Whitney rose. “Lieutenant, if and when you need additional manpower, it will be assigned. While you correctly initiated a Code Blue, it won’t hold. There are substantial leaks already—too many people, including civilians, to cover. The department, and the mayor, will issue statements. I’ll take point there, at this time.”
“Yes, sir. Considering Doctor Mira’s profile, the media attention is what he wants. That may satisfy him, at least long enough for the investigation to earmark a suspect. Or it may charge him up so he does it again—and bigger.”
“I agree.” Mira nodded. “I’d like to work with you and the media liaison on the statement, Commander. How it’s worded, and how it’s delivered could buy us time before another attack.”
“We’ll get started immediately. Whatever you need,” he told Eve, then turned briefly to the others. “Good hunting,” he said, and left them.
“Let’s get to work. I want all notifications done tonight.” Nobody, she determined, was going to hear they’d lost their spouse, child, father or mother, sister or brother over the damn screen. “Take a booster if you need it, but I want the interviews started. Be prepared to report, in detail, at eight hundred hours. Dismissed.”
She turned to Peabody. “This is our briefing room until we close. It’s secured when we’re not in it. Make that happen. We’re going to split the notifications. Take a uniform with you. One you know hashis shit together. We’ve got the top twenty-five in numerical order. You take the last twelve of that. When you’re done with that, I want you to go over the reports—crime scene, ME, whatever we get from the lab, anything further from EDD. Write your own report from that, send it to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get some sleep, and be ready at zero eight hundred.”
“I’ll take Uniform Carmichael if he’s still around. Otherwise—”
“If you want Carmichael, take him. If he’s off shift, tell him he’s back on.”
“I’ll get him.”
She turned to Feeney as he walked up.
“He got hits on the two women going in the bar.” His gaze tracked to the board, and Eve knew.
“Which are they?”
“Numbers sixty and forty-two. Hilly and Cate Simpson. Sisters. Hilly Simpson lives in Virginia, the other’s a buyer for City Girl, some ladies’ shop right down from the bar.”
“Sister came in to visit, maybe. They went in for a drink, maybe to meet the New York sister’s friends. Jesus Christ.”
“Twenty-three and twenty-six. Age,” Feeney explained, and rubbed at his face. “Some of them tire you out before you get started.”
“Hit my office for some real coffee.”
“Might just.” He pulled out his communicator when it signaled. “Here’s something. We got another hit. The couple who walked out at seventeen-twenty-nine. Got a hit on her anyway. Shelby Carstein, works at Strongfield and Klein.”
“Same firm as Brewster, one of the survivors.”
“Got an address on her.”
“Send it to me. I want to talk to her.”
“Already sent. Listen, we can’t give you much more on the ’links until we have more to work with,” he began. “You get us the vics’ electronics, we’ll be all over them. We’ll start on their memo books, scan through, see what we can find. But unless one of them was a specific target, or involved, we’re shooting in the dark.”
“Understood. I’m going to swing by the lab, see what I can shake loose, then go see Shelby Carstein.”
“If I’m not needed in EDD,” Roarke said, “I’m with you, Lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant. Sorry.” Trueheart jogged back in. “We had some people come in. Two of them stated they’d been in the bar, left a coworker there. Another states he’s the bar manager.”
“Where are they?”
“The sergeant on the desk put the two in the lounge, the manager in Interview A. He didn’t think you’d want them together.”
“He’d be right. I’ll take the two, then the
“Yes, sir. Considering Doctor Mira’s profile, the media attention is what he wants. That may satisfy him, at least long enough for the investigation to earmark a suspect. Or it may charge him up so he does it again—and bigger.”
“I agree.” Mira nodded. “I’d like to work with you and the media liaison on the statement, Commander. How it’s worded, and how it’s delivered could buy us time before another attack.”
“We’ll get started immediately. Whatever you need,” he told Eve, then turned briefly to the others. “Good hunting,” he said, and left them.
“Let’s get to work. I want all notifications done tonight.” Nobody, she determined, was going to hear they’d lost their spouse, child, father or mother, sister or brother over the damn screen. “Take a booster if you need it, but I want the interviews started. Be prepared to report, in detail, at eight hundred hours. Dismissed.”
She turned to Peabody. “This is our briefing room until we close. It’s secured when we’re not in it. Make that happen. We’re going to split the notifications. Take a uniform with you. One you know hashis shit together. We’ve got the top twenty-five in numerical order. You take the last twelve of that. When you’re done with that, I want you to go over the reports—crime scene, ME, whatever we get from the lab, anything further from EDD. Write your own report from that, send it to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get some sleep, and be ready at zero eight hundred.”
“I’ll take Uniform Carmichael if he’s still around. Otherwise—”
“If you want Carmichael, take him. If he’s off shift, tell him he’s back on.”
“I’ll get him.”
She turned to Feeney as he walked up.
“He got hits on the two women going in the bar.” His gaze tracked to the board, and Eve knew.
“Which are they?”
“Numbers sixty and forty-two. Hilly and Cate Simpson. Sisters. Hilly Simpson lives in Virginia, the other’s a buyer for City Girl, some ladies’ shop right down from the bar.”
“Sister came in to visit, maybe. They went in for a drink, maybe to meet the New York sister’s friends. Jesus Christ.”
“Twenty-three and twenty-six. Age,” Feeney explained, and rubbed at his face. “Some of them tire you out before you get started.”
“Hit my office for some real coffee.”
“Might just.” He pulled out his communicator when it signaled. “Here’s something. We got another hit. The couple who walked out at seventeen-twenty-nine. Got a hit on her anyway. Shelby Carstein, works at Strongfield and Klein.”
“Same firm as Brewster, one of the survivors.”
“Got an address on her.”
“Send it to me. I want to talk to her.”
“Already sent. Listen, we can’t give you much more on the ’links until we have more to work with,” he began. “You get us the vics’ electronics, we’ll be all over them. We’ll start on their memo books, scan through, see what we can find. But unless one of them was a specific target, or involved, we’re shooting in the dark.”
“Understood. I’m going to swing by the lab, see what I can shake loose, then go see Shelby Carstein.”
“If I’m not needed in EDD,” Roarke said, “I’m with you, Lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant. Sorry.” Trueheart jogged back in. “We had some people come in. Two of them stated they’d been in the bar, left a coworker there. Another states he’s the bar manager.”
“Where are they?”
“The sergeant on the desk put the two in the lounge, the manager in Interview A. He didn’t think you’d want them together.”
“He’d be right. I’ll take the two, then the
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