Creation in Death (In Death #25)(94)

“I don’t know what to do.” His hands fisted on his thighs, pounded against them. “I can’t stand not knowing what to do, how to help. She must be so scared.”

“Yeah, she must be scared. I’m not going to bullshit you, Erik. She’s scared, and she’s probably hurting. But we’re going to find her. When we do, I’ll make sure you’re contacted. I’ll make sure you know we’ve got her safe.”

“I love her. I never told her. Never told me either,” he managed on a long, shaky breath. “I’m in love with her, and she doesn’t know.”

“You can tell her when we’ve got her back. Go home. Better, go be with a friend.”

When she’d nudged him along, she went back to the war room, straight to Roarke’s station. She picked up his bottle of water and guzzled.

“Help yourself,” he commented.

“Popped a buzz a couple hours ago. Always makes me thirsty. And…” She rolled her shoulders. “Wired. Location, location, location,” she added and made him smile.

“I have some others for you, and I’m working on trimming the number of them down. Any help on the opera connection?”

“Pieces, bits and pieces of him—and I’m getting a handle on the women he’s re-creating, we’ll say. Once we ID her, we’re going to have more data on him. I’ve got to go flap lips with the media.”

She started out, nearly ran headlong into Morris. “Sorry. Sorry.” The damn booster made her feel as if she were jumping out of her own skin. “What have you got? Tell me while we walk. I’ve got to get to the media room.”

“Energy pill?”

“It shows?”

“Generally, on you. He used dopamine and lorazepam on her. We haven’t detected those substances before.”

“What do they do?” She wished she’d copped Roarke’s water. “Would they have turned her off?”

“I’d say he was hoping for the opposite result. They’re sometimes used on catatonics.”

“Okay, so she turned off on him, and he tried to bring her around, keep the clock going.”

“I agree. Still, if she went into true and deep catatonia, he could have, potentially, kept that clock going for hours more. If not days.”

“But what fun is that?” Eve countered. “Not getting any reaction. She’s not participating.”

“Yes, again I agree. It holds with the fact she didn’t sustain as many injuries as the others. He couldn’t bring her around, so he gave up.”

“I don’t imagine you can pick up dopamine or whatzit?”

“Lorazepam.”

“Yeah, those. Probably didn’t pick them up at his local drug store.”

“No. And a doctor isn’t going to prescribe either for home use. It’s something that would be administered, by a licensed professional, under controlled conditions.”

“Maybe he’s a doctor, or some sort of medical. Or managed to pose as one.” Good at posing, she thought. Good at his roles. “Could be he scored it from a hospital or medical facility. But he’s never used it before, so why would he have had it on hand? Wouldn’t,” she said before Morris could speak. “If he scored it, he scored it over the weekend, and in New York.”

“Psychiatrics, primarily, would be the most logical source.”

“Give this to Peabody, okay? I want a search on facilities in New York that carry those meds. Tell her to use Mira if she needs grease or an expert. Meds like that have to be, by law, under lock and fully accounted for.”

“By law,” Morris agreed, “but not always strictly by practice.”

“We track it down. Start by getting full accountings from those facilities of these drugs. Any deviation, we take another push.”

“I can do this. A doctor for the dead’s still a doctor,” he added when she frowned at him. “I think I could help on this.”

“Take it to Peabody,” Eve repeated. “Work with her. I’ll check back with you when I’m done in here.”

I n the war room Roarke saved, copied, and printed out the real estate list. Curious, he took out his PPC to access the last few minutes of Eve’s briefing while he wandered out for another bottle of water. She looked, he thought, rough and tough—and if you knew her as he did, a little ragged around the edges.

She’d make herself ill if this wasn’t over soon, he concluded. Push herself until she, very literally, collapsed.

There was absolutely no point in nagging or browbeating her this time as he was in it too deeply himself. He switched off as she was finishing up, then shifted to communications.

He thought if he ordered a dozen pizzas, she’d at least end up eating something. And he could damn well do with some food himself at this point.

After returning to his station, he took a fresh look at his list. Lowell’s Funeral Home, Lower East location, he mused. Sarifina York’s memorial was being held there. Today, he remembered. He should go, pay his respects.

He called up the funeral home on his comp to check the time of the service. If he couldn’t get away from the work—and the living took precedence over the dead—he could and would at least send flowers.

He noted down the time, the address, the specific room where the memorial was scheduled to be held. Cleverly, he thought, the page linked to a local florist. Handy and quick, he decided, but he preferred to trust Caro for the floral tribute.