He studied her for one long minute. “You need a vacation.”
“I need a friggin’ Pepsi. You want an IOU?”
He walked to the machine, keyed in his badge number, ordered the tube.
GOOD AFTERNOON. YOU HAVE ORDERED ONE EIGHT-OUNCE TUBE OF PEPSI. IT’S ICED! HAVE A SAFE AND PRODUCTIVE DAY, AND DON’T FORGET TO RECYCLE.
He tugged it out of the slot, walked back, and handed it to her. “My treat.”
“Thanks. Listen I know you’ve got backlog. I appreciate you taking the time for the canvass.”
“Just put it in your report. I could use the shine.”
She gave a head nod toward the door, so they’d walk and talk. “Trueheart looks good. He steady enough?”
“Doc cleared him physically. Kid’s healthy as a horse. Shrink gave him thumbs-up, too.”
“I read the evals,Baxter. I’m asking you.”
“Truth is, I think what happened to him-nearly happened-a couple weeks ago shook me more than him. He’s solid,Dallas. He’s gold. Gotta tell you, I never figured on taking on a rookie, or putting on a trainer’s hat, but he’s a gift.”
Baxtershook his head as they caught a glide. “Kid loves the job. Hell, he is the job, like nobody I know except you. He bounces in each shift, raring. I tell you, he makes my fucking day.”
Satisfied,Eve headed down the hall with him.
“Speaking of trainees,”Baxter continued, “I hear Peabody’s going to take the detectives’ exam in a few days.”
“Nothing wrong with your hearing.”
“Nervous, Mom?”
She shot him a narrow look. “Funny. Why should I be nervous?”
He started to grin, then they both turned at the high-pitched howl. A skinny guy in restraints broke away from the uniform escorting him, sent another to his knees with a well-placed groin kick, then came flying toward the glide, eyes wild, spittle flying.
Since her Pepsi was in her weapon hand, Eve winged it. It caught him between the eyes with an audible thud. It surprised more than hurt him, so that he stumbled, righted himself, then lowered his head and charged her like a battering ram.
She had just enough time to pivot. She brought her knee up sharply, connecting with his chin. There was a nasty crunching sound that she figured was either his jaw snapping or the cartilage in her knee shifting.
In either case, he went down hard on his ass, and was immediately tackled by two uniforms and one passing plainclothes cop.
Baxter reholstered his weapon, scratched his head at the melee on the floor. “Want another Pepsi, Dallas?” What was left of hers was making a brown puddle on the floor.
“Goddamn it. Who’s in charge of this asshole?”
“Me, sir.” One of the uniforms staggered up. He was winded, and bleeding from the bottom lip. “I was taking him to holding for-”
“Officer, why didn’t you have control of your prisoner?”
“I thought he was controlled, Lieutenant. He-”
“Obviously, you thought incorrectly. It appears you need to refresh yourself on proper procedure.”
The prisoner bucked and kicked, and began to scream like a woman. To demonstrate proper procedure for controlling prisoners, Eve crouched, ignoring the twinge in her knee. She grabbed the screamer by a hank of his long, dark hair, jerked his head until his crazed eyes met hers.
“Shut up. If you don’t shut up, if you don’t cease resisting immediately, I will pull your tongue out of your mouth, drag it around your neck, and strangle you with it.”
She saw from his eyes that he’d been enjoying some chemicals, but the threat got through, or maybe it was the tone that warned him she meant it, literally.
When he sagged, Eve rose and gave the uniform the same cold glare. “Add resisting and assaulting an officer to our guest’s prize package today. I want to see a copy of your report before you file it, Officer…” She deliberately scraped her gaze down and scanned his name tag. “Cullin.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lose him again, and I’ll use his tongue to strangle you. Move.”
There was a scramble as a couple of uniforms moved in, a show of solidarity, to drag the prisoner up and haul him away.
Baxter handed Eve a fresh tube of Pepsi. “Figured you’d earned this.”
“Goddamn right,” she shot back, and limped into Homicide.
– -«»--«»--«»--
She wrote her own report, and hand-carried it to Commander Whitney. He gestured her to a chair, which she took, grateful to get off her aching knee.
When she’d finished her oral briefing, he nodded. “Is your block on the media going to fuel him or frustrate him?”
“With or without the media, he’s hunting again. While his victims are random, they are deliberate, and the deliberation takes time. As for the media, I’ve fed a few statements through the department liaison. They’re concentrating on the first murder. It’s flashier than the rape and murder of a sixty-one-year-old woman in her apartment. We’re not going to be pressed too hard on that end until one of them gets the connection. They will eventually, especially if he hits again, but we’ve got some room.”
“You’re misleading the media?”
“No, sir. I’m just not leading them. I’ve given my statement to Quinton Post at75, rather than Nadine Furst, as I felt that would cool any mumbling about favoritism. He’s sharp, but still a bit green. Once Nadine gets her teeth into this, she’ll make the connection. Until then, I don’t have to answer what isn’t asked.”
“Good enough.”
“On another front, sir, I don’t think, despite his claims, he cares overmuch about the media attention. Not at this time. He wants my attention, and he has it. Dr. Mira’s profile confirms his need to dominate and destroy women. The female authority figure is his nemesis. That’s me, that’s why he picked me.”
“Are you a target?”
“I don’t believe so, not as long as he sticks to pattern.”
Whitney grunted, then steepled his fingers. “You should be aware that I’ve had complaints.”
“Sir?”
“One from Leo Fortney, who’s crying harassment, and threatening a suit against you and the department. A second from the offices of Niles Renquist, intimating… displeasure at having the wife of a diplomatic figure interrogated by a member of the New York Police and Security Department. And a third from the representative of Carmichael Smith, who ranted vigorously about the possibility of damaging publicity due to the hounding of his client by a… what was it? An insensitive, abrasive hotshot with a badge.”
“That would be me. Leo Fortney gave false information during initial questioning. He’s changed his story, somewhat, during subsequent questioning by my aide, but it still reeks. Both Niles Renquist and his wife have been questioned, not interrogated. And while both were cooperative, neither was forthcoming. As for Carmichael, if anyone leaks his involvement in my investigation to the media, it would be him.”
“You intend to pursue each of these individuals as suspects in this investigation.”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“All right.” Satisfied, he nodded. “I have no problem fielding the complaints, but walk softly here, Dallas. Each of these people has considerable power in his own way, and all of them know how to spin the media.”
“If one of them is a murderer, I’ll make the case. They can spin until they revolve to Saturn and back, but they’ll do it from a cage.”
“Wrap them up then, carefully.”
Dismissed, she got to her feet. Whitney lifted an eyebrow as she started out. “What’s wrong with the leg?”
“It’s just the knee,” she said, annoyed she hadn’t remembered to control the limp on the way out. So she smiled, a little. “I ran into something stupid,” she said, and closed the door behind her.
She left later than she’d intended, and got stuck in some bad traffic. Instead of fighting it, Eve waited it out, using the time to think, to review her notes, to think some more.
She had suspects, though she was thin on evidence. She had threads that wove through both murders. The notes, the tone of them, the imitation.