Echoes in Death (In Death #44)(34)

When they lay quiet, bodies slack and tangled together, she sighed again. “It’s official. I really like this bed.”

He turned his face into the curve of her shoulder, brushing warm skin with his lips. “Here’s to many hours of checking off both one and two on the list.”

“I’m for that. But God, now I need a shower. It feels like days.”

“A shower, some wine, a meal, I’d say.”

“All over all of that.” Lazily, she combed her fingers through his hair. “I need to set up my board. Not much more I can do at this point, but I need to do at least that.”

“Wine and food in your office then. And you can fill me in on the details.”

“I wish there were more of them, but I’d like your take.”

It was amazing, she thought, what a solid hour’s sleep, really nice sex, and a long hot shower could accomplish. And when you topped that off with a glass of really superior wine, a thirty-six-hour stint didn’t seem too bad.

She let him choose the meal—it seemed fair—even resigned herself to eating whatever vegetables she found on her plate. And since he set it all up while she worked on her board, she drafted herself to do the cleanup.

Comfortable in flannel pants, a sweatshirt, and skids, she stepped back to study the board.

“You might wish there were more details, but that’s a comprehensive murder board at this early stage.”

“Maybe.” Now she walked away from it, to the stylish new table by the new balcony doors. “What’s for dinner?”

He lifted the warming domes.

Her heart sang a happy tune when she saw steaks, salted-skinned potatoes, and …

“What are those purple things?”

“Carrots.”

“Carrots are orange.”

“And purple.” He didn’t mention the turnips and cauliflower in the mix. He knew his quarry.

“Why would somebody dye a harmless carrot purple?”

“They’re not dyed, they’re natural. Have some more wine,” he said, topping off her glass, “and try them out.”

She went for the steak first, she was no fool, but cut off a small bite of the little purple thing. “It tastes like a carrot, herbed and buttered up or something, but carrot-like.”

“Because it is one.”

She shrugged, added enough butter for her potato to swim in. “I forgot. I brought you dessert.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, a cinnamon bun. It’s in an evidence bag—in my file bag.”

“Yum.”

She shook her fork at him before dipping it into the pool of butter. “Trust me. It’s from the caterer—Jacko—who did the dinner party.”

“He has a fine reputation. Is he a suspect?”

She shook her head. “Alibied, and no way he fits or his wife or his daughter or any of the catering team I interviewed. Same with the rental company.”

“That’s a lot to eliminate in one day. So again, considerable progress.”

“I guess it is.” She glanced back at the board. “A lot of threads to be tied together or snapped off. I did find a connection.”

“What connection?”

“Both the caterer and the rental company have done jobs for the first vic—or rather his company. The vic himself didn’t use them, but it’s a link from the company to the latest victims. And his partner used them personally a couple times. I need to see if I can make that link to the second victims. The SVU detectives didn’t go there because there wasn’t a there to go to then. Now there is.”

“Wouldn’t that un-eliminate the caterer and the rental company?”

“It’s an avenue to explore,” she admitted, “but … I just don’t think so. Not directly. But somebody who’s used them, done some work for them, knows someone—or more than one person on the crews. It also links to the hospital. Strazza was a big wheel at St. Andrew’s, and Daphne volunteered there for a time. I can link both companies to the hospital for events. So that adds hospital staff to the mix. I’m going to talk to the first four victims tomorrow, and something may shake there.”

She applied herself to the steak. Sleep, sex, shower, wine, and red meat. It was enough to bring a tear to the eye.

“Daphne thinks she smelled sulfur during the attack. So did he add that—let’s give them the full hell treatment? Or did she imagine it as he’d set the stage? Either way, this fucker gets fully in character—that’s the term, right—he likes to be the monster he wraps himself in. So maybe he’s an actor, or a wannabe actor. Actors connect to first vic’s company.”

“So they do.”

“Actor, performance, reviews,” she said as she ate. “Plus, if we go by the wit statements, the disguise is first-rate, so he’s either talented there or he’s practiced a lot. Do actor types do their own makeup and costumes?”

“I imagine some do, and others might pick up some of the steps.”

“That’s how I see it. He had to do some stalking, some research on the vics, on the locations. The attacks went too smooth for him not to have planned them. He had to have known when to move in. Those are all upper-level neighborhoods, all the locations had solid security. Single-family residences, that’s a key. Wealthy married couple, that’s another. Seriously good-looking female vics, so he has a type. That could work a couple ways.”