Desperation in Death (In Death #55)(41)

“Some of it. Some I’ll want you to break, and fast. Bring a camera.”

“On my way.”

Eve noted the skinny black straps on Nadine’s shoulders and the froth of black lace visible below.

“Maybe change into something less comfortable.”

“To use your term, bite me.”

When Nadine cut her off, Eve rolled her shoulders. She decided Peabody had a point about water, rose to get some.

Then sat and read the brochures.





9





Despite the black lace, Eve knew Nadine would double-time it to Central. She did the same to the bullpen and Peabody’s desk.

“Shake it off,” she ordered. “I need you to do the coffee thing in the conference room. I hooked the same one. I want to set up the electronic board in there, so I can give Nadine some details, then shut it down for her camera.”

“Nadine?”

“I want as many hands and eyes on this as I can manage. She’s coming in cold.” Eve gave Peabody a come-ahead so they could walk and talk. “She had some bet with Jake about her taking a media blackout for thirty-six hours.”

“Nadine?” Peabody repeated, but with a laugh. “What did she bet?”

“She almost made it, and serious sexual favors.”

“With Avenue A’s front man?” Peabody executed a sexy shoulder wiggle. “That’s a no-lose situation.”

“However that goes, she can and will dig in, and maybe do a big deal about child exploitation—including by some bitch-ass rep in CPS.”

“Oooh, an in-depth story on Truman? That would be even better than a punch in the face.”

“Punching her would’ve been—momentarily—a lot more satisfying. A big-ass Nadine story lasts longer. Meanwhile, I’ll give her a one-on-one, get Dorian’s face out there. We’ll set up a tip line, put some experienced drones on that.”

“She could’ve rabbited right out of New York.”

“Could’ve,” Eve agreed as she swung into the conference room. “So I’ve got some uniforms hitting transpo stations, showing her photo. But where’s she going to go? She’s got nobody.”

“Her great-grandmother,” Peabody began.

“Dead—three years ago, traffic fatality. So, nobody.”

She switched on the board to start on the transfer of data and images. “With Covino and the others Dawber took, they had people, they had jobs, residences. And he took them for himself, not for profit. Mina Cabot had the same, but they still managed to hold her, without a trace, for months. Dorian, and others like her? They’ve got nothing and nowhere.”

“Easier pickings.”

“Probably, sure. But someone like Mina represents more projected profit. That’s my take, anyway, after a glance at the sales packets.”

“Do you want me to finish that?”

“No, I want you to start a search, nationwide, using Mina Cabot as a template. The age range, the good, solid family/neighborhood/schools angle. No history of running away, no trouble. And start with the seriously pretty type. Factor in missing for at least two months.”

She continued as she worked. “Filter out any with more than a sixty percent probability they were taken by a parent, family member, or other individual, any with conclusive ransom demands at the outset.”

“Nationwide?”

“If you don’t get a break in the next twenty-four, we’ll take that global. But for now, I want to whittle down whatever you get to highest probability, see if we can map it out, pinpoint areas, hunting grounds. When Feeney shakes free, he wants in. He can take this end over from you, but get it going.”

Peabody puffed out her cheeks, released the air. “Do you need me in here with Nadine?”

“Did you do the coffee thing?”

“Done. And if you don’t need me, I’d do better on a search of that scope at my desk. And I could tap one of the techie-type uniforms to assist.”

“Go do that. And have Nadine’s camera wait in the lounge until I clear him or her in.”

When Peabody left, Eve stepped back to scan the board. A lot of data already. Hadn’t done Mina Cabot any good, she thought, but they wouldn’t have the data without her.

“An alliance,” she said to herself, thinking of Willowby’s term. “I can see it. Same age, good brains. Your idea, I’m betting,” she added, looking at Mina’s ID shot. “Somebody like Dorian’s more used to going it on her own. You? Solid family, soccer team, friends. So you reach out to somebody you figure has some street smarts, somebody who wants out as much as you.

“And you’re the distraction.”

She thought, paced, thought, paced.

“Make yourself boot up dinner. There’s a mess. Do they call in a medical, take you to whatever sort of medical facility they have on-site? Have to have one on-site. It’s smart, took some guts and … trust,” she decided. “There had to be trust between the two of you. More than two of you?”

She rolled that around, but she just didn’t see it. Bring too many in, you widen the possibility somebody breaks, says or does the wrong thing, screws it all up.

Not impossible, she thought, but unlikely.