“When you said you didn’t think she knew, I didn’t really buy it.” Reo took a chair. “Now I do. She’s not scared, not bitter. She’s worried for him.”
“She loves him, and she trusts him. When she finds out what he’s part of, it’s going to cut her in half. She’s another victim. You can make her number fifty.”
Eve prowled, needed to move, move, move. She glanced toward the stairs twice, was on the point of going to them, maybe up them, when Petra ran down.
“He’s gone. He’s not upstairs. I tried to reach Mandy, but she doesn’t answer. He left me a note.”
Her hand trembled as she held it out. It said only:
“I don’t understand. What was he thinking? Can you look for him? If this crazy person is killing his friends—”
Slipped by the unit she had sitting on the house, Eve thought, furious with herself. She should’ve put them in the house, front and back.
“I want to look upstairs.”
“I— You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you, Mrs. Easterday. I’d like to look upstairs, have you come with me. I want you to look around, tell me if he took anything.”
“All right, whatever helps. Please hurry. I asked the house computer where he was, and it said he wasn’t in residence, and had left more than two hours ago. I know he wanted to help—his friends,” she continued as they went upstairs. “But he should be here, safe. He should be resting.”
She rushed by other rooms—guest rooms, another sort of parlor—and into a large suite.
The rich cream duvet was mussed, and the chocolate-brown throw tangled on it, as if someone had tried to rest there. A fire crackled low.
“I should have sat with him. I should have checked on him.”
“Would you check now, see if he packed anything?”
“Why would he do that?”
“Would you check?” Eve repeated.
Annoyance layered over the worry as Petra marched to a closet, flung its double doors open. Eve moved behind her, watched her open a panel in the back of the space.
“He’d have no reason to . . .”
“That’s where you keep the luggage.” Eve moved in further. “What did he take?”
“His—his Pullman. I don’t understand.” Frantic now, she pulled open one of the drawers in a cabinet. “God. The sweater his granddaughter gave him for Christmas. She made it. He loved it. And— God, I’m not sure. Some shirts. I think. I think some trousers. He packed clothes and left. I don’t understand.”
“Does he keep cash?”
“What? Yes, yes, we both do. There’s a safe . . .”
She swiveled the dresser out by a mechanism, revealed a wall safe behind it. Unlocked.
Petra pulled the door open. “It’s empty. I . . . I know he kept some cash in here, as I do in mine. The jewelry’s in another area.”
“Did you have the combination to his safe? Did you know the contents?”
“No. It’s his. I have my own. We respect each other’s— Oh God, he packed and left because he was afraid they might come here, hurt
“Home office?”
“Yes, yes, this way. Please, can’t you put out an alert? Whatever it is you do? Do I need to file a report, a request?”
“We’ll look for him,” Eve assured her. “I want your permission to bring in a search team, and your permission for our Electronic Detectives Division to take his electronics, search through them.”
“Anything that will help. I’m a lawyer’s wife, and I know I shouldn’t, but anything that helps you get him home safe. I’m going to try Jonas’s family. Maybe—”
She dashed out, left Eve and Reo alone in the office.
“He’s running.”
“He’s going to try to.”
Eve pulled out her communicator. “Dispatch. This is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Put out a BOLO on Easterday, Marshall,” she began.
It took nearly an hour for her to set up a search team and ream out the team watching the house. She arranged for the transfer of electronics, questioned Petra, the household staff.
She watched on house security as Easterday slipped out the rear of the house with his suitcase, his face a mask of fear and guilt.
He’d been too smart to take a cab—she’d already checked. Maybe he’d caught one a few blocks away, or ordered a private car service—not his usual, as she’d checked that as well. Or maybe he’d just walked as far as he could walk and lost himself on the streets of the city.
“He doesn’t have that much of a lead,” Reo said as she waited for her cab. “You’ve got transpo stations, public and private, on alert.”
“What I’d do is hire a car from New Jersey, have it take me out of the city. Maybe back to New Jersey, or upstate, or to Pennsylvania. Then I’d hire another one to take me somewhere else. Put miles on, and then with the passport I sure as hell have with me, I’d get on a shuttle to anywhere that doesn’t have extradition with the U.S. I’d change my name, my hair, my face, and poof.”
“You’re a cop, and you could probably get away with it. He’s not thinking that clear. Here’s my cab. If you need me, just tag me.”
Eve got into her own car, and with a heavy heart drove off to question Dennis Mira again.
