Devoted in Death (In Death #41)(43)

She wove her way through people on the glides, moving up and up.

“McNab, get me that triangulation. They’re downtown somewhere. They have to have a place to live, to take the vics. Low security – can’t have cams picking them up carting in a vic. Nothing popped yet on the canvass of abandoned, so either we haven’t hit there yet, or they’ve found somewhere private.”

When she turned into Homicide, Baxter signaled from his desk. “Alerts on Campbell are out, Loo. The media’s already doing bulletins.”

“Okay.” She saw his gaze flick up to her snowflake hat. Eve yanked it off, stuffed it in her pocket. “What’s the deal with this Arkansas badge?”

“Well, he’s mannerly, but he was pretty firm he needed to talk to you.”

She pulled off her gloves, scarf. “Still in the lounge?”

“Last I checked.”

With a nod, she shoved the gloves in one pocket, the scarf in another, and headed out still wearing her coat.

She wanted coffee like she wanted to live. She wanted to sit down in the quiet, write everything up. Update, analyze, think.

In her head a clock was ticking, and there were less than forty-eight hours left.

She paused at the door to the lounge with its lines of vending, its tiny tables and hard chairs. She spotted him quickly.

A half mile of leg stretched out under the table. Long, narrow hands worked a PPC while a vending cup of something sat neglected in front of him.

A lot of wavy hair the color of a wheat field, a long narrow face to match the hands. He either hadn’t shaved recently or wore the scruff on purpose.

He wore jeans, boots that had seen a lot of miles, a flannel shirt that made her think of lumberjacks even though she wasn’t entirely sure what a lumberjack was.

A black parka hung over his chair back, and a duffel bag was under the table.

He looked up when she started toward the table. Blue eyes, she noted. Not Roarke-blue, but few were. His hinted at gray, showed smudges of fatigue under them, and a cop alertness in them.

“Deputy Banner.”

“Yes, ma’am. Will Banner.” He shifted his long legs, rose. Unfolded was more like it, she thought. He was an easy six-five with a build like a beanpole.

“Lieutenant. Lieutenant Dallas.”

He took the hand she extended in one with a rough, hard palm. “I sure do appreciate you meeting with me, Lieutenant.”

“You’re a long way from home, Deputy Banner.”

“That’s the God’s truth. Farthest I’ve ever been.”

“Where’s Silby’s Pond?”

“We’re in the Ozarks, ma’am, not —”

“Lieutenant. Sir if you want. Dallas will do.”

“Sorry. Y’all do things different here. We’re in the north of Arkansas, Lieutenant, not far from the Missouri border. Prettiest country you could ask for.”

His voice was caught somewhere between drawl and twang – leaning toward the drawl.

“What brings you here?”

“I’m hunting the same two you are. The same who killed this Dorian Kuper. He’s their latest. You did a search last night through IRCCA on missings and homicides in my area.”

“How do you know that?”

“I get alerted whenever there’s another victim, whenever there’s an official search through for more.” Though he shifted his feet his eyes stayed steady on hers. “Lieutenant Dallas, I understand you’re working with the feds, and they’ve given you their profiles and data and whatnot, but they don’t have all of it.”

“And you do?”

“If I did, your victim would likely still be playing his cello. But I believe – I know I have more. If you could just spare me fifteen minutes. I understand you’re busy, and you’re on an active investigation, but I’m asking you for fifteen minutes. I’ve come a hell of a long way.”

“Let’s take it in my office.”

She could all but see relief slide through him before he bent down for his duffel. “I’m grateful.”

“We don’t usually shove fellow law enforcement out the door.”

“You do hear things about New York City.”

“I bet. When did you get in?”

“That’s a story.”

She imagined that easy, heading toward lazy, drawl worked well on stories.

“I didn’t get the alert about your victim until into the afternoon. I talked to Special Agent Zweck, like I did with the one right before, and before that. They’ve been working their way to you, Lieutenant, for months now. It seemed to me with the search you started last night you’re leaning that way.”

“It’s an angle.”

“It’s the right angle, and because I saw how it seemed you might be leaning, and – I hope you’ll understand – after I did some research on you – I figured you might be open to a face-to-face with me.”

He paused just inside the bull pen, looked around. “You sure are busy around here. Back home, there’s the chief, me and two other deputies and our dispatcher.”

“How many people in Silby’s Pond?”

“Right about thirty-two hundred.”

“There’s more than that in this sector of this building.”