Devoted in Death (In Death #41)(97)

“Gotcha. Open her up, will you?”

“My pleasure.”

When she tapped her recorder, handed him her master, he waited until she’d skirted around, started on the passenger side before he took out his tools.

“Got her, too,” she told him. “Handprint.”

She came around back, sealed up, climbed in the doors he’d opened.

“Bag’s got cord, rope, duct tape, crowbar, wrenches, a hammer.”

She took out more of her own tools, tested the wrench. “Blood on the big wrench. And the crowbar, and for the triple, the hammer.”

She tested the interior floor. “And the carpet. We’ll have the sweepers get samples, take them into the lab. They’re going to match the vics. At least some of them are going to match.”

She opened the glove box. “Flashlight, owner’s manual disc, first aid kit, and this.”

With her sealed hands she held up a large knife.

“That would be a bowie knife. I’m acquainted from my own weapon collection.”

“James’s former employer. The mother’s boyfriend’s knife.”

Processing it, she found blood, and a partial print from James, another from Parsens.

“They didn’t even try to clean it. Why bother?” she supposed, “When they’re only going to use it again. Once we get them, they’re never getting out.”

She put the knife back where she’d found it, took a tag from Uniform Carmichael.

“Quick, quiet, thorough,” she told him. “Anything, anyone feels off, I get a signal. Record any door that doesn’t open.”

By the time the sweepers arrived, she’d done all she could do on the van. She crossed over to Dawson, the head sweeper and, with what had gone down on New Year’s Eve in mind, took a good look at his team of two.

“How’s it going?” she asked him.

“Oh, well, hit some rough spots now and then, but what can you do? How about you?”

“Tonight? Good, because when we bag these bastards, we’ve got enough evidence to lock them in a cage for several lifetimes. I need everything processed, and everything left exactly where you found it. If we miss them tonight, they may come back for the van. We’ll have it watched, but we’ll want them to lead us to the vics. I don’t want them spooked.”

“Full record before we touch anything.”

“I got prints, I got blood. I’ll leave you to take blood samples, get them in, wrangle expedited. I didn’t go as far as hair and fiber. You’ll be faster there. I’d want Harvo on that end.”

He smiled a little. “Everybody wants Harvo, but I’ll make it happen.”

“Did you bring the tracker?”

He patted his own kit. “As requested.”

“The guy’s a mechanic. A good one. Make sure it doesn’t show if he does a look-see. And he knows something about electronics, so —”

“We’ve got it, Dallas.”

“In and out, fast as you can. We’re doing the door-to-doors, and I’ve got a couple of cops coming in in an unmarked to keep an eye on it from the first level. It’s probably too late for them to come in and take a ride tonight, but there are uniforms scattered around. You’re covered.”

“How many vics?”

“Twenty-four and counting – that we know of. Two more still alive, that we know of.”

“We’ll sew this end up.”

Nodding, she moved off again, joined Roarke. “I want to do some knock-on-doors. It’ll go faster.”

“Then I’m with you.” But he caught her chin in his hand, his thumb brushing lightly over the shallow dent as he studied her face. “You get so bloody pale when you push past your limit. We’ll cover as many doors as you like, but if you don’t have them by the end of it, or a Herculean lead, we’re home after, and you’ll get some sleep.”

And after that he was determined she’d take a booster – however much she disliked them – whatever it took to see her through it.

Together they covered four floors of the second building. Hit one no-answer.

But the across-the-hall stepped back out. “I should’ve told you, that’s the Delwickies. Nice young couple. They’re away for a few days.”

Eve turned back, studied the door as if she could see through it if she concentrated enough.

“Took a winter break with some friends, down to the Florida Keys. I’m watering her plants while they’re away.”

Eve let her concentration throttle back. “You’ve been in their apartment in the last few days?”

“Every morning. Alice set store by her plants. Got a green thumb, too. She’s got a little orange tree in there with real fruit growing on it. It’s something.”

She yawned, pushed at her mop of steel-gray hair. “You don’t want to think they’d have anything to do with taking that little girl who’s missing. They’re nice people. Quiet, but not, you know, creepy quiet like you hear about when the neighbor turns out to be a serial killer. He’s what you call a sous chef, and at least once a week, he brings me and my husband back something from the fancy French place where he works.”

Knowing the woman had been inside the apartment every morning had been enough, but Eve let her wind out.