The next time Eve opened her eyes, Roarke sat, the cat sprawled across the lap of his perfect slate-gray suit, scanning something on a tablet.
On-screen, the usual indecipherable stock reports scrolled by on mute.
Light streamed in the sky window overhead and showed her a happy blue sky.
“How did it get to be morning again?”
“There you have that pesky rotation of the Earth. You didn’t sleep long, but you slept well.”
“I slept like a … I was going to say rock because people say that, but it’s stupid. Rocks don’t sleep.”
“But they’re usually very still and quiet.”
Mostly, she thought as she got up. Except for earthquakes, avalanches, mudslides, volcanos.
She hit the coffee first, then the shower.
When she came out, breakfast waited under warming domes, and Roarke had banished the cat.
Galahad stretched out in a sunny patch on the floor and eyed the warming domes with avarice.
“So what was it this morning? Buy, sell? Sell, buy?”
“Neither, as it happens, but a very satisfying progress report on a project in Kyoto, then some details on the beginnings of one in Sydney.”
“And they’re on opposite time because of the pesky rotation.”
“See there, you’re getting it.”
He removed the domes on what turned out to be frittatas. Colorful ones, she noted, sure to contain lots of healthy things.
“What’s the deal you’ve got with spinach? Do you own the world’s supply of it?”
He poured her another cup of coffee. “You’re a slender woman who all too often works herself into the ground and neglects eating during her workday. Iron matters. There’s bacon in there as well.”
She swore she saw Galahad’s ears twitch at the word bacon.
Since she shared that affection, she sampled. “Got a little heat on it. Not bad.”
Since she also had a dish of summer berries, she couldn’t really complain.
“I’m wearing black today, so no comments. They’re having Jenna Harbough’s memorial, and unless I’m about to tackle this bastard, we need to monitor.”
“Do you think he’ll be there?”
“I don’t. He’s done with her. She served her purpose. But if I’m wrong about that, and he shows … I think I’ll know him. I know that sounds—”
“As if you think you’ll know him. And I believe you will,” Roarke added.
“I will. If I see him at the memorial today, I think I’ll know him. If I see him in the school stuff, I think I’ll know him.”
As she ate, she considered. “He’s worn a wig—either because he thinks it helps him blend or for the disguise. Both. Plus, the style hides his face. Under it? His hair might be the same color, or close, but the style’s not. His is conservatively cut, short, neat, parted on the side, ruler straight.”
“That’s very specific.”
“It goes with the shoes, the clothes. He gets it cut at a high-end barber shop. Maybe a salon, but I lean toward the barber.”
“Because salons give off at least a whiff of the feminine, and he wouldn’t tolerate that.”
“Exactly.”
“Not as many of those as private schools, but.”
“Yeah, but. Plenty of them. But it’s an angle.” One that needed following. “And besides the hair, it’s going to be the eyes. His eyes, they’re going to be wrong. And I’ll know it.”
Reaching over, she gave the black silk of his hair a tug. “Who does this?”
“In the last couple of years, Trina. She’ll come to me.”
“I bet.” And thinking of the hard-ass stylist, Eve shoved her fingers through her own hair.
It was fine, just fine.
“And I bet she doesn’t bitch at you when she does.”
He smiled. “About what?”
“‘Didn’t I tell you to use that face gunk? You’ve only got one face! You’re a dead cop, you oughta know skin’s alive. You gotta feed it. Your hair needed a trim two weeks ago.’ Then she slathers that sheep cum all over my hair.”
He nearly choked on his frittata. “Sheep cum?”
“It looks like sheep cum.”
“This begs the question,” he decided. “Have you ever encountered the cum of sheep?”
“Not so far, but if I do, it’ll look just like what Trina slathers all over my hair.” After her last bite, she wagged her fork at him. “Your family has sheep. I bet they’d back me up on it.”
“Well then, that will be quite the conversation starter over Thanksgiving dinner when they visit. I’ll make a note.”
“They’ll back me up,” she insisted. “Anyway, he doesn’t go to Trina. Her place doesn’t approach the bomb zone area of conservative.”
She pushed up. “Black.”
And went into her closet.
Roarke stacked the plates under the domes, then pointed at the cat. “Knock these off again, and there’ll be no treats for you later. Mark my words.”
“He’s a cat, Roarke,” Eve called out. “Do you figure cats understand the concept of later?”
“This one best learn to.”
Black made it easy—or easier, considering her myriad choices. She slapped it all together, including boots, lightweight despite their good, thick soles.
In case she got the chance to chase the bastard down and tackle him.
When she came out to strap on her weapon harness, Roarke gave her a long look.
“No comments,” she reminded him.
“Even if I say you look respectful, for the memorial, while still looking formidable and utterly in charge?”
She swung on her jacket. “Okay, those comments are admissible. I’m heading straight in,” she said as she grabbed her pocket items. “I want to be there before Whitney contacts me, orders me up to his office.”
“You’re expecting that?”
“Two murders, one attempt in three days. He’s going to bring up inviting the feds to assist. He has to.”
“And your response?”
“Oh, hell no. But with more respect and diplomacy. I want to dig into the schools, hard and deep. Plus I want to look over the security feed from the theater, start the barber shop angle. Nag the crap out of the lab on the door prints. I still need to go through Arlie Dillon’s room, and hopefully follow up with Kiki Rosenburg.”
“So a full day of work before you start.”
“If he doesn’t hit again tonight, he will tomorrow. And if he hits again, kills again, and slides away, we’ll have to call in the feds. We’ll need them.”
“You’re all but breathing down his neck now, so my bet remains on you.” He cupped her chin, tapped his thumb in its shallow dent before he kissed her.
“Tag me, will you, before you make that tackle. I’d like to be there if I can manage it. And see you take care of my cop.”
“Affirmative to both. He’s going for it,” she added as she walked out.
When Roarke glanced back, the cat stopped his oh-so-casual walk toward the table. He turned, sat, shot up a leg, and began to wash diligently.
“Mind your step, mate, or we’ll think about replacing you with a nice, obedient hound.”
At the word hound, Galahad sent one searing look over his shoulder.
“Consider that,” Roarke advised.
Maybe it was a gift from the universe, or maybe she’d fallen into the perfect window, but traffic streamed right along all the way downtown.
She pulled into the garage at Central a solid twenty minutes ahead of shift. Time, she thought as she strode to the elevator, to do her updates, write up a report from the attack on Kiki Rosenburg. Maybe start a city-wide search on the upscale barbers.
Her luck held as she rode up to Homicide with barely any stops and starts, shuffle-ons, shuffle-offs.
In her office, she hit the coffee before setting up the barber search on auto. She updated her board and book while it ran, and considered the next logical steps in the day.
The incoming from the commander’s office told her what that first step would be.
She had the full complement of detectives in the bullpen when she walked out. And Jenkinson’s tie.
She couldn’t say for sure, but she thought they called the color fuchsia. If fuchsia was irradiated. White fuchsia-eyed rabbits hopped over it.
She imagined they had really sharp, pointed teeth under their sly smiles.
They made her wonder why she always felt compelled to look.
“Peabody, check on Rosenburg, contact her parents and Arlie Dillon’s mother. Find out when it’s convenient for us to take a look at their rooms.
“Detective Sergeant Rabbit.”
Jenkinson grinned at her. “Yes, boss.”
“Are you clear?”
“Just tying up some paperwork.”
“Good.” She took out her PPC. “I’ve got a list of upscale barbers. You and Reineke can start checking them out. Looking for a Caucasian male, about sixteen. You have the current description of the subject. Hair color unknown. It’s a wig,” she said when he frowned at her.
“Well, shit. Sure it is.”
“Conservative cut. It’s probably regular, say once a month. He may or may not be accompanied by a parent or guardian. Polite, well-mannered, well-dressed.”
“We’ve got it, Loo.”
“I’m with Whitney.”
“We got it,” Jenkinson said as she walked out. “Don’t let him push the feds in yet.”
And yet another reason she’d wanted him to take the promotion to DS.
This time she took the glides to give herself the time and room to think.
She glanced at her ’link, read the brief text from Peabody.
Before you get to Whitney, Kiki’s condition’s good. Scheduled for tests this morning, and should be released before noon.
Roger that.
Outside Whitney’s office, his admin gestured Eve straight in.
He sat at his desk, his gray suit shades lighter than Roarke’s, the shoulders in it as broad as a fullback’s. A mug of coffee steamed at his elbow.
His wide dark face had more lines than it had when she’d made rank, and his close-cropped black hair more threads of white.
But somehow they added dignity to power.
“Sir.”
“Lieutenant. Coffee?”
“No, sir, thank you.”
“Can’t blame you. Do you have a status on the third victim?”
“They’re hoping to release her before noon. We’ll interview her again, as she saw him, and might remember more details. We have other witnesses from the theater, Commander, and Yancy will work with them.”
“Yes, I skimmed your report. As of now, after two murders and one attempted, we don’t have a full description, much less an identification.”
“No, sir. However—”
“Three’s the magic number, Dallas. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Convince me why we shouldn’t pick up the magic wand and bring in the FBI. I know you. It’s not about power or pecking order, it’s not about who gets the collar and credit. We can request Special Agent Teasdale. You’ve worked well with her in the past.”
“Yes, sir, and it may come to that. I don’t want to bring in federal investigators at this time, take time to read them in, agree on tactics and strategies, because we’re close.
“He’s made mistakes, starting with the first murder. They’re our advantage, Commander, and more so since he doesn’t realize or understand he’s made them. As simple as the shoes,” she began, and ran through it, point by point.
“If anyone can finesse more details from the wits,” Eve finished, “it’s Yancy.”
“We agree there. Private schools, barbers, the shoes. Good angles, logical.” On a pause, he sipped his coffee. “Time-consuming to pursue.”
“Commander, we’re close. We’ve systematically narrowed the gap and will narrow it more today. I know him. I’ve got everything but his face and his name, and we’re close there. Teasdale’s good, she’s solid, but she doesn’t know him. By the time she does, we’ll have him.”
His eyes, always direct, held hers. “All of that’s based largely on your instincts.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve never had a cop under my command with better ones.”
He rose, walked to the windows where the city he protected and served carried on its daily business.
“I’ll give the lab time with the prints, and you time to follow up on these angles. Forty-eight hours. If he kills another girl, that time ends immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What does your gut tell you, Dallas? Will he try again tonight?”
“Yes, sir, I believe he’ll need to.”
Still watching the city, Whitney nodded. “My gut says the same, so you have that time. You have it because the feds can’t do more than you and your team within that window. And you have the momentum.”
He turned back. “Wrap him up, Lieutenant.”
She headed back down, using her ’link to push on the prints, then tagged Feeney.
“Whatever you need, kid,” he said before she could speak.
“I’ve got a long list of private schools, and criteria I’m looking for. If I could send you part of that list.”
“Send it. McNab says the kid from last night’s okay.”
“She is. Whitney gave us forty-eight before bringing in the feds.”
“Yeah.” Feeney sighed, scratched his chin. “That had to be coming.”
“I think he’ll try again tonight, so cut that time down to more like twelve hours.”
“I’ll pull Callendar in on it. Look, send us the whole deal on the schools. You’ve got other angles, right? Work them; we’ll work this.”
“Thanks. The minute I’m back at my desk.”
She clicked off, thought about the wig. Boarder style, brown. One more angle to work.
When she turned into Homicide, Peabody hailed her.
“Kiki’s mom—Connie—tagged me back just a minute ago. She said if we can get to their place after twelve-thirty—just let them know—we can talk to her again. And Kiki wants to work with Yancy. She says Kiki’s pissed, and eager.
“Mom One—Connie—cried just a little because she says that means Kiki’s back. Her girl doesn’t take any crap.”
“Good to hear. Harbough’s memorial’s at noon, so we’ll go after that.”
“Arlie Dillon’s mom said she’d be out all morning, from about nine to about noon. She’s making arrangements. Asked if we could do this while she’s out, and she’ll leave the key with a neighbor. I said we could just master in if that was easier, and she was fine with it.”
“We’ll head there after I clear up some things.”
“And Mira’s in your office.”
“Yeah, saves me a trip.”
In a suit of the same happy blue as the sky, Mira stood at Eve’s board drinking coffee.
“I helped myself.”
“I’m going to do the same. I was going to ask for a quick consult.”
“I assumed. I’m told the girl from last night is recovering.”
“Recovered, from the sounds of it. No fall off an airboard’s ever been so lucky. But I think it was more.”
“Yes. And now I’m taking your only decent chair.” Mira sat at the desk. “He rushed it. I read your report on my way in—you started early. He only needed to wait another minute, perhaps two, before his target made her way to her row. And that would’ve cut the distance to his escape route in half.”
“He just couldn’t wait.”
“No. There’s still a boy inside the killer, with a boy’s impatience now that he’s begun, now that he’s succeeded twice. You added a note in there about Roarke’s take on the door alarm. I find that valid as well.”
“He’s smart, maybe brilliant in his area of interest. But outside that? He’s not. A jammer in one pocket, the syringe in the other. Kill the girl, hit the jammer, get out, no alarm. Sure, somebody would have seen him, but probably thought nothing of it. She’s not going to react for several minutes, probably after she’s in her seat.”
“Most teenagers I know are very well versed in e’s. It’s just routine for them. But, as you wrote, he’s not. Very likely no arcades, no vid games as part of his routine.”
Mira paused, drank some coffee. “Then clearly he panicked. Instead of attempting to lose himself in the crowd, even for a moment or two, he bolted, knocking people aside, drawing attention on his way out, then through the door.”
“The kid inside the killer again.”
“Exactly,” Mira affirmed. “And it’s the child who won’t take stock, not fully, of where he went wrong. Who won’t stop at least for a few days, a week, to let it all settle down, to let himself fully calm.
“He’ll be harder on the next girl, Eve. If he can find a way to incapacitate her, he will. If he can find a way to do that, lure her away, he’ll rape her if he’s able, physically abuse her, make her pay for his failure, before he kills her.”
“He’d risk that now, this soon?”
“I believe he has to. He can’t accept failure, not in his area of expertise. Not when he’s planned so minutely, and succeeded. It’s another rejection. The girl last night rejected him. She didn’t submit; more, she put him in peril. He had to run.”
Eve paced to her window, back again. “He had to pull out before he finished. If the needle stands in for his dick, he barely penetrated, had to pull out.”
“And the frustration, the rage, is very physical. He’ll need release.”
“We’ve already run like crimes, that’s SOP. Jenna was his first, I’m sure of it. Do you think he’s raped or attempted rape before?”
“I don’t. If so, he’d have had a plan for Jenna Harbough. Drug her drink, get her away from her friends. This is different. Something he’s been imagining, working up to. Something he may never have attempted. But the girl last night rejected him, beat him, endangered him. Rape is about power—power, dominance, and punishment.”
“Okay. I’ll factor this in.”
Mira rose. “If there’s anything more I can do, any questions you have, I’ll make time.”
“I’ve got some leads. We’re going to push them.”
Because it felt like a race now, Eve thought as Mira left. She turned to the board again. A race until he had the dark on his side.
She couldn’t let him win.
She sent Feeney the list and criteria, then went back to the bullpen.
“Move it, Peabody.”
She took the glides at a jog.
Peabody raced to keep up. “Did Whitney—”
“He gave us forty-eight, but we don’t have nearly that. The Dillon place first. You drive.”
“Really?”
“I need to call in a favor with a fed. Mira says it’s likely he’ll change pattern with the next. Power and punishment. Rape, physical assault, then murder. I don’t think he’s tried rape before, but we’re going to be sure.”
She pulled out her ’link as they clanged down the steps to the garage. “Agent Teasdale, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Yes. Jenna Harbough, Arlie Dillon, Kiki Rosenburg.”
“That’s right.” She got in the car as Peabody took the wheel. “I think we’re close, but frankly, reading you in fully and coordinating will eat into the time I think I have before he hits again.”
“Then what can I do for you, and them?”
“Dr. Mira believes after last night’s miss, he’ll escalate. He has access to Rohypnol. If he can use it, take her somewhere private enough, he’ll rape her before he kills her. I don’t believe he’s raped or attempted rape previous. But if I’m wrong.”
“Give me the best physical description of him you have, and I’ll run it with those factors.”
“I appreciate it.”
“We work the same side, Lieutenant. Send me what you have, and I’ll get back to you by this afternoon.”
When she had, Eve put the ’link away. “Okay, we’ve got to cover every possibility. We’ll make this search fast. I don’t expect to find anything that links to him.”
“Like with the prior rape, no chances taken.”
“Right.” When Peabody pulled up at the apartment building, Eve got out. “Wait.” Though she said wait, she moved toward the building, pulled her ’link again as she mastered in.
“I need to talk to her,” Eve began.
The dragon admin merely said, “One moment, Lieutenant.”
And a moment later, Mira’s face came on-screen.
“Eve?”
“Wouldn’t he, at some point, need to know the victim? Someone he’s seen, wanted? Someone who’s rejected him, made fun of him, ignored him? Whatever. At some point, wouldn’t he want that power over someone personal?”
“That’s a very good point, and very possible. It’s also possible that each of these girls, though they don’t share coloring or build, represents someone who rejected him. And, I’m sorry, Eve, but his victims may simply represent all the ones who’ve ignored him.”
“Okay, okay, so no easy answer there.”
“I wish I could give you one. When you have him, we’ll know that answer.”
“All right. Thanks.”
She mastered into the apartment.
“He’s probably been rejected, or took it that way, plenty.”
Eve nodded as she scanned the living area. It even looked sad now.
“Yeah, but … Why did I hold out for Big Bitch Brenda?”
“Who?”
Eve just waved that away. “She wasn’t the only one who went at me at school, but … I waited, didn’t I? I knew what I was doing under it all. She wasn’t the only, but she was the worst. I wanted to kick the crap out of her, so I waited until I knew I could.”
“You’re going to have to tell me about Big Bitch Brenda sometime, but I see where you’re going. He’s got one picked who he’s decided was the worst.”
“Or one he wanted, sexually, more than the others.”
“Or. He’ll get to her when he knows he’s ready.”
“Or, again, when he can’t hold out longer. It’s not going to be this girl, but we’ll do our job. Private school girl, someone he’d see every day. Who didn’t bother to look back.
“Let’s get this done, and move on.”