Delusion in Death

17

The Callaways, Russell and Audrey, sat on opposite sides of the table in Interview. She looked nervous; he looked belligerent.

He’d have been in his seventies, but she could clearly see the man Audrey Hubbard had found attractive. Russell emanated strength, steadiness, and a no-bullshit toughness.

“Mr. and Mrs. Callaway.” Eve kept her tone and her step brisk as she moved to the table, sat. “I’m Lieutenant Dallas, and this is Agent Teasdale. Thank you for coming.”

“Don’t see we had much choice.” Russell gave her a hard stare out of faded blue eyes. “Your people come onto the farm, right onto private property and say how we gotta go with them to New York City. Nobody tells us a damn thing, just get and go. We got squash to harvest.”

She could safely say it was the first time she’d heard that used as a complaint or excuse in Interview.

“And we’ll try to get you back to that quickly. We’re going to record this interview.”

“Can I get you anything before we begin?” Teasdale asked. “Coffee, water, a soft drink?”

“We don’t need anything.” Russell folded his arms, set his squared, weathered face into pugnacious lines.

“Record on,” Eve said. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Teasdale, Agent Miyu, in Interview with Russell and Audrey Callaway. I’m going to read you your rights.”

“We haven’t done anything. Russ.” Audrey reached across the table for her husband’s hand.

He gave hers an impatient pat. “Don’t worry. They’re just trying to scare us.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Eve read them both their rights, asked if they understood.

“We’ve got the right to mind our own business, too. And that’s what we do.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Callaway. But in minding your own business, I suspect you’ve heard about the two incidents here in New York.”

“It’s all over the screen night and day, isn’t it?”

“I imagine so.”

“It’s nothing to do with us.”

“No? Your son, Lewis Callaway, was in On the Rocks, the bar where the first incident took place. He left minutes before it happened.”

“Lew was there?” Audrey clutched at her throat and the small gold cross she wore there.

“You didn’t know?” Eve leaned back, rocking slightly on the back legs of her chair. “Reports on the incidents are all over the screen, you have a son who lives and works not only in New York, but within blocks of both locations. You didn’t think to contact him, make sure he was okay?”

“I—”

“How are we supposed to know all this happened near his work or his place?” Russ demanded. “We don’t know the layout of New York. We’ve never been here before, and don’t much like being here now.”

“You’ve never come up to visit your son?” Teasdale asked them, in the most pleasant and sympathetic of voices.

“He’s the one moved to this godless place. We don’t have the time or wherewithal to come hieing up here. He comes home to visit.”

“Is he all right?” Audrey asked. “I tried to get a hold of him, but he didn’t answer. He texted me back last night, just to say he was fine, and he was busy. But you said he was there, at that place where it happened.”

“That’s right, with some coworkers. One of them died there.”

“Oh.” Again she closed her hand over her cross. “Rest his soul.”

“He lost other coworkers there, and at the café where the second incident took place.”

“Oh, this is terrible. Russ, we have to go see him. He must be very upset.”

“Not upset enough to tell you he lost someone he’d worked with for years. Someone he’d just had a drink with.”

“He’s got no cause to worry his mother.”

“Maybe not, Mr. Callaway, but it strikes me his mother was already worried. That’s why she tried to contact him. When’s the last time you saw or spoke to him?”

“He came down a few weeks ago, stayed a couple days. Audrey, you stop fretting now.”

“I see he’s come to see you several times in the last few months.” Eve opened a file, scanned data. “Yet previously, his visits were spaced much further apart. Once a year.”

“He’s very busy.” Head down, Audrey spoke quietly. “He has an important position in his firm. People depend on him. He has important clients, and a very demanding job.”

“Have you ever met any of his coworkers?”

“No.” Russell spoke before his wife could. “We’ve got nothing to do with any of that.”

“I’m sure he’s shared stories.” Teasdale spread her hands. “About the people he works with, his friends, his work.”

“I said we’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“But an important man with such a demanding job, and all these recent visits. Surely he’d talk about his life here.”

“We don’t really understand his work.” Audrey shot her husband a nervous glance.

“Why has he come home so often recently?” Eve demanded.

“It’s restful. It’s restful on the farm.”

“Restful ’cause you wait on him hand and foot. Up till all hours doing God knows what. Can’t risk his soft hands on a good day’s work.”

“Now, Russ.”

“The truth’s the truth, but it’s none of your business,” he said to Eve. “What are you after here?”

“Oh, it isn’t clear? Your son is a person of interest in this investigation.”

“What does that mean?” Audrey looked from Eve to her husband, back again. “I don’t understand what that means.”

“You mean you think he had something to do with it? With killing those people?”

“No. No. No.” Audrey covered her face with her hands, did her best to turn herself into a ball while Russell stared at Eve.

And she saw it in his eyes. Shock, yes. And a little fear. But not dismissal, not rejection of the idea.

“You moved a lot while he was growing up,” Eve commented.

“I went where the work was.”

“I don’t think so. You were—are a trained medical, Mr. Callaway, and someone with your qualifications and experience doesn’t have to travel for work. He did things, didn’t he? Got into trouble. Small things at first. Boys will be boys, right? But there was something, always something not quite right. The neighbors didn’t much like him. The other kids didn’t want to play with him. Then there were bigger things, things you had to deny or cover over. Best thing to do is move away, start again. He never made friends. Nothing was ever really enough, or satisfying to him, not for long.”

“He got picked on,” Audrey claimed. “He was sensitive.”

“Broody,” she suggested, remembering Elaine’s words. “Moody, sulky. Holed up in his room. You schooled him from home. It was better that way, for him. You thought that because he didn’t make friends, didn’t like being told what to do and when to do it.”

“He just needed more attention. Some boys need more attention. He never hurt anyone.”

“He’d start rumors.” Teasdale sat in her quiet way. “Tell the boy next door what the girl down the block said about him, whether she did or not. He enjoyed stirring up trouble—maybe stealing things, then planting them on someone else. Watching others fight over the trouble he’d stirred.”

“He did the same to the two of you,” Eve continued. “You especially, Mrs. Callaway. Little lies, quiet little sabotage to cause conflict and friction between you. He still does it when he can. When he comes to visit you, there’s always some upheaval, some new tension.

It’s such a relief when he’s gone again.”

“That’s not true, that’s not true. He’s our son. We love him.”

“Love’s never been enough for him.” Eve saw it clearly in Audrey Callaway’s eyes. “When he comes you make his favorite meals, wash his clothes, wait on him like a servant. And still, he looks at you with contempt—or worse, boredom.

“But just recently, he’s taken more of an interest. He’s had questions. When did he find out Guiseppi Menzini was his grandfather?”

“Oh no. No.”

“Hush now, Audrey. Hush now.” Russell laid his big, hard hand over his wife’s, but Eve saw a gentleness in the gesture this time. “We’re Christian people. We live our life, don’t bother anybody.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” Teasdale folded her hands neatly on the table. “I’m sure you tried to be a credit to Edward and Tessa Hubbard, Mrs. Callaway.”

“Of course.”

“When did you learn they weren’t your biological parents?”

“Oh God. Russ.”

“Listen here, Audrey, she was raised by good people. She didn’t know anything about Menzini until her father was dying. He thought she needed to know. It’d been better if he’d let it die with him, but he was sick and dying and afraid she’d find out when he wasn’t there to explain how it was.”

“That man wasn’t my father. Edward Hubbard was my father, and Tessa Hubbard was my mother. The woman who bore me, she strayed, she did bad things, but she repented. She redeemed herself. She died trying to protect me.”

“When did you tell him? When did you tell Lewis?”

“Russ—”

“If he did something, Audrey, it’s our responsibility to say. He’s our son, and we’re the ones who have to say.”

“He couldn’t do something like this.”

“Then you can help clear it up, put him off the list,” Eve prompted. “What did he find? What did you tell him?”

“There were things—journals and essays and mementos, pictures. I’m not sure. I never really went through all of it. My mother boxed everything up. They talked about destroying it all, Dad said, but it didn’t seem right. So they kept it all boxed up, put away, and my father told me about what had happened before he died.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Russ, I can’t.”

He only nodded. “I tended to Audrey’s father while he was dying, and I guess he could see I cared for Audrey. And she cared for me. So he told me everything, or everything he knew. Tessa’s half-sister was wild. She married a good man, but she betrayed him, and ran away to join Menzini’s cult. They used God’s word, twisted and defiled it to prey on the weak. She lay with him, and had his child. She was one of them. But she came to realize she’d taken an evil path, came back to her husband with the child. She begged for forgiveness from him, from her family.”

“And William took her back,” Eve prompted. “Took you as his own.”

“He was a good man,” Audrey said. “And he forgave her. They were going to take me away from her, and she ran away with me, went home.”

“But this Menzini found them,” Russell continued. “He killed them, took the child. William Hubbard was a soldier. He and his wife searched for the child, and finally found her. Menzini had vanished, but they feared for the child. They left their home, their friends and family, and came here to America. They changed her name, and raised her as theirs.”

“They loved me. They were good, and gave me a good life. I’m their daughter. Theirs.”

“Mrs. Callaway, I don’t believe in the sins of the father. I believe we make our choices, make ourselves. I believe Edward and Tessa Hubbard did the very best they could for you, and loved you, and that you were their daughter.”

“I was. I am.”

“Lewis found the boxes?”

“He came home. He was restless, and upset. Something at work. Someone stole one of his ideas.”

“Audrey.” Russell sighed.

“They didn’t appreciate him or respect him enough,” she insisted, with an edge of desperation in her voice. “That’s what he said. I don’t know why he went up in the attic. We were working outside. He found some things, and started to ask questions. We talked it over, and decided we should tell him. We should tell him what had happened all that time ago, and we should destroy everything. It isn’t who we are.”

“But he didn’t want you to destroy it.”

“He said it was his legacy, his right. That he should know his family tree, the truth of it. He seemed—not happy, but satisfied. He seemed calmer. As if, I thought, he’d always known something was different, and now that he knew the truth, it contented him.”

“He came back for more.”

“I had things of my mother’s. My mother,” she said, laying a hand on her heart. “And some things she’d kept from when she and her half-sister were young. Some I have in the house. My mother’s dishes, and some of her jewelry. Not heirlooms, really,” she said as her hand covered the little cross again, “but they matter. He was sure there was more, on Gina MacMillon, my mother’s half-sister, on Menzini. He searched the attic, the basement, the outbuildings. He came back again, again, looking, asking the same questions.”

“You don’t know what was in the boxes? You never went through them.”

“Not really. I looked, after my father died. I read some of Gina’s journal entries, but they were upsetting—written when she’d run off with the cult—so I stopped. She died for me, so I couldn’t throw her things away, but I didn’t want to read what she’d written when she’d lost her faith.”

“But he wanted to. Lewis wanted to read the journals.”

“He said it was important to know. And he …”

“What?”

“Don’t be angry,” she said to her husband. “Please.”

“Did he hurt you?” Russell’s fist balled on the table.

“No. No, he didn’t.”

“Has he hurt you before?” Teasdale asked.

“It was a long time ago. He lost his temper.”

“He wanted shoes, some fancy shoes we couldn’t afford. His mother caught him stealing money from her household bank. When she tried to stop him, he struck her. He struck her with his fist. He was sixteen, and though she tried to make excuses for him, I could see what he’d done. He came home with those damned shoes, and for the first time in his life, I laid hands on him. I struck him, my son, as he had struck his mother. I burned the shoes. He apologized, he made amends, and for a while …”

“It seemed better,” Teasdale prompted.

“But it wasn’t, not underneath it all. We knew,” he said to his wife, and laid a hand over hers again. “We knew.”

“We just couldn’t make him happy. But he’s a successful man now. He has a good job.”

Russell shook his head. “He lies, Audrey, he’s always lied and sneaked around, and connived to cause trouble. What do you think he’s done?” he asked Eve.

“I think he found information, and he’s used that information, as his grandfather did. He’s responsible for the deaths of more than a hundred and twenty people.”

“That can’t be true. You’re only saying that because you found out about Menzini. You’re using that to accuse Lew. Russell, tell them!”

But he only sat, and to Eve’s surprise, and pity, tears slid down his cheeks. “He’s our son. We wanted a child, so much. We did our best by him. We did everything we knew. You’re saying he’s evil. How do we believe that? How do we live with that?”

“They’re wrong. They have to be wrong.”

“I can pray they’re wrong. But we always knew.”

“You don’t love him!”

“I wish I didn’t.”

Audrey broke down, laid her head on the table, sobbed. Russell sat, head bowed, silent tears running down his face.

When they stepped outside the room, Teasdale glanced back. “They’ll grieve.”

“A lot of people will.” Eve pulled out her ’link, nodded. “Peabody’s back. I need to talk to her, and we need to keep the Callaways under wrap. He’s going to be here any minute.”

Mira came out of Observation. “I’d like to go in and speak with them now.”

“Could you give me some time first?” Teasdale asked. “In this first wave of grief, they may tell me more.”

“Callaway’s coming in soon,” Eve told Mira, “and I need you in there. Why don’t you observe for a few minutes, and if you think Teasdale’s got in, come to the conference room. I’ll signal you when we’ve got him set,” she told Teasdale. “Here’s how it’s going to work.”

Once Eve laid it out, she went straight to Peabody in the conference room. “Give me what you got, make it quick.”

“Boiled down, Fisher wasn’t a Callaway fan. She bitched about him to the roommate. Main beef? He had her do some grunt work on one of his projects. She came up with a fresh angle, created an entire ad—tags, visuals, market projections. He took the credit.”

“Did she tell Weaver?”

“No. But the next time he dumped something on her, she dated and initialed all her work. And she ran it all by Weaver first, like she was looking for a second, more experienced opinion.”

“Smart. She got the credit, and he had to swallow it.”

“He never used her again. Plus she got a bonus, and got to head another, smaller project. Fisher was friends with one of the people she chose for the project team. I went to see her, too. She corroborated the roommate’s story.”

“We’ve got the Callaways in Interview. Teasdale’s doing a second pass.” She paused when Mira came in.

“Has Teasdale got it?”

“Yes, she’s very good. I’ll talk with them later.”

“I need to run this through for Peabody, and I’d like your opinion,” she told Mira. “It’s looking like they moved around a lot because Callaway got into trouble as a kid. He punched his mother in the face when she caught him stealing from the house bank.”

“Nice,” Peabody muttered.

“For shoes. The father tore him a new one, first physical discipline according to the father. Destroyed the shoes. The timing coordinates with them staying put, staying in one place, until he went to college.”

“Factoring in what else we know and believe, this incident taught him that authority, or those stronger than he, could punish or hurt him,” Mira said. “He went under—that is, changed the face, the surface in order to blend. Violence brought violence on him.

“Their hearts are broken,” Mira added, “because in those hearts they know he’s capable of doing what he’s done. And because they love him, and did the best they could.”

“He made his choice. It’s not on them.”

“Parents always feel the pride, and the responsibility.”

“It’s going to get tougher on them, so you’ll help them there. A lot of stories are going to come out once we take him down. Things he did, trouble he caused, people he pissed off.” Eve checked the time, cutting it close. “Additionally, he found out about his connection to Menzini a few months ago. The trigger.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“The mother kept documents, photos, journals—and I want a look at those. She had them stored away. Whatever’s in there has to include the formula.”

“That not only gave him means,” Mira commented, “but permission.”

“I’m sending a team over to his place. They’ll find it, and that’s the smoking gun. If the PA can’t build a solid case from what we’re stacking for him, he’s useless. But I want Callaway to tell us. I want him to need to tell us. We’re frustrated, missing pieces, basically nowhere, and under pressure from the media, from the brass.”

“We’re a bunch of women,” Peabody put in, “who need his help.”

“That’s how we start it. Give me five to set up the search team. I’ll bring him in when he gets here, so look busy and baffled.”

“Take off your jacket,” Mira told her.

“What?”

“Leave your jacket on the back of the chair. You’ll appear more desk work–oriented, and it exposes your weapon. He’ll resent the fact you have a weapon. You’re an authority figure, capable of violence, yet he’s smarter, so much more clever.”

“Got it.” Eve tugged it off, stood in a black sweater and shoulder harness. “Teasdale’s coming in after he’s here. We don’t like her.”

“Actually, I kind of do.”

“Peabody, catch on.”

“Oh, we act like we don’t.”

“Five minutes,” Eve said and hurried out.

She contacted Jenkinson and Reineke first, ordered them to coordinate with Cher Reo for the warrant and move on it immediately. As she contacted Roarke she grabbed one more cup of real coffee.

“I figured I’d get your admin,” she said when he came on himself.

“I happen to be free at the moment.”

“I’ve got Callaway coming in to help the inept females, and a search warrant for his place. He found docs his mother had stored away. I need them. Maybe he’s got some docs on where he’s getting the drugs, the fixings. I need his source. Jenkinson and Reineke are getting the warrant and implementing it. If you want in—”

“It sounds like fun.”

“If you’re busy with—”

“Aren’t I entitled to a bit of fun?”

“You’re right. It’s the least I can do for you. I’m going to see if Feeney can join in, or send McNab. I want all his electronics, and if he’s not a complete idiot, he’s got a hide in his place. Somewhere the cleaning people or a casual guest wouldn’t stumble on his work. He has to cook up the substance somewhere.”

“Even more fun.”

“I’m going to get mine by twisting a confession out of him.”

“We’ll plan to celebrate later.”

“How?”

He smiled, slow and wicked. “I’ll think of something. Kick his ass, Lieutenant.”

“Count on it.”

When she got the signal Callaway was on his way up, she strode back into the bullpen, caught Carmichael and Sanchez on their way out.

“We caught a fresh one,” Carmichael told her.

“Let it hold a minute. Give me grief.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Suspect’s coming up. Give me grief, put on a show, storm out. Mostly you,” she said to Sanchez. “He sees women as weak and expendable.”

“Is that so?” Carmichael muttered.

“What the hell do you expect?” Sanchez demanded, his voice bordering on a shout. “I’m running this department, working damn near around the clock.”

“Hold it down, Detective,” Eve ordered, but wearily.

“I am holding it down. Holding it all down, while you’re dancing with the feds, giving the media face time, and running in circles.”

“We are carrying a lot, Lieutenant.”

“We?” Sanchez rounded on his partner. “I’m carrying you, sister, just like always. And while I am Dallas sucks up all the manpower, all the resources. Every case we’ve got, that you dumped on us, is backed up because the lab’s put everything else on hold—on your authority.”

“I’ve got a mass murderer who could strike again at any time, anywhere in the city,” Eve began.

“Yeah, and you’re nowhere. You’d rather see this department go to hell than step back and let the feds take it. Get this, and get it straight, when you go down for screwing this up, I’m not going down with you.”

He strode out, bulling by Callaway. Carmichael hunched in. “He hasn’t had much sleep, Lieutenant.” With a last nervous look, she hurried out after Sanchez.

Eve let out a long sigh, dragged her hands through her hair as she turned. She jolted, wished she could pull off an embarrassed blush, but thought her expression accomplished the same thing.

“Mr. Callaway, thanks for coming in.”

“Your detective made it sound important.” He glanced back in the direction Sanchez and Carmichael had taken, didn’t quite mask the smirk before he sent Eve a sympathetic look. “It must be a difficult situation for you.”

“Everyone’s overworked and on edge. If you’ll come with me, we’re set up in a conference room.”

“I’m not sure what I can do,” he said as Eve led the way. “How I can help.”

“You knew several of the victims, of both attacks. You’re familiar with both locations—the layout, the employees, the neighborhood. My sense, when we talked before, is you’re observant, and the fact you were actually in the first location may help.”

“Believe me, I’ve gone over that evening countless times.”

“We’re hoping if we talk you through it again, you may remember some small detail. I’m not going to lie to you—” Oh yeah, she thought, I am. “We’re in a bind.”

She opened the door to the conference room, blocking the way for just a moment to make sure her voice carried in. “I have to tell you what we discuss here, what you see here is confidential. I’m trusting you, Mr. Callaway.”

“You can. Please, call me Lew.”

“Lew.” She tried for a relieved smile as she gestured him inside. “Detective Peabody, my partner, and Doctor Mira, our profiler.”

Peabody nodded, continued to work on a computer while Mira rose, hand extended. “Thank you for coming in to consult.”

“I consider it my duty.”

“If only more did.”

“Do you want some crappy coffee, something from Vending?” Eve asked him.

He gave her an easy smile. “Crappy coffee’s just fine.” He moved forward to the boards, shifted to study the victims. “All of these people. I knew how many. The media’s reported so much. But seeing them like this, all together. It’s shocking.”

“Those responsible have a great deal to answer for,” Mira stated.

“You’re looking for more than one person?”

“We’ve determined it’s not possible for a single individual to pull this off.” Eve spoke briskly as she programmed a pot of coffee. “It’s too complex, involves too much risk, too much planning, too many steps.”

“At this time,” Mira put in, “we feel it’s most probable we’re dealing with a group.” She gestured to the victim board again. “In each case one of these people sacrificed themselves for the whole.”

“My God.” He took the coffee Eve offered, ignored her. “But why?”

“We have a few theories, but foremost, if there’s a group, there’s a head.” Eve took a seat. “Whoever that is, must be charismatic, dominant, and highly organized and intelligent. The target locations catered to businesses and offices like your own.”

“People who work and live in that area,” Mira continued, joining Eve at the table so Callaway stood in the position of dominance. “We expected, and hoped, he would issue a statement, reveal his agenda or demands. The fact that he hasn’t proves him canny and very, very dangerous. He understands the value of noninformation, of inciting fear and panic. Those who believe in him believe in that agenda. Without that information …” She lifted her hands.

“Which is where you might be able to help,” Eve told him. “We’ve been able to eliminate some of the victims, through background checks, interviews. We’re taking a close look at survivors of the attacks.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. Whoever the leader sent in would have the best chance of surviving—knowing what’s coming, being able to take some sort of defense against it.”

“Exactly. It helps we don’t have to spell everything out for you.”

“Just common sense again,” he said to Eve.

“Now the lab has been able to identify the most probable source, and we’ve reconstructed the attack—again the most probable scenario given the data.”

“A reconstruction? It may jog something if I could see it.”

You’d love it, Eve thought. “Let’s hope we don’t have to go there, Lew. Even computer-generated, it’s gruesome.” She opened a file. “This woman.” She tapped her finger on CiCi Way’s photo. “Do you recognize her?”

“She looks familiar.” He knitted his brows.

“She’s one of the survivors.”

He took the photo, studied it carefully. “Yes. Yes, I remember her. She was with the woman you asked us about yesterday evening. Sitting at a table with two men.”

“If you could think back carefully,” Mira urged him. “Try to visualize the bar, your position, the movements, this woman.”

“I had my back to the room the majority of the time.”

“There was a mirror behind the bar,” Eve reminded him.

“And we tend to see things that don’t really register at the time, but we can bring back.” Mira leaned forward. “I’m trained in hypnotherapy. If you’ll allow me, I might be able to help you remember.”

“Just give me a minute to think, to visualize.” When he closed his eyes, Eve exchanged a quick glance with Mira.

“I can see her at the table,” Callaway said slowly. “She and the other three. A lot of laughter, drinking, eating. But she … I see her looking around, and checking the time. Yes, she’s tracking the room, shifting in her chair.”

“As if she were nervous?” Mira asked.

“It strikes me that way. I didn’t pay attention at the time. Or I might’ve thought she was nervous to be on a kind of blind date.”

“Why do you think she was on a blind date?” Eve asked.

His eyes opened, stared into hers for a moment. “I must’ve heard her say. I honestly don’t—wait, yes, wait. She and the other woman got up. I think they must’ve gone down to the restroom. I can’t be sure, but they left the table, passed right by us at the bar. In fact, I was standing up by then, starting to leave. She bumped into me. Didn’t even apologize. I think she said something to the other woman about it being a blind date.”

“So, this woman didn’t actually know the man she was with.”

“I don’t believe so. But I had the sense the two women were friends. Good God, how could she do that to her friend, to someone who trusted her?”

“Trust is often a weapon,” Eve said. “But we’re not absolutely certain CiCi Way was a source.”

“You believe she was.” He shook his head as he studied her picture again. “She’s young. The young are often impressionable, easily swayed. Easily used.”

“Did you see them come back?”

“I was getting ready to leave, as I said, but Joe stalled me for a few minutes.” He lifted his face to the ceiling, eyes half shut. “I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in nearly a week. I was exhausted. Joe wanted me to stay. His wife was away with the kids, and he wasn’t in the mood to go home to an empty house. But I wanted to get home, just crash for the night. I’d gotten up, yes, that’s right. I was standing, telling Joe I’d see him in the morning, when they came back. Passed the bar again. They had to walk right by to get to their table.”

He lowered his face, widened his eyes at Eve. “She wasn’t watching where she was going.”

“No?”

“It was still crowded, and she was looking around again. She shoved at me. Shoved me out of her way as she went by as if she was in a hurry, and she said something rude. Something like, ‘Move your ass.’ I’d forgotten all about that. I’ve been so wrapped up in what happened to Joe, I’d forgotten about that. I walked to the door as they walked to the table. I know I looked back, she’d been so rude—and she … she took something out of her pocket as she sat down. She reached in her pocket.

“She’s the one.” He laid his hand over the face in the photo. “She has to be the one.”

As he spoke, the door opened and Teasdale walked in. She hesitated as she spotted Callaway, then sent Eve a hard stare. “Lieutenant, I need to speak with you a moment. Privately.”

“We may just have caught a break,” Eve began.

“I prefer not to have this discussion in front of a civilian.”

Eve surged to her feet, stomped out.

“Looks like a power struggle,” Callaway said.

“You could say so.” Peabody looked up from her computer. “While they’re at it, let’s go over those details again.”