“Did he have visitors?”
“I—no, not really. I don’t remember seeing anyone go in or come out but Mr. Dawber. What do you think he’s done? I can’t imagine him doing anything against the law.”
“Was he friendly with anyone in the building, the neighborhood that you know of? Someone who might know his new address?”
“No, not really. He was the quiet type, kept to himself, and…” Her whole being went from baffled to panicked. “Oh God, that’s what the neighbors end up saying about ax murderers.”
“Could we speak to the twins’ father a moment, in case he has any information?”
“Yes, sure. I don’t think he does, but…” She pulled a key out of her pocket and, unlocking the door, poked her head in.
The fight had turned to hysterical laughter. Wozinski lifted her voice over it. “Brad, come here a minute, will you?”
Eve ran through the same routine, received basically the same responses.
“Mother died in September,” Eve said as they started down the stairway. “Rich mother, guilty mother, suicidal mother. I bet she left the three children she had as Violet really well-set. And I’m betting she did the same for her firstborn.”
“Enough for him to buy a house—something private,” Peabody said. “Something with a basement or attic or an area he could use as a prison.”
“It’s going to narrow the search. He moved in before Halloween, and she died September eighteen. That’s the window now.”
She signaled to Jenkinson as she headed back to the van. When she stood on the sidewalk, thinking before she briefed them, Roarke, Feeney, and McNab got out to join them.
“He moved out before Halloween. Neighbors don’t know where, but the woman across the hall saw him walking, she thinks maybe to work, after he moved out. He didn’t move too close or they’d probably have seen him more than one time. They said he liked taking walks, and they have a dog, so walks.”
She scanned the buildings up and down the block. “It’s not going to be too close to his old place, but close enough he can still walk to work if he wants—and it’s familiar—the Lower West is familiar. He got a place—the private residence—between September eighteenth and the end of October.”
“Mommy left him some scratch,” Feeney put in.
“I’m betting on it. Finds himself a house. Could be a warehouse, a storage facility, but why? Why not be comfortable? House is still first on the list, but the search is for ownership to begin in September.”
“I’ll adjust it,” Roarke told her.
“If we hit on anything tonight, I’ll pull you back.”
“Are you working from home?” Peabody asked her.
“Central for now. I need to—”
“Central it is.” Jenkinson jabbed a finger. “Boss, you’re going to work it, we’re going to work it. That girl’s been locked up a damn week. We got a chance to find her tonight? I want to take it.”
“Go get your burgers, and I’ll keep you in the loop.”
Even as Jenkinson folded his arms, put on his just-try-to-budge-me face, Roarke stepped in.
“It happens we own a pub right down the block there and around the corner. I’ll wager no one’s had a meal as yet, so I can work on this search, the lieutenant can do what she must, and all can have that meal. Together,” he added with a glance at Eve. “So it saves time when we locate him.”
Feeney punched Roarke’s shoulder. “The Dubliner? That’s yours? Why don’t you tell me these things?” he asked Eve. “Prime eats, prime brew. It makes sense, kid. Good time management.”
“Fine. Leave the rides here—On Duty. He’s not on this block. If we don’t hit by the time we’ve had the prime eats, everybody goes home.”
“Hey. What if he’s still at the lab?”
Eve flicked Peabody a glance. “He clocked out at sixteen-forty-three. I checked with security before we moved out.”
“Oh. Well. Sure.”
“So. We’ve got ourselves a good deal.” Jenkinson looked back at Roarke. “I don’t guess they have actual cow meat.”
“They got it,” Feeney answered first. “Costs your right nut, but they got it. They do one hell of a fish and chips.”
“My pub, my treat,” Roarke said as they began to walk.
“You should come on ops more often,” Jenkinson told him.