"Oh, sure, but I don't babysit. I'm not supposed to do that."
"Why not? You look like you'd be a very good babysitter."
"You have to go now." Leah went out of the dining room, then down the back stairs, leading the way to the front door.
Eloise hesitated even as her adrenaline kicked in and her training directed her to move. The girl was out of her sight, and she now had put together enough of the pieces to know she'd made a number of tactical errors. She'd heard of the girl from the interviews, but didn't know she lived here. No one had mentioned that, not Alison, not Lynn. And Leah had worked in the Perkins house. That meant she had access, maybe even her own key. They had assumed it was the old lady. Now her heart slammed away in her chest telling her to get the hell out of the house and call for backup. She reached for her phone and realized that it was off. Berating herself for a dozen stupidities, she started down the stairs.
Fifty-one
The rain started again as April and Woody came out of the building and dived into the car. Woody ground the key in the ignition before the door was closed, and the engine roared to life.
"Perkins house," she said, which was close enough.
"I know," he muttered. He pulled out, barely looking as a bus was cruising in. The driver hit the horn. Woody hit the siren and cut him off.
April shut her eyes to the offense and punched the number one on her phone. Mike's voice mail came on immediately. "It's me," she told it. "I've called for backup at the Anderson house. Sergeant Gelo is over there, and she isn't picking up." Shit.
She didn't want to say she was ticked because her sergeant didn't like being left behind and had taken matters into her own hands. The big no-no could have widespread repercussions for both of them. She ended the call without pointing a finger and muttered angrily to herself as a yellow light slowed the traffic in front of them at Fifty-seventh Street. When the light went red, a hole opened up. "Go," she said, and he ran the light.
She punched two on her cell. Charlie picked up on the second ring. "Hagedorn," he said.
"Charlie. What happened with Gelo?"
"She stepped out. I've been trying to reach her. I have something on Anderson."
"What do you have?"
"She has a girl living with her."
"I know about that," April said impatiently.
"Did you know her name is Lucy Walters?"
"Is that supposed to mean something to me? Oh, Jesus." April braced as Woody dodged an ambulance.
"You okay?"
"I'm on Lexington with Woody."
"My condolences. Okay, Lucy Walters hit her homeroom teacher in the head with a chair when she was in sixth grade. The woman died of her injuries. That was thirteen years ago. She served eighteen months in juvenile, out of state, and she's been in and out of programs until she moved in with Anderson."
"Call Minnow with that, will you?" April said tersely.
"I already took the liberty. Didn't want to be slow sharing that."
"Good thinking. And Mike?"
"He knows, too."
"Okay. What's the story on Gelo? Don't hold back on me."
"I'm working on it. As soon as I know . . ."
April's stomach heaved. Whenever she was upset, all her nerves went right to her gut. She told herself that everybody was on the way, that it was
going to be all right. She wanted to believe that, but she knew she was responsible for her people. Even if no one was hurt, she was still going to have to take the hit for her officer's bad judgment. But more importantly right now, she had no way of knowing whether or not Gelo was in that house and if she was, what was happening there. She started to pray.
Fifty-Two
At the bottom of the stairs was an old-fashioned stainless steel kitchen. A gas stove, dishwasher, and refrigerator were in the usual places against the walls, along with some freestanding glass cabinets filled with china. A large worktable was in the center and a rustic table and chairs by the back window might have been used at one time for staff. There were three doors in the large room. A back door led to the untended garden. A side door opened on the front hall, and a half-glass door faced the street. The floor was the color of old precinct walls.
When Eloise came in, Leah was rubbing a corner of the worktable as if she'd already left. It was then that Eloise noticed the diamond rings on her finger for the first time. Eloise was only a few steps from the little fenced-in area outside the house where garbage cans were kept on the street. A gate from there led to the sidewalk and freedom. Through windows in the kitchen door, she could see that the rain had started again. Once again she hesitated about making her escape.
"Does Lynn come here often?" she asked.
"Nobody comes here. I told you Joey is sick."
"What's wrong with her?" Eloise asked. She thought the girl was mistaken. She was the sick one.
She lifted her shoulders in an angry shrug. "I'm getting tired of this," she announced. "People aren't supposed to upset me."
"Are you sick, too, Leah?" she asked gently.
"No, not anymore."
"Are you taking medicine to make you better?"
"You're very pretty," she said. "Mrs. Wilson was pretty, but not as pretty as you."
"Does Joey know you clean for Lynn at the Perkins house?"
"No." She looked away.
"Is she afraid that you would hurt them?"
"No."
"Is that what you're taking medicine for?"
"Don't bug me about meds when I'm telling you you're pretty," she said angrily. "I could hurt you."
Eloise had a gun. She thought she could handle it. "Oh, Leah, you're not going to hurt me. I'm a police officer. We're surrounded here. People all over the place, and Miss Anderson is coming over. She'd be upset if you touched me."
"She doesn't care what I do. I'm her daughter." Those blue eyes were like marbles.
"Well, I talked to her yesterday. I know she doesn't want her daughter to hurt people," Eloise said calmly. "We're going to help you so you don't do that, okay? You're going to be fine now."
There had been many times in Eloise's life when she'd been frightened, sometimes even terrified, but not when it counted. During 9/11 and the days that followed she was frightened for other people, never
for herself. These days she was terrified only in her dreams. To Eloise, a sick young woman in a room equipped with knives and wooden mallets and skewers and forks did not pose a real danger because she had confidence in herself to handle anything. She'd dealt with crazy people before. That was her mistake. She could have walked out that kitchen door, and let somebody else mop up. But she wasn't used to letting other people do her dirty work. She wanted to stay, to conquer Leah herself and make sure nothing happened to her. Call it arrogance or ego—she wanted to be a hero. And Leah seemed to be responding well.
"I'm sorry about Marsha. I didn't mean to hurt her," she said.
"Who's Marsha?" That was a name Eloise hadn't heard before.
Jo Ellen's assistant. Will you hold my hand? I don't want to go back."
Eloise swallowed. "Where is she?"
"In the basement. Hold my hand."
No, she wasn't going to do that. She was concerned that there might be a living person in the basement who needed help. She moved two steps back. "How long has Marsha been in the basement?" she asked softly.
Leah noted the retreat and didn't answer for a long time. Then she said, "She was pretty."
Eloise licked her lips. Leah had a "pretty complex," among other things. If she were in restraints, Eloise would be happy to talk about it. Who didn't have a "pretty complex"? It sometimes felt like a good reason for murder, but killing the pretty ones wasn't the solution. Sometimes there wasn't a reason. Crazy people did sick things because they couldn't help it.