She walked straight back to the steps rather than hassle with the elevator’s security system. That would open, once cleared, directly intoMitchell ’s loft. Less traumatizing,Eve hoped, to knock on the hall door on the third level, and gain admittance that way.
“His log shows an appointment with her here, this afternoon,”Eve continued. “That tells me he’s already bunged up her loft security, and plans to move in tonight, tomorrow latest. I need to get her out, but I don’t want cops around yet. We’ll set up a unit in the morning, early.” She knocked on the door, held up her badge, then turned to smile at Roarke.
“So I’m giving her to you. You’ll transport her to Central, and she’ll be transferred to a safe house until this goes down.”
“And you plan to stay here tonight, alone? I don’t think so.”
“I outrank you.”
Eveheard the click of the speaker engage, and the puzzled Yes? that came through it.
“Police,Ms.Mitchell. We need to speak with you.”
“What’s this about?”
“I’d like to come in.”
“It’s nearlymidnight.”Katie opened the door a crack. “Is something wrong? Has there been a break-in?”
“I’d like to discuss this inside.”
She studiedEve ’s badge again, then glanced at Roarke. The double take was almost comical. “I know you.” It was reverent. “Oh my God.”
“Ms.Mitchell.”Eve had to order herself not to act annoyed asKatie brushed at her hair with her hand. “May we come in?”
“Um. Yes. Okay. I was just going to bed,” she said, apology in her voice as she tugged at the belt of a thin pink robe. “I wasn’t expecting… anybody.”
The living area was spacious and simple, with an opening on one side through whichEve could see a small bedroom. And through the opening on the other side was a larger, professional-looking office.
A long, galley-style kitchen was behind a low wall. She imagined the other door, which was discreetly closed, led to the bath.
Good windows, probably let in considerable light during the day, she judged. Two exits, including the elevator.
“Ms.Mitchell, you had an appointment today with this man.”
Evetook a photo of Renquist from her bag.
“No,”Katie said after a quick look. Her gaze went back to, and held on Roarke’s face. “Would you like to sit down?”
“Would you please look at this picture again, more carefully, and tell me if this man was yourthree o’clock appointment this afternoon.”
“Mythree o’clock? No, he was… oh, wait. It isMr.Marsonini. But he had red hair. Long red hair done in a braid. And he wore these little blue sunshades the entire time. A little affected, I thought, but he was Italian.”
“Was he?”
“Yes. He had a really charming accent. He’s relocating here, fromRome, though he’ll still have some business interests inEurope. He’s in oil. Olive oil. He needs a personal accountant to work with his corporate people. Oh my. Has something happened to him? Is that why you’re here?”
“No.” She was measuringKatie as she’d measured the loft. As she’d concluded from the data and ID picture,KatieMitchell was the same general build and coloring asPeabody. That might come in handy.
“Ms.Mitchell, this man’s name isn’t Marsonini. It’s Renquist, and he’s suspected of murdering at least five women.”
“Oh, you must be mistaken.Mr.Marsonini was perfectly charming. I spent nearly two hours with him today.”
“There’s no mistake. Posing as a potential client, Renquist gained entrance to this loft for the purposes of cloning your security, having personal contact with you, and assuring himself that you did, still, live alone. Which I assume you do.”
“Well, yes, but-”
“He has stalked you for some time, as is his pattern with his victims, gathering information on your routines and habits. He intends to enter this residence within the next forty-eight hours, most likely when you’re sleeping. He would then restrain you, rape and torture you before using your own kitchen utensils to mutilate and kill you in the most painful way he could devise.”
Evelistened to the little choked sound that creaked inKatie ’s throat, than watched the brunette’s eyes roll back in her head.
“All yours,” she said as Roarke swore and stepped in to catchKatie before she toppled over.
“You could have done that in a more sensitive and delicate way.”
“Sure. But this was quicker. When she comes to, she can pack what she needs. Then you get her out.”
He heftedKatie, headed with her to a sofa. “You’re not staying here alone and waiting for him to come hunting.”
“That’s my job,” she began. “But I’m calling for backup.”
“Call for it now, and I’ll have her out of your way inside twenty minutes.”
“Deal.”
She pulled out her communicator and prepared to set up the next stage of her operation.
– -«»--«»--«»--
She spent the hours until dawn sitting in the dark, waiting. A surveillance vehicle sat outside, and two armed uniforms were stationed in the living area of theMitchell apartment. But the watch team had its orders. Renquist, when he came, was hers.
– -«»--«»--«»--
And he sat in his quiet room in a small apartment on the edge of the Village. He’d decorated it carefully, selecting each piece so that it would have a European feel, and a rich one, rich and colorful and sexy.
So unlike the cool, stagnant home he shared with his wife when he wasNiles.
When he was in this warm, deeply toned room, he wasVictorClarence. A small, amusing joke and a play on His Royal Highness Prince Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence, who some credited with the Ripper murders of Whitechapel.
Renquist liked to believe it, enjoyed the notion of a killer prince. He considered himself no less.
A prince among men. A king among killers.
And like that famed stylist of death, he would never be caught. But he was more than his prototypes. Because he would never stop.
He drank a brandy and smoked a thin cigar laced with just a whiff of Zoner. He loved these times alone, the quiet, reflective times when all the preparation was done.
He was pleased he’d decided to feign a business trip, to get away on his own for a few days.Pamela was irritating him more than usual with her long, speculative stares, her pointed questions.
Who was she to question him, to look at him?
If she only knew how many times he’d imagined killing her. The many and creative ways he’d devised. She’d run screaming. The image of his cold and rigid wife running for her life made him chuckle.
Of course, he would never do it. It would bring it all too close to home, and he was no fool.Pamela was safe simply because he was stuck with her. Besides, if he killed her, who would handle all the annoying details of his social life?
No, it was enough just to have these periodic rests from her, and the female she’d saddled him with. Irritating, sneaky little brat. Children were, as he’d learned from his dear old nanny, meant to be neither seen nor heard.
If they rebelled or failed to obey smartly, they were to be put somewhere, in the dark. Where they were no longer seen, where they couldn’t be heard no matter how loud they screamed.
Oh yes, he remembered-remembered the dark room.NannyGable had had a way about her. He would like to kill her, slowly, painfully, while she screamed and screamed as he’d once done.
But that wouldn’t be wise. LikePamela, she was safe because he was stuck with her.
In any case, she’d taught him, hadn’t she?NannyGable had certainly taught him. Children were meant to be raised by someone paid and paid well to discipline and tutor. Not that the sly little Italian thing disciplined his girl. Spoiled her, coddled her. But she was convenient. Her fear and loathing of him gave him such a rush of pleasure.
Everything in his life had finally fallen into place. He was respected, admired, obeyed. He was comfortable financially, and had an active and rarefied social life. He had a wife who presented the proper image, and a young mistress who was just fearful enough to do anything, absolutely anything, he required.