Creation in Death (In Death #25)(57)

“Sure. Hold on a minute.”

As Eve went into the kitchen, Roarke stepped into the room. “You’re doing fine,” he said to Trina.

“Got the shakes,” Trina admitted. “Whacked, really. Here I am in the Fortress of Roarke in the Chamber of Dallas. Can’t get any safer than that. And I’ve got the shakes. Mavis?”

“She’s contacting Leonardo. You’ll all stay here tonight, if that suits you.”

“Right down to the ground. Classy place like Bliss. You just don’t expect crazy killers to come in for a manicure. You know?”

“This one likes to work with tidy nails,” Eve commented as she came back with a chilled bottle of water. “I’m going to need that appointment book,” she said to Roarke.

“I’ll see to it. And,” he told Trina, “I’ll make sure you’re covered for tomorrow. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.” She gulped down water. “Okay.”

Eve waited while Trina drank. “Tell me about his voice.”

“Um…Soft, I guess. Quiet. Um…Refined? I think that’s the word. Like somebody educated, and who had the money behind him for a really good one. Kind of culture but not poofy. It was another thing that made him seem nice and safe, now that I think about it.”

“Any accent?”

“Not really. I mean, educated, yeah. Not like an accent though.”

“Distinguishing marks, tats, scars.”

“Nope.” Her voice was steadying, her color coming back. “Not showing.”

“Okay.” It was enough, Eve thought. If she pushed too hard now, it could diminish what Yancy could draw out of Trina the next day. “Anything else you remember, you let me know. I’m going to need the names of everyone who was working the day he came in, who was working the counter where you talked to him, who might have tried to sell him anything in the retail section. I can get most of that from Roarke. I want you to try to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Yeah, so do I. I think I’ll go down and stick with Mavis and Belle for a little while, till I smooth it out a little more.”

“Summerset will show you where you’ll stay tonight. If you need anything,” Roarke added, “just ask.”

“Will do. This is so…complete.” Trina shook her head as she rose. “I’m just going to…” She started out, stopped. “He smelled good.”

“How?”

“Good product—and not smothered in it. Some people don’t know how to be subtle with a product. It was like…” She squeezed her eyes shut again. “Just a hint of rosemary, undertones of vanilla. Nice.” She shrugged, then continued out of the room.

“Major break.”

“For you.” Roarke walked over to sit on the corner of her desk. “And, I’d say, for Trina.”

“Yeah, being a hair-color slut paid off big-time for her. I need to get this description out. I want to run it through IRCCA. I don’t think we’ll hit there. I don’t think he’s been in the system, but it’s worth the shot. You need to work it with the results from the unregistered. See if you’ve got a competitor who fits the bill.”

“All right.”

“Skipped over Trina, went for York instead.”

“Christ. Don’t tell her that.”

Eve arrowed a glare at him. “Give me some credit.”

“Sorry. Of course. I’ll take another look at the real estate, focusing below Fiftieth. Check in when I’m done.”

“Good enough. Odds are shifting. Tide’s turning.”

“I believe you.” He reached out, rubbed a thumb along the shadows under her eye. “Try not to drink too much coffee.”

S he decided that trying didn’t mean she had to succeed. Besides, how much coffee was, in actuality, too much? She sent out the description, then keyed it into IRCCA.

She’d get countless hits with a description that general, and have to take a great deal of time to cull through them. But she couldn’t leave out the step.

She began to run various probabilities. The suspect lived, worked, had ties to downtown Manhattan. The suspect frequented shops, restaurants, businesses in that sector in order to scout out targets. The suspect used various enhancements to alter his appearance during his meets with potential victims.

She ran a search of public and private parking lots and garages downtown, then began to contact owners, managers, attendants on duty.

She fought her way through a search of buildings—still standing or subsequently razed, that had housed bodies or had been used as clinics during the Urbans.

When it came through she read Newkirk’s report on the first canvass of Greenfeld’s apartment building.

Zip.

Still, she had to give Newkirk a nod for being thorough. She had names, addresses, and a detailed rundown of every conversation.

And thinking he may have come by it naturally, she flipped through her files and came up with Gil Newkirk’s contact number.

He answered swiftly, on full alert, and with a blocked video that reminded her, abruptly, of the time.

“Officer Newkirk, Lieutenant Dallas. I apologize for disturbing you so late.”

“No problem, Lieutenant. One minute.”