Desperation in Death (In Death #55)(51)

She looked back at him. “You did have a smuggling business.”

“We could call it that,” he said easily. “More, I’d say, interests, but it comes to the same for logistics.”

He glanced over as her comp signaled. And Eve pounced.

“It only gives me one over ninety here, Lottie Crug, age twelve, from the Heights. Got a juvie sheet. Truancy, shoplifting, chronic runaway. Comp’s basically matching her up with Dorian. But she fits. Missing since April, suspected runaway. She’s got the looks.”

“She does. You have six in the eighty-percent range.”

“Yeah, I see. I’m going to add the two that hit between eighty-five and ninety. One from Queens, one from Baltimore. Baltimore—foster kid. Queens, abusive father’s how it reads. Mother filed restraining order, blah blah.

“They slide right in from where I’m standing. It’s a goddamn pattern, Roarke. It’s a fucking system.”

“I agree. Run your third. I’ll see to dinner. You’ll eat,” he said before she could object. “Think it through, talk it out. And we’ll talk about how my own search is going.”

“If you’ve got—”

“If I had something definitive, I wouldn’t be programming dinner.” He kissed her forehead. “Run the third.”





11





She thought it through, and when the next results came in, printed out more young faces. She had ten now, ten she considered mid to high probability, from Boston to Baltimore.

“I’m going to set up another—start with Mina’s category, but take out the physical appearance factor. Follow me here, objectively, okay?”

“All right.”

“Richard Troy intended to sell me off, but not like Mina, for instance. I didn’t have the looks. Don’t,” she said quickly. “You see me the way you see me. But reality is, I sure as hell didn’t have the looks. I was bony, scrawny, awkward. They’re called Slaves or Pets, depending.”

“I’m aware,” he said flatly.

“I’d have fit one of those. You don’t need to invest so much, so you can sell for a lot less, but it’s steady profit if you’re just snatching them. And I need to start working on younger. Say, eight to eleven, all categories. If we’re going in the right direction, an operation like this would probably diversify. Say some of the potentials for major sales just don’t pan out, you sell them as a Slave or Pet or whatever the assholes call them.”

She could see, actually see, him work to set his personal feelings aside. Sometime, she thought, some way, she’d show him what that—just that—meant to her.

“All right, well then, a good foundational business plan might have what you’d call their private label—very high-end—and work down to the more accessible. You might say store brand.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” He just said it better. “So I want to work on that, going with the basic pattern.”

“I can help with that.” He walked to her when she didn’t respond. “Now you don’t.” Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet. “We get through this together, remember? And I’m better at this sort of thing than you.”

“Faster doesn’t always mean better.” But she shrugged as he led her to the table. “Maybe better and faster. I’m thinking maybe Peabody and McNab—or Feeney—can do runs like this, but other regions. If they find a similar pattern, if—I know it’s if—but if it’s the same organization, do they transport them here, or have those other locations? Other port cities, other transportation hubs? Or are they sticking to this region?

“The more data,” she continued as Roarke removed the domes from the plates, “the better.”

On the plate she saw a colorful pasta salad—some of the color came from vegetables, but she’d handle them. In addition, he’d come up with some sort of fish (she thought) that looked a little burned.

“AC going wonky?”

“It’s blackened swordfish. You should like the heat.”

“Maybe. Who decided to eat some fish with a sword? You have to wonder if the first guy who caught one thought: Holy shit, this damn fish has a sword.”

“En garde,” he said, and made her laugh before she sampled it.

“Okay, I can see why he decided it was worth it.”

Before he could do it for her, as he invariably did, she broke one of the rolls in half, offered it.

“Thanks. I’ve done some categories of my own. Small office buildings, keeping it to twelve floors and under. Warehouses, converted or others. Factories—same there. Businesses attached to same that may serve as a front.”

He stabbed some pasta. “From there, we’ll look at ownership. Assuming this is a major, sophisticated operation, I lean toward ownership of the property. Renting or leasing leaves too many problems. The owner might opt to sell it out from under you, or send in agents for evaluation, inspections.”

She hadn’t thought of evals and all that, so nodded. “Okay, that makes sense. Owning a building like that in the city takes deep pockets.”

“Those or good financing. Once I see ownership, I can potentially eliminate.”