The Lost - J. D. Robb [6]
Passengers whistled, stomped, cheered, as an impressive shower of color exploded into the sky.
“Fireworks? For Christ’s sake. It’s still daylight.”
“There’s nothing scheduled,” Jake told her.
“Diversion,” she muttered, and began to push and shove her way in the opposite direction of the show. “Get somebody to find the source, stop it.”
“I’m already on it,” Jake said and shouted into his communicator. “Where are we going?”
“The scene of the crime.”
“What? I can’t hear a freaking thing. Say again,” he yelled into his communicator. “Say again.”
Eve broke through the celebrating crowd, ducked under the barricade.
She stopped as she saw the woman arguing frantically with the DOT officer guarding the door of the restroom.
“Carolee!” she called out, and the woman whirled. Her face was deathly pale with high spots of color on the cheeks, and a purpling knot on her forehead.
“What? What is this? I can’t find my boy. I can’t find my son.”
The eyes were wrong, Eve thought. A little glassy, a little shocky. “It’s okay. I know where he is. I’ll take you to him.”
“He’s okay? You . . . Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Dallas.” Eve watched Carolee’s eyes as she took out her badge. “I’m the police.”
“Okay. Okay. He’s a good boy, but he knows better than this. He was supposed to wait right here. I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”
“Where did you go, Carolee?”
“I just . . .” She trailed off. “I went into the restroom. Didn’t I? I’m sorry. I have a headache. I was so worried about Pete. Wait, just wait until I—” She stepped into the snack bar when Eve opened the door. Then slapped her hands on her hips.
“Peter James Grogan! You are in so much trouble.”
The boy, his brother, his father, moved like one unit, bolting across the room. “Didn’t I specifically tell you not to—”
This time the words were knocked back as her three boys grabbed her in frantic embraces. “Well, for heaven’s sake. If you think that’s going to soften me up after you disobeyed me, it’s not. Or only a little.” She stroked the boy’s hair as he clung to her legs. “Steve? Steve? You’re shaking. What is it? What’s wrong?”
He pulled back to kiss her, her mouth, her cheeks. “You—you’re hurt. You’ve hit your head.”
“I . . .” She lifted her fingers to touch the bump. “Ouch. How did I do that? I don’t feel quite right.”
“Sit down. Pete, Will, let your mother have some room. Sit down here, Carolee, let me take a look at you.”
When she had, he took her hands, pressed them to his lips. “Everything’s okay now. It’s okay now.”
But it wasn’t, Eve thought, not for everyone.
Someone was dead. Someone had caused that death.
They were both missing.
Three
“Inspector, I need you to locate the source of those explosives, then I want that area secured. I want a complete list of DOT and ferry employees, including any independent contractors, aboard at this time. I want those security discs. When NYPSD officers arrive, they will support those assignments. Peabody, make that happen. Now.”
She glanced toward the Grogan family. She could give their reunion one more minute. “There are lifeboats, emergency evacuation devices on this boat?”
“Sure.”
“They need to be checked, and they need to be guarded. If any have been used, I need to know. Immediately. I want to talk to the guard Mrs. Grogan talked to when she . . . came back. For now, get his statement.”
“No problem. Lieutenant, we’re going to have to deal with getting these people, at least some of these people, off.”
“I’m working on it. Explosives, employees, discs, emergency evac, secured areas. Let’s get on it.”
She turned away, moved to where Carolee still sat surrounded by her family.
“Mrs. Grogan, I need to speak with you.”
“I’d like to treat her head wound.” Steve kept his arm protectively around his wife. “And check her out more thoroughly. If there’s a medical kit, I could use it.”
“I’ll find one,” Peabody told him, then glanced at Eve. “Our guys will be on board in a couple of minutes.”
“Okay. Find the kit.