“With a sissy bite on her tightly muscled calf.”
“Well…yeah.”
“Dallas.” Peabody stepped to the door. “How’s the leg?”
“Fine, and as of now, removed from all discussion.”
“The commander and Dr. Mira will take us in the commander’s office in twenty.”
“Good enough.”
“Meanwhile, Officer Gil Newkirk’s come in. He’s in the war room.”
“On my way.”
Gil Newkirk wore his uniform well. He had a rock-solid look about him, indicating to Eve he knew how to handle himself on the street. His face bore the same sort of toughness, what she supposed Feeney might call “seasoning.”
She’d met him a handful of times over the years, and considered him to be sensible and straightforward.
“Officer Newkirk.”
“Lieutenant.” He took the hand she offered with a firm, brisk shake. “Looks like you’ve got an efficient setup here.”
“It’s a good team. We’re narrowing the field.”
“I’m glad to hear it, and wish I’d brought you something substantial. If you’ve got some time…”
“Have a seat.” She gestured, joined him at the conference table.
“You’ve got his face.” Newkirk nodded to the sketch pinned to one of the four case boards. “I’ve been studying that face, trying to put it in front of me nine years back during one of the knock-on-doors. There were so many of them, Lieutenant. That face isn’t coming up for me.”
“It was a long shot.”
“I went through my notes again, and I went over to Ken Colby’s place, he was on this. He went down five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He was a good man. His widow, she let me dig out his files and notes on the old investigation. I brought them in.” He tapped the box he’d carried in with him. “Thought they might add something.”
“I appreciate that.”
“There were a couple of guys that popped for me when I was going through it again this morning-going off what you gave me last night. But the face, it doesn’t match.”
“What popped about them?”
“The body type and coloring. And my boy and I, we’ve talked this through some.” He cocked a brow.
“I’ve got no problem with that.”
“I know you’re working the Urban Wars angle, and I remembered one of these guys told us he used to ride along in a dead wagon in the Urbans, with his old man. Pick up bodies. Worked as an MT, then kicked that when he went to some convention in Vegas and hit a jackpot. I remember him because it was a hell of a story. The other was this rich guy, third-generation money. He did taxidermy for a hobby. Place was full of dead animals.
“I pulled them out.” He passed her a disc. “In case you wanted to check them out again.”
“We’ll do that. Are you on duty, Officer Newkirk?”
“Day off,” he said.
“If you got the time and the interest, maybe you could run these through with Feeney, for current data. I’d be grateful.”
“No problem. I’m happy to assist in any way.”
Eve got to her feet, offered her hand again. “Thanks. I’ve got a meeting. I’ll check back as soon as I can. Peabody, Roarke, with me.”
She had to concentrate not to limp, and giving into her throbbing leg, headed for the small and often odorous confines of the elevator.
“Remember,” she said to Roarke, “you’re a civilian, and this is a NYPSD op.”
“That’s expert civilian to you, copper.”
She didn’t smirk-very much-then squeezed herself onto an elevator. “And don’t call the commander Jack. It negates the serious and official tone, and…it’s just wrong.”
“Yo, Dallas!”
She turned her head to see one of the detectives from Anti-Crime grinning at her. “Renicki.”
“Heard some mope took a chunk out of you, and now he’s got himself a case of rabies.”
“Yeah? I heard some LC got a taste of you, and now she’s got herself a case of the clap.”
“And that,” Roarke murmured as a number of cops hooted, “is serious and official.”
In his office, Whitney stood behind his desk, and Mira beside a visitor’s chair. “Lieutenant,” he said. “Detective. Roarke.”
“Sir, as I believe the expert consultant may be able to assist with the content of this meeting, I’ve asked him to be included.”
“Your call. Please, sit.”
While Roarke, Peabody, and Mira took seats, Eve remained standing. “With permission, Commander, to first update you and Dr. Mira.”
She ran it through, quick and spare.
“You were shadowed?” Whitney didn’t question her statement. “Any thoughts on why?”
“Yes, sir. Dr. Mira broached the possibility that I may be a target. That rather than the springboard for these particular women being Roarke, the springboard for any connection with Roarke may be me.”
“You didn’t mention this theory to me, Doctor.”
“I asked Dr. Mira to give me time to evaluate,” Eve said before Mira could speak. “To consider, and to run probabilities before we shifted the focus on this area of the investigation. Having done so, I believe it’s a viable theory. I was a detective on the first investigation, partner to the primary. I fall within the parameters of his choice of victim. I may have crossed paths with him nine years ago, or walked a parallel line.
“I think he came back to New York for specific reasons. And I think one of them is his intention to bag me.”
“He’ll be disappointed,” Whitney commented.
“Yes, sir, he will.”
“How strongly do you support this theory, Mira?”
“I’ve run my own probabilities, and I believe, given his pathology, he would consider capturing the lieutenant, a woman with considerable training and authority, a woman married to a man with considerable power, to be his finest achievement. However, it leads me to another question. How will he top it?”
“He can’t,” Roarke stated. “And knows that he won’t. She’s the last, isn’t she? The best, the most challenging, his ultimate.”
“Yes.” Mira nodded. “I agree. He’s willing to alter, even slightly, his victim profile. This is not a woman who can be pinned to a specific routine, to a pattern of habits and haunts. Nor one he could approach, face-to-face, as we believe he has with many if not all in the past, and lure her. It must be worth it to him to take this great risk, to devise a way to pull her in. He’s circled back,” Mira continued. “Come back to what we could call his roots. Because this will finish his work.”
“He’s stopped before,” Peabody put in. “A year or two. But how can he just decide he’s finished? This kind of killer doesn’t stop unless he’s captured or killed.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“You think he’s dying,” Eve said to Mira. “Or that he’s decided to self-terminate after he finishes me.”
“I do. Yes, I believe exactly that. I also believe he doesn’t fear it. Death is an accomplishment to him, and a timed cycle, which he has, for nearly a decade we know of, controlled. He doesn’t fear his own death, and that only makes him more dangerous.”
“We need to give him an opening.” Eve narrowed her eyes. “And soon.”
“If it’s too easy, he won’t bite.” Roarke met Eve’s gaze when she turned. “I know something about challenges. If it comes too easy, it’s not worth the trouble. He’ll want to work for it. At the very least he’ll want to believe that he outwitted you. And he’s had much longer to plan, to devise and study the problem than you have.”
“I agree.” Mira leaned forward. “If what we believe is true, you’re the finish to his work. You complete it. The fact that you’re pursuing him even as he pursues you not only ups the stakes but adds a particular shine. You would be, quite literally, his masterpiece. With his need for control, he must feel he’s manipulated the outcome. Lured you, despite your training and advantages, as he’s lured the others.”
“So we let him believe it,” Eve said, “right up to the moment we take him down. He has to be aware by now that we know his face. My take, from the profile, from what we know, is that it will only add to his excitement, his enjoyment. No one’s ever gotten this close before. And while he’s never overtly sought attention from the killing, his method indicates pride in it. In the end, if that’s what this is, won’t he want to be known?”