Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(63)

“You didn’t really think he’d killed them.”

“No, mostly because I don’t think he’d have spent all that time in godless New York, or if he had, any of those girls would’ve gone with him without a serious fight.” She yanked on her coat. “But it was a loose end.”

“McNab’s on the hunt for DeLonna and T-Bone. We’ll probably take that home, too.”

“If he finds them, either of them, I want to know asap.”

She carted the file discs, headed out.

Deliberately, she drove home through the insane circus of Times Square. She studied the packs of teenagers, the packs of girls she gauged to be on the cusp of their teens or just over the line.

She’d never sought out a pack, alone had suited her. Too much bouncing from place to place in the beginning in any case, she thought, even if she’d been inclined to the pack mentality.

But she understood she represented the exception.

They looked alike, she noted, streaming along under the flooding, jittery light that kept the dark away and invited everyone to the endless party. Their coats, hats, scarves, gloves might be different colors, but a definite style ribboned through most. Clunky boots that must have weighed like anchors, bright pants worn tight, bright coats worn big, hats with long ties flopping.

They sucked on tubes of fizzies, yammered on ’links, chowed on warm, soft pretzels they tore apart and shared.

And they stuck together as if hooked by invisible wires.

Boys scattered through some of the groups of older girls, but the younger ones—the vics’ age range—largely stuck with their own kind. Not only gender, she saw now, but class.

She picked out huddles of cheaper boots, thinner coats, most of them hatless with streaks of color through their hair rather than their wardrobe.

She spotted one helping herself to some scarves while her two partners kept the vendor busy on the other side of the stall. She watched the handoff to the girl doing a brisk walk-by before Light Fingers wandered around to her friends, all innocence and empty pockets.

Would they wear them, sell them?

Then the light changed, and she drove on.

You couldn’t pull them all in, couldn’t chase them all down, couldn’t wrap them all up in the system so they came out the better for it.

Some, as Roarke had, were just surviving, taking what they could from the streets so they’d have food in their bellies or enough to catch a vid. Others just looked for a quick thrill, some noise, some movement, with them so much in the center.

And all of them thought they’d live forever.

She left the crowds, the noise, the jittery lights behind, and drove toward home.

The elves had definitely paid another visit, she thought as she studied the house. It looked like some elegantly wrapped gift with its starry lights, countless wreaths, flowing greenery.

A long way, she thought, a long, long way from the single spindly tree Mavis had pushed on her every year.

“Mavis.” She said it out loud. “Crap, crap. I forgot.” She glanced at the time, winced, then grabbed her file bag.

If they were already here, Summerset would have something snide to say. Hell, he’d have something snide to say anyway, but she’d deserve it—a little—if they were already here.

And she needed a few minutes to get upstairs, update her board. A few minutes to just sit and think.

She stopped herself from dashing inside—it would look as if she knew she ran late—that she cared she ran late. Instead, she sauntered in.

He stood there, of course, looming in black—but she didn’t hear voices.

“Fortunately for you, your guests are running a bit late,” Summerset told her. “And had the courtesy to contact me to let me know.”

“Not a guest.” She shrugged out of her coat, tossed it over the newel post so he could scowl at it. “Don’t answer to you.”

Grateful they were later than she was, she saved any insults on cadaverous looks for another time, and jogged up the stairs with the cat on her heels.

She went straight to her office, hit the house search. “Where’s Roarke?”

Roarke has not yet arrived.

“Even better.”

With some luck she’d get her board updated, get one hit of coffee while she studied it, and let her brain circle around.

She tried a new system, live girls front, remains back.

On the front she pinned parents, guardians, the staff of The Sanctuary.

She connected Shelby and Linh, Shelby and Mikki. Shelby, Mikki, and Lupa, as they’d all been in residence together whether or not they’d interacted.

She pinned Seraphim as a girl, and as an adult. Another connection.

She got the coffee, sipped while she circled, changed photos, took another hard look at the tubs, the bathroom areas where she believed the girls had died.

She sat at her desk, propped up her boots, and studied some more.

Mikki went looking for Shelby, that played for her. Had Shelby already been dead? They didn’t die together or they’d have been hidden together. No, Shelby and Linh, they’d died together, and very likely on the night, or near to it, they’d stopped in the market next door.

Lupa, Carlie Bowen, LaRue Freeman. Next group, stacked together. Had he killed them all in one night? Why the rush? And a lot to take on.

But it’s his sanctuary now, so there is no rush.