Imitation in Death (In Death #17)(106)

He was, she imagined, none too-pleased himself to have been called back into Central. When she stopped into his office and noted the tuxedo covering his, big frame, she fought back a wince.

"Sir, I'm sorry to have interrupted your evening."

"I assume your reasons for doing so will be strong enough to placate my wife." As Eve wasn't quite as successful in holding back the wince this time, Whitney nodded. "You don't know the half of it. You'd better have Niles 'Renquist cold, Lieutenant, because before I deal with -my wife, I've got the ambassador, the U.N., and the British government in line."

"Marlene Cox has positively identified Niles Renquist as her assailant. I have a" statement from Sophia DiCarlo, employed as au pair in the Renquist household, which conflicts with his and Mrs. Renquist's claim that he was home during the time of one of the murders. He is in possession of the stationery used for the notes left at the murder scenes, and he fits the profile. At this time Captain Feeney and expert civilian consultant Roarke'are doing a search and scan on travel. I believe we will confirm that the subject was in London, Paris, Boston, and New L.A. at the time of previous murders, which match the methods of this case. Under ordinary circumstances, this would be enough for a search warrant and a-warrant to bring the subject in for questioning on suspicion."

"But these aren't ordinary circumstances."

"No, sir. The subject's diplomatic status and the political arena add a sensitivity and a level of bureaucracy. I request that you speak directly with the judge and the necessary parties to expedite the warrants. He will kill again, Commander, and soon."

"You want my head in the noose, Lieutenant?" He cocked his head. "You have the statement of a woman in severe physical and emotional distress. A woman with head trauma. You have a statement from a household employee, who in your report claims to have been sexually abused by the subject. Those are- both shaky. Owning or purchasing the brand of paper used in the notes isn't enough, and you know it, or Renquist would have been in a cage before this. And there are others who fit the profile. All of this will be argued by Renquist's representatives and attorneys, and the British government. You need to lock this down."

"If I get into his house, into his office, I'll lock it down. It's him, Commander. I know it's him."

He sat in silence, wide fingers tapping on the surface of the desk. "If you've got any doubt, if there's any room for doubt, it would be best to hold off on taking these steps. We can surveil, watch his every move until there is no doubt, and the case is a noose around his neck."

Good luck watching his every move if he gets back inside the U.N., Eve thought, but tried to put it more diplomatically.

"Renquist may already be in the wind. Without the search, he stays in control. He's the only one who knows the identity and whereabouts of his next target. If he beats me to her, she may not be as lucky as Marlene Cox."

"Once the calls are made and the ball starts rolling, it could flatten both of us. I can survive it. I've had more years wearing a badge than you've had breathing. I can live with retirement. The ramifications of this should you be wrong will damage your career, - perhaps irrevocably. Understand that."

"Understood, sir."

"You're a solid cop, Dallas, perhaps the best under my command. Is it worth pushing this forward now? Is it worth possible reassignment, losing your status in Homicide, and your credibility?"

She thought of the dream, of the dead and the victims yet to come. There's always another, her father had said. And damn him, he was right. "Yes, sir. If I weighed status more heavily than the job, I shouldn't be here. I.'m not wrong, but if I were, I'd take the hit."

"I'll make the calls. Get me a goddamn cup of coffee."

She blinked at the order, looked vaguely around his office. The little twinge of resentment she felt ass she walked to his AutoChef told her maybe status wasn't so far down on her list after all.

"How do you want it, sir?"

"Coffee regular. Get me Judge Womack," he said into the 'link. Then barked out a "Come" at the knock on his door.

Feeney hustled in, a grim smile on his face. Roarke strolled in behind him, grinned cheekily at Eve. "I wouldn't mind a cup, while you're at it."

"I don't serve civilians."

"Serve and protect, Lieutenant," he reminded her. "Protect and serve."

"Bite me," she mumbled under her breath and carried the coffee to Whitney's desk.

"We got 'em," Feeney said.

"Hold that call. What have you got?"

"Me and the civilian here did some E-finessing. If only the budget could afford this boy." With sincere affection, he slapped Roarke's shoulder. "Devious mind and magic fingers. Ah well:'

"Cut through the bullshit, Feeney, and give me some weight."

"Our suspect took diplomatic, public, and private shuttles-and the private transpo was buried deep-to Paris, to London, to Boston, and to New L.A. He was in those cities during the time of the unsolved murders preceding the ones here. He frequetlly travels to London, as you'd expect. Less frequently to Boston. For London he uses the diplomatic transpo. For Boston, public, though it's first-class and pricey all the way. But for the West Coast, he went private, and alone. Two trips by this method, the first, one month before the murder of Susie Mannery, the second, two days- before with a return the following day-the day after the murder. Same pattern on the 'other unsolveds." He turned to Eve. "Bull's-eye, kid."