“That’s where
“Does it? Does it really? Or is it when you’re sleeping or not around they start having parties in it, drinking brew, eating snacks, watching screen?”
“You’re creeping me out.”
“You should be creeped. What’s to stop them from having doll orgies in there? Ever think of that?”
“Not until right now.”
“Next thing you know, there’ll be doll weapons and vehicles.”
“They already have those.”
“See.”
Point made, Eve turned to the sturdy building that housed Carlee MacKensie’s apartment. She opted for her master—Why give the woman time to prepare?—and walked into the skinny lobby.
“I have to pee. You scared the piss out of me, now I have to pee. Don’t make me walk up four flights of steps.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” To settle it, Peabody pushed the elevator button. “I can’t get this image of a bunch of drunk dolls doing it all over the dollhouse. Gay dolls, straight dolls, threesomes. It’s my new nightmare.”
“They probably make doll strap-ons.”
“Oh God, I beg you to stop.” Peabody all but jumped into the elevator when it opened. “Loose pants, loose pants. Don’t kick my ass, I’m trying to take my mind off having to pee. And sex-crazed dolls. I’m seeing Gracie Magill with a strap-on.”
“Who?”
“My favorite doll as a kid. Loose pants, loose pants.”
“You had a doll with a last name?” Eve pressed the buzzer on the MacKensie apartment. “Why do dolls need last names?”
“For their ID, to buy the brew and the strap-ons.”
“I figured they just stole them when they climbed in and out of windows at night to burgle houses.”
“You’re just being mean now.”
“I could keep this up all day.”
The intercom buzzed. “Yes?” And Peabody breathed a quiet, “Thank you, Jesus.”
“NYPSD,” Eve announced, and held up her badge. “We’d like to speak with you, Ms. MacKensie.”
“What about?”
“Edward Mira.”
After a moment, locks clicked off, the door opened a couple cautious inches. Eve saw pale red hair messily bundled into a top bun and a pair of suspicious blue eyes.
“What about him?”
“Do you want to discuss your relationship with him out here, Ms. MacKensie?”
Eve saw the lips compress, the eyes dart left then right. “We don’t have a relationship,” she said, but opened the door.
She wore baggy sweatpants and a hoodie with thick socks. Her skin was so white it nearly glowed beneath its scatter shot of ginger-colored freckles.
“You did have,” Eve said and stepped in.
“I haven’t seen or talked to Edward in weeks, since the end of November.”
“Excuse me. I’m sorry,” Peabody interrupted. “Could I use your bathroom?”
Now Carlee bit her bottom lip, but nodded. “Ah, okay. I guess. It’s . . .” She gestured, but Peabody was already on the move.
“Thanks!”
“I guess you want to sit down.”
“I can stand if you’d rather,” Eve told her.
“I guess we’ll sit down.”
She had a couch and a couple of chairs, facing an entertainment screen—and facing away from a workstation under the window.
Carlee chose a chair, sat with her knees together, her fingers linked in her lap. “I don’t understand why you want to talk to me about Edward.”
“He’s dead, Ms. MacKensie.”
Carlee’s tightly pressed lips fell apart. “What? How? When?”
“He was murdered last night.”
“Mur-murdered?”
“You say you haven’t seen him since November.”
“That’s right. Are you talking about Senator Mira?”
“Yes. How did you meet him?”
“It was— It was a political fund-raiser. I had a media pass because I was researching an article, and . . .” She paused as Peabody came back.
“Thanks,” Peabody said again, and sat beside Eve.
“That’s okay. I, um, usually tend to observe rather than ask a lot of questions. I guess I was about the only one there with a media pass who wasn’t asking questions, so he came over to me when I was sitting, taking notes, brought me a glass of wine. He said how if I didn’t have any questions for him, he had some for me. I was a little flustered, but he was so charming.”
“How soon did you begin a sexual relationship?”
Carlee flushed brightly, hotly pink, and her eyes darted away. “I know it was wrong. He was married—I knew he was married. He said he and his wife had an arrangement, but that doesn’t make it right.”
“We’re not here to judge you, Ms. MacKensie,” Peabody told her. “We need to gather information.”
“I knew it was wrong,” she repeated. “He said we’d go have a drink, and I thought how I could get a bigger article, or maybe a couple of stories, so we left there and went to have a drink. Then two. He had his driver take me home. Nobody’s ever done that for me. And he paid such attention. I don’t know how to explain it, but he made me feel pretty and sexy.”
