“We’re the police.”
And though she was already cursing silently, Eve turned the woman to face her to make sure.
“It’s not Smith. Where is Ann Elizabeth Smith?” Eve demanded.
“I don’t know.” The woman’s gaze, full of fear, bounced from face to face. “I don’t know anybody like that. Please, my kid’ll be home soon. Take whatever you want.”
“NYPSD.” Eve holstered her weapon, took out her badge. “This apartment is listed under the name I gave you.”
“I’m Gracie Lipwitch. I’ve got ID. I can show you.”
“No need, Ms. Lipwitch, and I’m sorry we frightened you.”
“Frightened? I may have wet my pants! I’m sitting here, on my day off, icing cupcakes for my kid’s scout meeting, and the next thing I know. You said wedding. I thought you were looking for a wedding cake. The damn intercom’s a piece of crap.”
“Ms. Lipwitch, how long have you lived in this apartment?”
“Eight months, three weeks, and two days.”
“That’s very specific.”
“We moved in exactly one month after my kid’s no-good father took off on us. I’m going to sit down. My legs are shaking.”
“Can I get you some water?” Peabody asked, but Lipwitch waved her off.
“You scared the life out of me.”
“I’m very sorry,” Peabody said, adding a look of concern. “The person we’re looking for lists this as her address.” She pulled up the photo on her PPC. “This woman.”
Lipwitch looked at it. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I know her. But the way you came barging in here, she better have killed somebody.”
At the beat of silence, her face went pale. “Oh God, you think I killed somebody.”
“No, we don’t,” Eve assured her. “Can you tell us if the previous occupant left anything behind?”
“The place was empty—and not all that clean—when me and Darby moved in. My girl. I cleaned like a maniac for a full day. A lot of, like, slivers. Of material. A lot of smudges on the wall, like from taping stuff up. That’s about it. You said wedding.” Now she let out a long breath. “I thought you wanted a wedding cake. I’m a baker. I work at a bakery a couple blocks from here, and do some cakes on the side. My day off,” she added. “And what am I doing but making three dozen cupcakes for my kid’s scout group.”
“They look really great.”
Lipwitch looked at Callendar, sighed. “You can have one. I made a few extra.”
“Seriously? We’ll split one.” Callendar chose one with a swirl of creamy white icing, broke off a chunk. “They’re terrific.”
Eve dug out a card. “You can contact me. I’m going to make sure the address is changed so no one bothers you again.”
“Okay. Listen, did somebody who lived here really kill somebody?”
“We’re looking for this individual in the course of a homicide investigation.”
“That’s even scarier than having you barge in here. I don’t know if it helps, but I got this place fast because one of the people who lives downstairs comes in the bakery a lot, and she knew I was looking for a place for me and my kid. It’s just a one bedroom and I wanted two, but the price was right and it’s close to work, and it was available. Whoever lived here before just walked out. I mean, she left the last month’s rent in an envelope with the keys, took her stuff, and left. It looks like nobody knew the difference for a couple weeks.”
“That is helpful. Can you tell me the name of the person who told you about the empty apartment?”
“That’s Mrs. Waterstone, down in 103. She’s probably home. Don’t scare her.”
“We won’t, and I apologize again.”
“I’m mostly over it. I might even think it’s exciting later. Look, take her a cupcake.” Lipwitch transferred one onto a little paper doily. “She’s got a sweet tooth. And I guess if anybody knows anything about anybody, it’s Mrs. Waterstone.”