In Death 20 - Survivor in Death

female, and firm.
    “Mrs. Turnbill? We’re the police. Detectives Peabody and McNab with the New York City Police and Security Department.”
    “That’s not a police vehicle.”
    “No, ma’am, it’s private.” Peabody held up her badge. “We’d like to speak with you, and will wait until you verify our IDs.”
    “I don’t--”
    “You spoke with my partner, Lieutenant Dallas, earlier today. I understand your caution under the circumstances, Mrs. Turnbill, but it’s important we speak with you. If you refuse, we’ll contact the local authorities and arrange for a warrant. I don’t want to do that. We’ve gone to some trouble to keep this visit quiet, to insure your safety.”
    “Wait.”
    Like Peabody, McNab kept his badge up, and watched the thin red light shimmer out, scan both. Somebody, he thought, isn’t just cautious, but scared. Right into the bowels.
    The door opened. “I’ll speak with you, but I can’t tell you any more than I told Lieutenant Dallas.” As she spoke a man came down from the second floor. His face was grim, his eyes cold.
    “Why can’t you people leave us alone?”
    “The kids?” his wife asked him.
    “Fine. I told them to stay upstairs.”
    He was stocky in the way that told Peabody he did manual labor routinely. His face was tanned, squint lines scoring out from his eyes, his hair bleached by the sun.
    Six years, she thought, had made him more farmer than urbanite. And the way he kept one hand in the pocket of his work pants warned her he was carrying.
    “Mr. Turnbill, we’ve come a long way, and not to harass you. Roger Kirkendall is wanted in connection with seven homicides.”
    “Only seven.” His lips twisted. “You’re way off.”
    “That may be, but it’s the seven that concern us at the moment.”
    Taking his cue, McNab kept his voice as brittle as Turnbill’s, and drew crime scene photos from his field bag. “Here’s a couple to start.”
    He’d gone straight to the kids, and saw by the way Roxanne paled, it had been the right move. “They were sleeping when he cut their throats. I guess that’s a mercy.”
    “Oh God.” Roxanne wrapped her arms around her belly. “Oh my God.”
    “You’ve got no right to come in here and do this.”
    “Oh yeah.” McNab’s eyes were merciless as they met Turnbill’s. “We do.”
    “McNab.” Peabody murmured it, deliberately reached out and pulled back the photos. “I’m sorry. Sorry to disturb you, sorry to upset you. We need your help.”
    “We don’t know anything.” Turnbill put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We just want to be left alone.”
    “You left high-powered, high-paying jobs six years ago,” McNab began. “Why?”
    “That’s none of your--”
    “Joshua.” Roxanne shook her head. “I need to sit down. Let’s just sit down.”
    She turned into a living room showing the chaotic debris of young children, the comfortable wear of family. Roxanne sat, gripped her husband’s hand. “How do you know he did it? He’s gotten away with so much for so long, how do you know?”
    “We have evidence linking him to the crimes. Those children, their parents, and a domestic were all murdered in their beds. Grant Swisher was your sister’s attorney in her divorce and custody case.”
    “Six years ago,” she replied. “Yes, he could wait six years. He could wait sixty.”
    “Do you have any idea where he is?”
    “None. He leaves us alone now. He leaves us alone. We’re not important anymore. We don’t want to be.”
    “Where’s your sister?” McNab demanded, and Roxanne jerked.
    “She’s dead. He killed her.”
    “We believe he’s capable of doing so.” Peabody kept her eyes level on Roxanne’s. “But he hasn’t. Not yet. What if he finds her before we find him? What if you have some information and refuse to cooperate with us, impede our investigation long enough for him to hunt her down?”
    “I don’t know where she is.” Weary tears filled Roxanne’s eyes. “Her, my nephew, my niece. I haven’t seen them in six years.”
    “But you know she’s alive. You know she got away from him.”
    “I thought she was dead. For two years. I went to the police, but they couldn’t help. I thought he’d killed them. And then--”
    “You don’t have to do this, Roxie.” Her husband drew her closer. “You don’t have to go through this again.”
    “I don’t know what to do. What if he comes here? What if he does, after all this time? Our babies,