Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(51)

She hesitated, then decided to speak her mind. “Commander, what we’re doing tonight is a necessary step. But he’s going to be out there while we’re on this surveillance. He’s going to move.”

“Unless you’ve got a crystal ball, Dallas, you’ve got to take the steps.”

“I’ve got a probability list of victims down to just over two hundred. I think I’ve found another connection, the theater, that can carve that number down. I’m hoping with the new data Feeney can get us a short list of probables. The potential victims need to be protected.”

“How?” Whitney spread his hands. “You know as well as I do the department can’t spare that many officers.”

“But if he fines it down — “

“If he quarters it, I can’t spare them.”

“One of those people is going to die tonight.” She stepped forward. “They need to be warned. If we go to the media, put out an alert, whoever he’s targeted might not open the damn door.”

“If we go to the media,” Whitney said coolly, “we start a panic. How many street-corner Santas ringing their bells for charity get assaulted as a result? Or killed. You can’t play trade the victim here, Dallas. And,” he added before she could speak, “if we go to the media, we risk scaring him off. He goes under, we might never find him. Three people are dead, and they deserve better.”

He was right, but knowing it didn’t ease her gut. “If Feeney fines down the list to a workable number, we can contact each name. I’ll put together a team to make the calls.”

“It’ll leak, Lieutenant, and we’ll be back to panic.”

“We can’t just leave them open this way. The next one he kills is on us.” On me, she thought, but knew better than to say it. “If we do nothing to alert the victim, it’s on us. He knows we’ve got his pattern. He knows we’ve got the number of targets. And he knows we can’t do anything but juggle names and wait for him to hit again. He loves it. He performed for the security camera at Peterman’s. Stood in the damn foyer and posed. If Gonzales had been out making goals last night, she’d be dead. That’s four in a week, and it’s too damn many.”

He heard her out, his face calm and set. “It’s a hell of a lot easier where you’re standing, Lieutenant. Maybe you don’t think so, but it’s a hell of a lot easier on that side of the desk. I can’t give you what you want. I can’t let you stand in front of every victim and take the hit the way you stood in front of Roarke’s man a few weeks ago.”

“This has nothing to do with that.” Battling frustrated fury, she set her teeth. “That incident is closed, Commander. And my current investigation is against the wall. Information is already leaking to the media. Another one dies, it’s going to blow up in our faces.”

Whitney’s eyes flattened. “How much have you given Furst?”

“No more than I had to, and most of that off the record. She’ll hold back. But she’s not the only reporter with a good nose, and not many of them have her integrity.”

“I’ll take that matter up with the Chief. That’s the best I can do. You get me Feeney’s amended list, and I’ll ask for individual contacts. I can’t authorize the budget for that kind of operation, Dallas. It’s out of my control.”

He leaned back, studying her. “Come up with something tonight on this surveillance. End this thing.”

Eve found Feeney scanning the monitor in her office. “Good, you saved me a trip to EDD.”

“Heard you had Jacko Gonzales in.” He glanced wistfully over her shoulder. “Guess he’s gone, huh?”

“I’ll get you his autographed hologram, for God’s sake.”

“Yeah? Appreciate it.”

“I need you to run these names and data.” She pulled out a copy of a disc. “My machine’s stuttering again and it takes me too damn long. I need victim probability whittled down as far as it’ll go.” She dragged open a drawer, pawing through and ignoring the vague headache behind her eyes. “Just the top fifty, okay? I can push Whitney into contacting fifty. God help the others. Where the goddamn hell is my candy bar?”

“I didn’t take it.” Feeney jostled his bag of nuts. “McNab was in here. He’s a known candy thief.”

“Son of a bitch.” Desperate for fuel, she snagged Feeney’s bag and downed a handful of nuts. “I had the security disc from Peterman’s enhanced and enlarged, but I figure you can do better. I want the frame of him when he’s most himself — when he’s turned to run. You can see the panic.”

She jabbed at the AutoChef hoping for coffee to wash down the nuts. “I’ve got photos of the match lists, the personnel at Personally Yours. You got the equipment to scan them, see how many might pop as far as facial shapes, eye shape, that kind of thing. Even with enhancements, something’s got to come through. Most of his mouth’s hidden by the beard.”

“We can do most-likely shapes on that if we have a good enough image.”

“Yeah. Build isn’t going to work, but height should. See how close you can come to height. From the images he didn’t appear to be wearing lifts, so I think we can get close. The gloves screw up the shape of his hands.”