Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(24)

“He’s got to have the space. Maybe he wanted two so they could compete, so he could judge which was the right one, or better one.” Eve shook her head, paused at the point where Liza would have separated, walked her own way home.

“Liza’s taller, more muscular. A yard of dark hair, mixed race. Wouldn’t fit for him. Anna Hobe? You can see why Mike had that flash moment when Lauren Elder’s photo popped on-screen. They’re a type. Slim, young blondes. It’s not going to be a coincidence two slim, young blondes who work nights at a bar and walk home late went missing within days of each other.”

“He’s got her.”

“And within walking distance of each other. Yeah, a solid hike, but only about six blocks.

“This is his hunting ground.” Eve stopped again a half block from Hobe’s building. “Here’s a good spot to park, to wait. Between the streetlights, in the rain. Her head’s down, she’s walking fast. Maybe bash her, but a quick-acting drug—quick jab—that’s easier, cleaner. Has to be quick. She’s what—a hundred and fifteen pounds? So bundle her into the vehicle and drive away. But then you’ve got to get an unconscious woman out of the vehicle and into your place.”

“You’d want privacy if you could get it.”

“A garage maybe,” Eve said as they walked again. “I can’t see driving her out of the city to hold her, then back in to dump her. Adds risk. Nothing strikes me as the behavior of a risk taker. It’s need and it’s anger, but he doesn’t want to be caught. He’s not after the thrill.”

She studied Hobe’s building. Decent, but right on the edge of it. The street-level door required buzzing in from the inside or a code swipe. Even without a master she calculated she could—thanks to Roarke’s tutelage—gain access in under two minutes.

Though tempted, she used her master. “Tag up the super.”

“Doing that now. Hobe’s on four.”

Eve gave the single elevator a suspicious glance and pushed open the door to the stairs. “He can meet us there, or just give verbal permission for us to enter.”

The stairway didn’t hit disgusting, but it came close. No smell of piss or puke—her line of disgust—but it held a stale, sour stench. And the lack of soundproofing meant she heard someone trying—and failing—to play a keyboard, some kid screeching he wanted Mongo, now! Mongo, now!, and the blast of someone’s screen—a comedy, she assumed, given the hysterical laughter.

“He’s on his way up,” Peabody said as her boots clomped on the steps. “Sounds like he just wants to nose his way in.”

“He’ll be disappointed.”

They came out on four. No keyboard, no screeching kid or hysterical laughter. But she clearly heard someone behind a door talking—on a ’link, she assumed, as the conversation was one-way—in a voice that screamed Brooklyn, to someone named Margie about someone named Sylvie, who, apparently, was a queen bitch.

“I was okay living in an apartment,” Eve remembered. “You’re okay living in one.”

“Sure, but it’s a solid building, clean building, and it has good soundproofing.”

“Still, you start thinking about all the people breathing and farting and banging together in the same group space. I had a neighbor who poisoned her husband with a pie she told him not to eat because she knew he would if she told him not to. Stuff like that.”

“I never really thought about stuff like that until now—thanks—and find myself only more grateful I won’t be living with the breathing, farting, banging, and poisoning in a few months.

“What kind of pie?”

“Cream of cyanide. It did the job.”

The elevator squeaked open after giving a distinct creak and rumble that she felt justified her choice of stairs.

The man who stepped out still had a scatter of teenage acne on his pointy face, and a lot of brown hair falling over his forehead into his eyes. He wore a tight white T-shirt and black skin pants over thick, bulging muscles.

“You the cops?”

“We’re the cops.” Eve held up her badge. His eyes told her he’d recently enjoyed some Zoner, the smoke from which still clung to his clothes like a sickly-sweet body spray.

“You’re not the cops who were here before.”

“Because we’re different cops. You can let us in, or you can make us get a warrant. If you choose the second option, I’ll get a second one for your place.”

“What for?”

“Because we’re the cops, and you were stupid enough to come up here still stinking of Zoner smoke. Between that and the ’roids you’re popping, it’ll really screw up the rest of your day. Let us in, go away, and we won’t have to waste our time or the city’s resources.”

“Try to do somebody a favor.” He unlocked the door, but when he started to open it, Eve blocked him.

“We’ll take it from here.”

“Rent comes due, I can haul her stuff outta there.”

“Try it, and I’ll screw up more than one of your days.”

He gave her a hard look, then turned to stalk off. He lost the impact, as the elevator door had creaked closed again. He stomped to the stairs, let the door bang shut behind him.

“There’s a dumbass for you,” Eve commented, and opened the door.