“That’s one way to look at it,” Roarke conceded. “And now I want a drink.”
“I can’t prove it, yet. But I will. He took e-courses, but everybody does. He excelled, but didn’t pursue them. I’m betting when we ask, we’re going to find he’s one of the go-to guys when somebody has a comp issue. ‘I bet Kyle can fix it.’”
She frowned when Roarke offered her a small glass of wine.
“I guess so,” she considered, and sipped.
“I knew, Roarke, everything in me knew, today when he sat across from me, an arm around his cousin’s wife. Her shoulder to lean on. He set it all up. His cousin’s uptown in meetings, he’s downtown, and he talks Rosa into going with him, has a director type there for cover, too. He’s right there to support her when she gets that text.”
“Easily sent by remote, or scheduled to send at a certain time.”
“I got that. And it’s dumped in a recycler half a block from the Patricks’ building—to add more fear—and that bin just happens to do the crush and shred before we can get there. Previous crush is eight A.M., giving him a big wide window to dump it, head into work. No way we could’ve gotten to it before the scheduled crush—he even checked the time to be sure when we were at Central. I went hot all the way, and we were still too late. He had it all worked out.
“He’s smart,” she said, pacing again. “Reckless—that’s arrogance. He didn’t have to take another swipe at his cousin and Rosa, didn’t have to put himself in the position of sitting across from me. He just wanted to.”
“The Patricks will be grateful, will feel grateful he was with her when that text came. That he took her to you, stayed with her. All of it designed to make them grateful to the man who brutalized them.”
“He’s a damn good actor.” She stared at Kyle’s ID shot. “Damn good at setting the stage. I’ve got to write it up. Write it all up, every detail, then I have to convince Reo to get behind it, get me a search warrant. He’s got that hoard he’s stolen stashed somewhere, and somewhere he can bask in it whenever he wants. We still have to finish vetting the list. If I’m wrong—”
“You’re not.” Roarke recalled the images of Knightly’s aunt and Rosa onto the screen. “You’re not wrong. I’ll start working on the other names while you write it up. But you’re not wrong.”
It took her an hour to write up the report in such a way that utilized only facts, only available data, making the connections in a logical point by point.
Then she let it simmer while she updated her lists or eliminated more possibles before going back and reading it all again.
When she felt it would stand, she sent it to APA Cher Reo with a request for a face-to-face meeting at the earliest possible time the next day; to Mira, asking for a consult if the profiler felt one necessary; and to her commander.
She copied the other members of the team on all.
When she’d finished, she sat back, closed her eyes.
“You need sleep.”
“I know. I have to be on top of things tomorrow. If I do it right, he won’t have the chance to do this to anyone else. He’s got the next targets, he’s got the costume, the props, everything. He’s dreaming about it. He’d never stop.”
“No, and eventually, he’d kill his aunt and uncle.”
Eve opened her eyes, turned to Roarke. “Yes. His full circle. He’d have to. I requested access to his full medicals. His parents paid off the woman he assaulted. Maybe they did that on the condition he get help.”
“He’s close to his cousin. His cousin may know.”
“Yeah, I may have to go there.”
She turned back to view an incoming text.
“From Reo—that was fast.”
I’m staying with a friend tonight in your area. I can come to your place when I leave. Out of here by seven-thirty. Due in pretrial meetings at ten.
“That works,” Eve muttered, replied with the same, then sent a message to Peabody.
Report here, by eight for full briefing and
“Wouldn’t you want to brief everyone at once?” Roarke interrupted.
“Crap.” She added the others on, continued …
meeting with APA Reo.
“Will provide breakfast.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Eve. You’re asking them to come here after working until near midnight. It’s a small thing.”
“Crap and more crap.” But she added it on. “Satisfied?”
“With that, well enough. Altogether, the way you’re drooping, other satisfaction will have to wait. Come on then, it’s time to put it away and sleep.”
“I’m not drooping,” she grumbled. “Besides,” she added as he pulled her to her feet, “it’s male drooping that postpones other satisfaction.”
“Very droll.”
Maybe she was drooping, a little, by the time they got to the bedroom. And there lay the cat, stretched out on his back in the middle of the bed.
“That’s where he went.” Eve shrugged off her jacket, unhooked her weapon harness. “He likes the big fancy bed, too.”
“He has exceptional taste.”
“Well, he’s going to have to make room.” She sat, pulled off her boots. Just sat. “I don’t want to dream. I can feel dreams circling around in my head, just waiting until I close my eyes. I don’t want them.”
“Do you remember our last night on the island?”
“I remember there was a lot of non-drooping satisfaction.”
He smiled, lit the fire. “We spread a blanket on the beach, and we had a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, cheese, fruit.”
“Those little eclair things.”
“And those. We ate, drank, watched the water, watched the sun go down until the water took it. And the moon came up.”
“We did more than sitting and watching,” she recalled as she rose to undress.
“We did, but we did sit and watch and it was quiet and lovely. It was the world right then.”
“If I’d known you owned an island, I might have married you for it. It was a nice bonus.”
He just kissed her forehead. “Dream of that,” he said, and led her to bed.
He slipped in beside her, drew her close, rubbed her back in the way he knew helped her drift away. “Dream of that tonight. Only that.”
And she did.
20
The now, the what came next, pushed at the edges of her brain and brought Eve out of sleep. In the dark, she reached for Roarke, the comfort and solidity. But he wasn’t there.
She sat up, then just curled into herself, knees to her chest, as the weight, the fresh misery of what she had to do fell over her.
She’d get her warrant, and she’d pull Kyle Knightly into the box. She’d break him. She knew how to break him. And then …
God, then.
In the dark, the cat jumped on the bed, padded to her, butted his head against her shins.
Eve picked him up—Christ, talk about weight—clutched him to her as a child might a teddy bear. The cat purred in her arms, rubbed his wide head against her shoulder.
“You always come through, don’t you?” she murmured, easing her hold to stroke and scratch. “Pretty smart of me to haul your fat ass home that day.” She rubbed her cheek against the top of his head. “Yeah, I’m pretty smart.”
She let out a sigh. “Lights, ten percent.”
In the faint glow, she called for the time. Oh-five-twenty-one.
“Might as well get started.”
After giving Galahad a last cuddle, she rolled out of bed, headed straight for coffee.
As she lifted the mug, the cat eyed her. Steely, unblinking.
“You wouldn’t tell me if Roarke already fed you.”
Those bicolored eyes seem to harden, and never wavered.
“You, pal, would be a challenge in the box. I’ve got to respect that.”
She ordered him up some kibble, added a salmon chaser. And when he pounced on it, took the coffee with her to shower.
&nbs
p; No point in thinking about it, she told herself as she let the jets pummel and steam. She’d take the first steps, then the next until it was done. Case closed, move on.
When she came out again, Galahad—bowl empty—sat washing himself industriously.
She walked into the closet, stopped herself as she reached carelessly for the closest jacket at hand. She glanced back, reminded herself the cat couldn’t help her here. Besides, she wasn’t an idiot. Though she’d never buy that what she wore mattered in the day-to-day of cop work, today … Image, perception, presentation? It wouldn’t hurt to keep those things in mind regarding breaking Knightly.
Normally she avoided red for the job as it struck her as too female, too deliberately bold. But that might be exactly what the day called for.
She mulled over the section of red jackets, their various hues and tints, until she annoyed herself, so grabbed one at random.
Not bright so much as strong, she decided, and the fact it would hit just below her waist added another subtle point. Unbuttoned, it would show part of her weapon harness.
Because her mind wanted to swim when she scanned trousers, she grabbed a pair of straight-legged, simple pants out of the gray section.
She opted for a sweater rather than a shirt—easier movement, in case she got a chance to … or, rather, was required to physically restrain Knightly.
She dressed, grabbed boots the same shade as the pants as it seemed easiest, and considered the most aggravating portion of her day complete.
She stepped back into the room as Roarke walked in.
“Good morning. I’d hoped you’d sleep longer.”
“Long enough. What?” Her brow furrowed as he studied her. “Are you going to tell me there’s something wrong with this?” She waved her hands down her body.
“Quite the opposite, Lieutenant. I was just thinking you look strong, capable, and in charge.”
“Good. I am.”
He crossed to her, lifted her chin. “Then why do your eyes look sad?”
“Not sad, just working things out. What time did you get up to lord over the known universe?”
“A bit before five. I had a brief ’link conference.” He lifted her chin a little higher, kissed her. “Did you dream after all?”
“Not bad ones.” He saw too much of her, she thought, and evaded by shifting away to gather her things from a table. Restraints, ’link, comm, badge, loose credits.
“Is that all you have?”
“Of what?”
“Money.”
Annoyance rising, she shrugged. “I just need to go by the machine, pull some out. I’ll hit an AutoBank when I get to Central.”
He took a money clip out of his pocket, pulled off several bills. “Take it. It’ll save you time.” When she made no move to do so, he felt his own annoyance rising. “Christ Jesus, if it troubles you so much, you can pay me back. You’ve more important things to do and think about today than stopping by an AB.”
She took it, stuffed the bills in her pocket. “You’re right. Thanks.” But she said it stiffly.
“Would you feel better if you signed an IOU? Perhaps I should charge you interest.”
“I said you were right.” When he only lifted an eyebrow, she fumed. “I didn’t pay for anything I’m wearing.”
Now he angled his head. “I don’t believe I bought those restraints, your weapon, your ’link.”
“Goddamn it, you know what I mean.”
“I do, just as I know you hate to shop for clothes. For anything, actually, while I enjoy it.”
She started to snarl back at him, hissed out a breath instead. “I’m looking for a fight.” Cursing herself, she pressed her fingers to her eyes, dropped them. “I can’t explain it.”
“All right. Should we have one now,” he said, very pleasantly, “or schedule it for later?”
“It’s not you and me. I’m just using you and me so I don’t have to think about everything else. I want it done, I want it over. I want to close this door.”
“This door opened so hard on the heels of the last investigation. It’s hardly a wonder you’re scraped raw.”
“Yeah. Time to hope for a nice, straight murder. Greedy bastard shoves business partner out the window. Brother stabs brother over the last bag of soy chips. Spouse bludgeons spouse over sidepiece. You know, the fun stuff.”
“I have no doubt you’ll get that wish. After all, there’s never a dearth of greed or sidepieces in the world, but only a finite number of soy chips.”
“That’s the damn truth. We okay?”
“Of course we are.”
“I want to go ahead and finish up the rest of the names, just check that box off.”
“I’ve one or two things to see to myself.”
“I fed the cat,” she said when they started out together.
“That’s a coincidence. So did I.”
“I knew it!” Glancing back at Galahad, she would have sworn he smirked.
Roarke smirked right back at him. “What he doesn’t know is he’s now eating low-calorie kibble.”
“He is?”
“By Summerset’s decree after a vet checkup where the vet advised that our boy should lose three to five pounds.”
“I gave him a little salmon,” Eve confessed.
“I went with tuna.”
The laugh felt good. Then she walked into her office, saw the long table already stacked with plates, flatware, cups.
“Oh, hell.”
“People need to eat,” he reminded her, and walked into his office.
She sat, got more coffee, and diligently worked her way through the remaining names. She barely noticed Summerset rolling trays of heat-domed dishes out of the elevator. Or did her best to ignore it.
She heard someone coming—not Peabody, wrong stride, wrong sound—swiveled in her chair as Reo came in.
“Look at this! You redid your office. It’s fabulous. You have a fireplace. I’d kill for a fireplace this time of year. I love the colors, and your workstation—”
“Command center,” Eve corrected.
Reo went, “Oooh,” and walked over on boots with high, thick heels. “Very impressive. And whatever’s for breakfast smells wonderful.”
“Didn’t your friend make you breakfast?”
Reo sighed, took off her coat. She wore a slim dress, short jacket, both in deep, dreamy green. “No, he had an early shuttle to catch. It’s someone I’ve been seeing for a few months, semi-seriously the last few weeks. And now he’s leaving for Sierra Leone for sixteen months.”
“Where the hell is Sierra Leone?”
“West Africa. Can I have coffee?”
Eve tapped the AutoChef in the command center.
“Okay, now I’m seriously jealous. He’s a teacher, part of an organization called Literacy Warriors. He’s going there to teach, to educate. It’s noble, admirable, and really crappy timing for me, personally. But.” She shrugged, took the coffee. “That’s how it goes.”
Now she walked to the board. “Your report was detailed, thorough, and largely based on circumstantial.”
“I’m right.”
Reo sipped, studied. “A sexual obsession for an aunt—she is a knockout—leads him to rape, torture, and eventually murder?”
“A sexual assault on his record at eighteen.”
“The complainant recanted.”
“And, gee, a million dollars shows up in her bank account.”
“That does add interest. It’s still a thin net, Dallas.”
“He fits the profile.”
“He does. He certainly does. But so do others, as you’ve very aptly illustrated.”
“I’ve eliminated all but a handful from the gala. You want to tell me it’s just a strange coincidence that every victim up there attended that gala and the assailant didn’t?”
“No—that’s a defense ploy. You honestly think you’re going to find the things he took from these people—the jewelry, the valuables, the clothes—right in his
home?”
“Yes, I do. He needs them close, and he needs them private. He lives in a converted loft, has the whole building. It’s not huge, but it’s plenty big enough. He doesn’t do much entertaining—according to his own statement. Prefers to take people out. He knows makeup, costuming, staging. And the last victims, hit on the night after the blizzard? Under four blocks from his place. He could’ve walked it, Reo. He targeted them because he could get there, because after Strazza’s death, he wanted the blood. He had to get a kill.”
“How sure are you?”
“Truth? All the way. I got an itch the first time I talked to him, but I knew when he came in yesterday. We’d already started on the list of potential males, and he came in. I knew. We still ran them, dug in. And he fits like a fucking glove, Reo.”
She nodded, brushed back her frothy mop of blond hair. “I’m going to get you the warrants. It’s going to take some tap dancing, but…” She turned back, smiled. “I’ve got the talent.”
“You get me the warrants, I’ll take him down.”
“You take him down, we’ll put him away. Okay if I grab some food? I’m starving. A night saying bon voyage eats up the calories.”
“Go ahead. Here come Peabody and McNab,” Eve added, recognizing the clomp and prance.
Peabody clomped into the doorway, stopped. Her mouth fell comically open. “Wow! I mean mega-wow. This is— When did you—Wow. You have all kinds of— Oooh, a balcony!”
“Command center extreme!” McNab bounced straight over.
Eve should’ve figured an e-geek would know what really mattered.
“You got holo, and multiscreen.” He wedged himself in the U with her, bending down to study controls and babbling in geek, apparently about available bytes, streaming, functions.
“Don’t touch anything,” she ordered, but got out of his way because he looked, well, aroused.