“Done. I’m going to take this search off-planet. It’s got me hooked now.”
She sat back, stared up at the ceiling.
“Are we going to London and Paris?” Roarke asked her.
“I don’t think I can risk the time, or the energy it’d take to hack through the international red tape. I’ll try to tie it in, talking to the primaries via ‘link.”
“If you change your mind, it wouldn’t take more than one extra day.”
She’d like to see where he’d been, where he’d done some of his early work. But she shook her head. “He’s in New York. I need to be in New York. He’s been practicing a long time,” she said half to herself. “Honing his talents. That’s why he can afford to kill close together now. All the prep work, all the research, all the details are in place. He doesn’t have to wait because he’s waited long enough.”
“Practiced or not, the speed is going to make him sloppy,” Roarke stated. “He may be meticulous, he may have honed his talents, but he’s moving too fast for caution.”
“I think you’re right about that. And when he messes up, we’ll get him. When we get him, when I get him in the box and break him down, we’re going to find out there were more. Other bodies, hidden or destroyed, until he got better. Until he could leave them to be found, with some pride. But his early mistakes, he doesn’t want to be embarrassed by them. That’s the emotional reason. The other’s more practical. He didn’t want to leave too many like crimes on the books, draw attention until he was ready to make his splash.”
“I’ve done some research of my own.” Roarke swiveled the workstation aside. “For fifteen months between March of2012 and May of2013, a man named Peter Brent murdered seven police officers in the city of Chicago. Brent, unable to pass the psych screen to become a member of the CPSD, joined a fringe paramilitary group where he learned how to handle what would be his weapon of choice, a long-range blaster, already banned for civilians at that time.”
“I know about Brent. He liked rooftops. He’d hunker down on a roof, wait for a cop to come into range, and take him out with a head shot. It took a fifty-man task force more than a year to bring him down.”
Understanding, she leaned forward, laid her hands on Roarke’s. “Brent didn’t kill women, he killed cops. Didn’t matter to him as long as they had the uniform he couldn’t wear. He doesn’t fit the profile for the prototype.”
“Five of the seven dead cops were female officers. As was the chief of police who he tried, and failed, to assassinate. Don’t hose me, Lieutenant,” he said calmly enough. “You’ve thought of Brent, and you’ve run a probability just as I have. You know there’s an eighty-eight point six probability factor that he will emulate Brent, and target you.”
“He’s not going to go for me,” she insisted. Not yet, she thought. Not quite yet. “He needs me to pursue, so he feels more important, more successful, more satisfied. Taking me out wouldn’t give him the same rush.”
“So he’s saving you for his final act.”
There was no point in dissembling, not with Roarke. “I figure he may have that for a long-range goal. But I can promise you, he won’t get there.”
He took her hand, linked fingers. “I’m holding you to that promise.”
Chapter16
She’d decided to hang on to Roarke for her interview withRobertaGable. He would, she considered, provide another set of impressions. The former child-care professional had agreed to speak withEve as long as the interview lasted no longer than twenty minutes.
“She wasn’t particularly gracious about it,”Eve told him as they approached the small apartment complex whereGable made her home. “Especially when I said we’d be here around six-thirty. She eats promptly at seven, and I was told I’d have to respect that.”
“People of a certain age tend to develop routines.”
“And she called meMissDallas. Repeatedly.”
Companionably, Roarke swung an arm around her shoulders. “You already hate her.”
“I do. I really do. But the job’s the job. No snuggling on the job,” she added.
“I keep forgetting that.” Still he gave her a friendly squeeze before removing his arm.
Evestepped up to the security grid, gave her name, displayed her badge, stated her business. She was cleared so quickly she assumedGable had been waiting for her.
“I’m going to intro you as my associate,” she said as they walked into the tiny foyer. One look at his gorgeous face, the elegant suit, and the shoes that probably cost more than Gable’s monthly rent hadEve sighing. “And unless she’s blind and senile, she won’t buy it, but we’ll try to brash by that.”
“It shows a definite bias to assume that cops can’t be well dressed.”
“Your shirt lists for more than my weapon,” she chided. “So once in, you keep it buttoned, the lip as well as the shirt, and look firm and stern.”
“And I was counting on shooting you quiet, adoring looks.”
“Burst that bubble. Second floor.” They took the steps, turned into a short hall with two doors on either side.
The absolute silence told her the building had excellent soundproofing, or everyone in the place was dead.
Evepressed the buzzer beside2 B.
“MissDallas?”
At the sound of the voice through the speaker, Roarke firmed his lips against a grin and stared dutifully at the door.
“LieutenantDallas,Ms.Gable.”
“I want to see your identification. Hold it up to the peep.”
AfterEve complied there was a long silence. “It appears to be in order. There’s a man with you. You didn’t indicate there would be a man with you.”
“My associate,Ms.Gable. May we come in, please? I don’t want to take up any more of your time than necessary.”
“Very well.”
There was another stretch during whichEve assumed various locks were being turned.RobertaGable opened the door, and scowled.
Her identification photo was, if anything, flattering. Her thin face had the sort of hard edgesEve judged came from not only avoiding any of the softer areas of life but disparaging them. The grooves around her mouth indicated that the scowl was a regular feature. Her hair was pulled back so tightly it gaveEve a headache just to look at it.
She was dressed in gray, like her hair-a crisp shirt and skirt that hung on her bony body. Her shoes were black and thick-soled, with laces tied in very precise knots.
“I know you,” she said to Roarke, and sucked in so much air her nostrils flared visibly. “You are not a police officer.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Civilian consultants are often utilized by the police department,”Eve put in. “If you have any questions about this procedure, you can call my commanding officer inNew York. We can wait outside until you verify.”
“That won’t be necessary.” She stepped back until they entered the living area. It was ruthlessly clean, and Spartan. None of the frilly businessEve generally expected from older women living alone was in evidence.
No pillows or dust-catchers, no framed photos or flowers. There was a single sofa, a single chair, two tables, two lamps. It was as soulless, and just as welcoming, as a cage in a high-security prison.
One would not, she was sure, hear the dulcet sounds of a Carmichael Smith CD within these walls. That, at least, was one small mercy.
“You may sit, on the sofa. I will not offer refreshments this close to mealtime.”
She took the chair, sat with her back straight as a poker, her feet flat on the floor with her knees pressed so tightly together they might have been glued. She folded her hands in her lap.
“You indicated you wished to speak to me regarding one of my former charges, but refused to give me a name. I find that quite rude,MissDallas.”
“I find murder quite rude, and that’s what I’m investigating.”