of us to call it earlier than the others.”
“But that’s criminals, not upstanding citizens.”
He gave her a quick pat on the butt. “Either way, someone has to be the first to leave.”
“Sweepers are upstairs,” Peabody said. “Do you want to leave the droids on the doors?”
“Let’s leave them in place until the family gets back.”
She went up, spoke with the sweepers. When they went out, she gestured Roarke toward the wheel. “You take it. Do you have to know a code to shut down the security system?”
“Not that one. It’s a simple switch—and clearly marked so you wouldn’t shut it down by accident.”
“Which makes it handy to do on purpose.” She shifted around, asked Peabody the same question about Arnez leaving as she’d asked Roarke.
“I don’t really think so. She’s younger than most of them, and doesn’t have the long history. They left around sixteen hundred—that’s about,” she added.
“You asked?”
“I knew you’d want to know. It’s about then, according to Cassidy Bryer. I made it a casual question, like: I guess Ms. Arnez and Mr. Robards couldn’t make it to the wake. And she said, no, they were here. They left about four, maybe quarter after four—she guesses.”
“Fifteen to thirty after the system’s shut down. And somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty to forty minutes after that, Ben Greenleaf’s bashed in the head and hanging from a rope. It’s just so fucking handy.”
Annoyed, she contacted Feeney. “Any matches?”
“Not down the line, no. Got some attempted suicides—none by hanging.
Got a couple who managed it, but not by hanging.” “It’s going to be Noy.”
“Is Greenleaf’s kid still alive?”
“We’re heading to the hospital to find out.”
“Let me know either way. My oar’s stuck deep in this one.”
“I’ll tag you. Thanks. It’s going to be Noy,” Eve said again when she pocketed her ’link. “It’s too good a fit not to be.”
“I’ll drop the two of you off, park, and find you.”
Nodding absently at Roarke, Eve got out at the hospital entrance.
“We go through Noy’s file again, every inch of it. Plenty of others went down when he did; maybe the connection’s there. We talk to his daughter again, and his wife, the new husband. Their friends, their neighbors, their
friend’s neighbors. The son—his friends, people he went to school with, people he banged, people he didn’t bang.”
She stopped at the main desk, flashed her badge. “Benjamin Greenleaf, admitted shortly after five, head wound, strangulation.”
“One moment.”
Eve turned back to Peabody. “The son went to private school, then NYU. We dig there.”
“Patient Greenleaf is in critical care, eighth floor, east. Family only.” Eve held up her badge again.
“And yes, of course. I do need to scan your identifications.” Once scanned, Eve headed for the elevator bank.
“If you’re really looking at Arnez—”
“Public school.” Eve rolled heel-to-toe, toe-to-heel as she waited. “Most of her college by remote—but NYU’s business school. Worked through it. But they both grew up Lower West. Not the same neighborhood, but the general area.”
“They’d have been about the same age.”
“That’s right.” Eve held back as people filed off the elevator. She got on, called for eight east. Texted Roarke so he could skip the desk.
“Maybe they knew each other,” Peabody conceded. “But wouldn’t she, if they did, blame Noy for what the son did? If she’s going to blame somebody, and blame them enough to wait nine years to cash in?”
“Logically, sure. Murderers don’t always follow logic, do they? We find the connection. Whoever, whatever it is, we find it.”
She got off the elevator, assumed she’d go through the same routine at the desk there. But Webster paced in front of it.
She thought the shadows under his eyes had shadows. “Dallas. He’s going to make it.”
“That’s good news.”
“It’s great news, Webster.” Peabody laid a hand on his arm. “Really great news.”
“He’s been in and out a couple of times, but … They’re worried he could have brain damage … lack of oxygen. They’re doing some tests. He’s concussed, and his throat—He’s going to make it,” Webster repeated. “We just have to wait to see what he’s up against.”
“Has he said anything?”
“No. No, but he squeezed Mina’s hand. She said when he came around for a minute, he squeezed her hand when she spoke to him. She let him know she—we—everybody was here.”
He paused, pressed his fingers to his eyes. “Did you find anything?”
“The security system was shut down at fifteen-forty-five, manually, at the source.”
“Nobody in the family would’ve done that.”
“It looks like some of the younger people hung out down there.”
“Sure. I was going to do a round down there, hauling up dishes and trash. None of them would touch the security, Dallas. It had to be whoever went after Ben. Jesus, look at the timing!”
“I am. I have.”
“Sorry.” He held up a hand. “Sorry. A little wound up.” “Am I going to be able to talk to him?”
“I don’t know, honestly. They booted us while they run the tests.” He glanced back. “The family’s in the waiting room. Luke and Shawn, too. Their nanny has the kids—the younger ones. Ben’s kids are here, and Carlie’s two oldest.”
“We’ll start with them.”
Eve could think of little more depressing than a hospital waiting room— unless it was a hospital room.
Most huddled together. The brother-in-law paced, but stopped when Webster led Eve and Peabody inside.
Ben’s wife, Mina, gripped the hands of the kids who flanked her. “I’m sorry to intrude at such a difficult time,” Eve began.
“Somebody tried to kill my dad.” The girl next to Mina snapped it out while her eyes welled. “They already killed my grandpa. What are you doing about it?”
“Baby.” Mina pulled her close. “No. Don’t now.”
“I’m scared.” She pressed her face to her mother’s shoulder. “I’m scared.”
“I’d be scared, too.” Peabody stepped forward, crouched down. “But Webster told us the doctors said your dad’s going to be okay.”
“They don’t know for sure.”
“And it’s scary. We’re trying really hard to find out who did these awful things. Maybe you can help.”
“How?”
“We need to find out everything we can. I think maybe you were downstairs, in the family room, the basement?”
“Yeah.” The girl sniffed, laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. “So? A bunch of us were.”
“Maybe some people came down to talk to you, or to say goodbye if they were leaving.”
“I guess, yeah. Don did, and Darcia did—they brought more chips down. Aunt Carlie, Uncle Luke—they were mostly checking on us so we didn’t trash the place.”
She rolled her red-rimmed eyes. “As if.” “Right.”
“Cassidy came down for a few minutes.” This from the teenage boy sitting beside his grandmother. “And Win—he’s the old guy who takes Grandpa sailing sometimes. We went with them a couple times.”
“Detective Dickinson—he worked with Grandpa.” One of the other kids piped up. “And another one like that, but he was really old.”
“My Little League coach,” Carlie’s daughter remembered. That would be Olive Metcalf, Eve thought. The MVP.
“Coach Mike. He came down awhile.” She knuckled a tear away. “He really liked Grandpa. And the neighbor guy—ah—”
“Denzel,” her brother said. “He fixed Dad’s car once.”
Though they reeled off a few more, Eve made a note of Denzel, mentally circled it.
“Ms. Greenleaf,” she began, and stepped toward Beth. Then everyone stood at once as a doctor came to the room.
“He’s awake and responsive.” He said it with a smile, and Eve felt the tension in the room drop out of the red zone.
But he held up both hands as everyone started forward. “Hold on now. I can’t let you all go piling in. We’re still waiting for test results, but he knew his name, his wife and kids’ names, the date, his date of birth. He’s disoriented and has a whale of a headache, his throat’s raw.
“But he’s a tough guy.” He winked at Ben’s kids. “I’m going to let your mom go in and see him.”
“Please.” Ben’s daughter sent the doctor a pleading look. “I’ll be quiet. I won’t even talk to him. I just want to see him. I just—”
“It would help,” Mina said. “It would help him to see his children. I promise you. His heart and spirit. It would help.”
“Five minutes.” The doctor wagged a finger at the kids. “And no partying in there.”
“Thank you.” Mina looked back at her mother-in-law. “I—”
“No.” Beth shook her head. “You go. You go now. We can all wait.”
“The nurse will take you in. Five minutes,” he repeated, then turned to the rest.
“We’ll give them the five. Then we’ll open the privacy screens. You can all see him through the glass. We’ll see how he does. If he’s not too tired, you can go in for a few minutes, Mom.”
“Thank you.”
“Doctor. Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. It’s important we speak to Mr.
Greenleaf as soon as possible.”
He gestured her out to where Roarke stood waiting off to the side.
“I understand, Lieutenant. Trust me. You have your job to do, and whoever did this to my patient needs to be stopped. But he’s weak, still disoriented. And he’s damn lucky. Another few minutes, two, three, maybe four at most? Maybe we could’ve brought him back, but he’d have suffered severe brain damage. The shape he’s in—the lucky shape—it still exhausted him answering a few standard questions.”
“I understand, Doctor…” “Ricardi.”
“Dr. Ricardi. I understand, trust me on that. But I do have a job to do.
Whoever did this to him killed his father only days ago.”
“Give her my turn.” Beth stood, then leaned against her daughter. “Any of our turns. It’s more important. He knows we’re here. He knows we’ll be here.”
“They did this while we were gathered in my home to mourn our father.” Carlie’s voice snapped like ice. “Let her talk to Ben. Then you do your job, Lieutenant. You find the bastard.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
“Let’s see how he does,” Ricardi cautioned. “He may need to rest after this quick visit with his wife and kids.”
“We’ll wait,” Eve said. “As long as it takes. While we wait, Ms.
Greenleaf, you need to answer some questions.”
“Come sit. She’s doing her job,” Beth said to her daughter before Carlie could object.
“You’re right. Come sit.”
