the vic?”
“No, but he’ll get the details.”
“You got all the bigs,” Peabody complained.
“McEnroy and Pettigrew are going to connect somewhere. We need to find where they cross. How does she pick her targets? How does she know going in they cheat? Because that’s the deal,” Eve muttered. “That’s the link. Maybe she was one of McEnroy’s vics, but with this? Not necessarily. I need that consult with Mira.”
“I’ll set it up. Two for two, Dallas. You’ve got to figure she’ll go for the hat trick.”
“She’ll have him selected already,” Eve agreed. “She’ll know his weak spot, use it. He’ll be married, divorced, or seriously involved.”
She could see it. She could see it, but it didn’t help.
“He has to have someone to cheat on. Both of these were heterosexual,” Eve speculated. “Does that matter to her? Would she look the same way at a same-sex relationship, or someone who cheats with the same sex? Question for Mira.”
“She has to be attractive,” Peabody put in, chowing down—yay!—as she tried to work it out. “Or able to make herself attractive. McEnroy targeted really attractive women. Redheads—maybe she is one, and wore a wig for Pettigrew. Or she wore a wig both times. Like you said, she needs to have or have access to a private place, and the transportation. She has to trust at least one person enough to help her. Drive, transport the body. At least one person.”
“One of them has hacking skills good enough to impress Roarke.” Eve tapped her fingers on the wheel as she braked at a light. “The poems. That’s a sense of drama, right? And a need to demonstrate she’s enforcing justice. They deserved it, and here’s why.”
She hit the gas, pushed through traffic. “It’s personal. She knew them, or one of them. Or she knows one on her list and hasn’t hit him yet. But there’s a man who set her off, started her on her crusade. She was tuned in enough to Pettigrew to move fast—when he switched his LC to last night because Horowitz got off a day early. She was ready to go, she had it all in place.”
“Well, Jesus, she’ll have the next in place unless she’s done.”
“Not done.” Grim, Eve swung around a lumbering maxibus, punched it in front of a Rapid Cab. “She’d have, I don’t know, signed off or whatever you’d call it if this was it. And she’s escalated. She’s into it.”
She fought her way to the Upper East Side through traffic thick and jagged as a pile of bricks. And did her best to ignore the blasting cheer of ad blimps announcing Spring Sales! Top New Fashion Trends! until she slid into the wealth and privilege of Carnegie Hill. In the world of dog walkers, au pairs, and chauffeurs, she pulled up to the security station at a set of iron gates.
Through them, only a stone’s throw from the sidewalk, the house rose and spread, white limestone, tall, narrow windows, frilly balconies, dignified columns.
“Wow. It’s no Dallas Palace,” Peabody decided, “but it’s pretty mag. She must’ve done all right with the sale of the company.”
“It’s her grandmother’s. The ex lives with her grandmother.”
The Callahan household, the security comp announced, is unavailable for visitors at this time.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, NYPSD. We need to speak with Darla Pettigrew regarding a police investigation.”
She held up her badge for scanning.
Ms. Pettigrew is not available at this time.
“Make her available or I’ll come back with a warrant and we’ll have this visit at Cop Central. Scan the badge.”
A red light shot out, scanned.
Ms. Pettigrew will be informed of your arrival, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Please drive cautiously through the gates.
They slid apart with the faintest hum.
Eve drove through, parked in front of the wide, columned front entrance.
“Who’s the grandmother?” Peabody wondered as they got out of the car. “This place is abso-swank.”
“Some actress. Eloise Callahan.”
Peabody stopped dead, probably to avoid tripping over her jaw when it dropped to her feet. “Eloise Callahan! The Eloise Callahan?”
“The one who lives here.” Both clueless and disinterested, Eve walked to the arched double doors, rang the bell.
“Jesus, Dallas, Eloise Callahan isn’t just some actress. She’s like a legend.” Thrilled, Peabody had to press a hand to her heart. “She won like a zillion Oscars and Tonys and Emmys and you name it. And she was a total activist, too. She used her clout to help spearhead the Professional Parents Act, the gun ban. My granny actually marched with her. Granny said people tried to talk her