Creation in Death (In Death #25)(42)

“It could be another form of control and enjoyment. Inviting his victims in, having them willingly enter, would be yet more proof to him of his superiority over them. It may indeed be another part of the ritual he’s created. The lack of violence on the bodies—and by that I mean the fact there’s no evidence he used his fists, his hands to strike, to throttle, that there is no sexual molestation—indicates he isn’t physical in that way. The violence is through implements and tools. A method such as you’re theorizing would fall within the structure of his profile.”

“I like it,” Baxter commented. “Makes more sense to me, if he’s hitting on sixty or over, he’d use deception instead of force to bag them.”

“Agreed,” Eve said. “If this holds, it indicates he’s aware they’re physically stronger than he is, or might be,” Eve put in. “All these women were in good physical shape, a number of them in exceptional physical shape. He targets young, strong women. We believe he isn’t young, maybe he isn’t particularly strong.”

“Which may be one of the reasons he needs to subdue, humiliate, and control them.” Mira nodded. “Yes, by luring them into a location he has secured, he’s dominated them intellectually, and then he proceeds to dominate them physically up to and including the point of their death. He not only masters them, but makes them other than they were. And by doing so, makes them his own.”

“What does that tell us?” Eve scanned the room. “It tells us one thing we didn’t know about him before.”

“He’s a coward,” Peabody said, and gave Eve a quick, inner glow of pride.

“Exactly. He doesn’t, as we believed, confront his victims, doesn’t risk a public struggle, even with the aid of a drug. He uses guile and lies, the lure of money or advancement or the achievement of a personal goal. He has to know them well enough to use what works, or has the greatest potential of working. He may have spent more time observing and stalking each vic than we previously supposed. And the more time he spent, the more chance there is that someone, somewhere, saw him with one or more of the victims.”

“We’ve been shooting blanks there,” Baxter reminded her.

“We go back, interview again, and ask about men the vics spent time with at work, who may have taken one of their classes or talked about doing so. A month ago, two months ago. He wouldn’t have been back since he abducted them. He’s done with them; he’s moved on from that stage. Who used to hang out at these locations, or frequent them who hasn’t been there in the last week for York, the last three days for Rossi.

“McNab, dig into Rossi’s comps, find me a new outside client. Roarke, names, addys, place of employment on everyone on your list who feels like she fits. Feeney, keep at the Urban War angle. Body identification, comments, commentaries, names of medics officially assigned, of volunteers where you can find them. I want photos, horror stories, war stories, editorials, every scrap you can dig up. Baxter, you and Trueheart hit the street. Jenkinson, you and Powell stay out there, find somebody whose memory can be jogged.

“Write it up, Peabody.”

“Yes, sir.”

She started out, and Feeney caught up with her. “Need a minute,” he said.

“Sure. Got something?”

“Your office.”

With an easy shrug, she kept going. “Heading back there. I want to go through the cases between the first and this one more carefully, start calling names on the original interview lists. We just need one break, one goddamn crack, and we can bust it. I know it.”

He said nothing as they wound through the bullpen, into her office. “Want coffee?” she asked, then frowned as he closed the door. “Problem?”

“How come you didn’t come to me with this?”

“With what?”

“This new theory.”

“Well, I—” Sincerely baffled, she shook her head. “I just did.”

“Bullshit. What you did was come out as primary, as team leader, you briefed and assigned. You didn’t run this by me. My case, you remember? It’s my case you were using out there.”

“It just popped. Something York’s boyfriend said clicked on a new angle for me. I started working it and—”

“You started working it,” he interrupted. “Going back over my case. A case where I was primary. I was in charge. I made the calls.”

Because the muscles in her belly were starting to twist, Eve took a long, steady breath. “Yeah, like I’m going to go back over the others. They’re all part of the same whole, and if this is an opening—”

“One I didn’t see?” His tired, baggy eyes were hard and bright now. “A call I didn’t make while the bodies were piling up?”

“No. Jesus, Feeney. Nobody’s saying that or thinking that. It just turned for me. You’re the one who taught me when it turns for you, you push. I’m pushing.”

“So.” He nodded slowly. “You remember who taught you anyway. Who made a cop out of you.”

Now her throat was drying up on her. “I remember. I was there, Feeney, from the beginning when you pulled me out of uniform. And I was there for this case. Right there, and it didn’t turn for us.”

“You owe me the respect of cluing me in when you’re going to pick my work apart. Instead you roll this out, roll it over me, and you push me off on some bullshit Urban Wars research. I lived and breathed this case, day and night.”