Imitation in Death (In Death #17)(65)

"Got your message,"' he said.

"It was late, that's why I dumped it to voice mail. I didn't mean for you to come around this morning, go out of your way."

"It's only out of my way if there aren't any danishes back there.

"Probably are. If not there, somewhere else."

Taking that as invitation, he walked back to the kitchen. She could hear him scanning the menu, giving a grunt of approval as he found something that pleased him, calling it up.

He came back in with a pastry and an enormous mug of coffee. "So,"-he said, and sat, studying the board as she had. "He's two for two."

"Yeah, and I'm batting zero. Clipped the ball a couple times, but it keeps curving foul. Once he hits again, the media's going- to pick up the scent, and we'll have a holy mess on our hands: 'Deadly Mimic Stalking New York.' 'Chameleon Killer Baffles Police.' They love that shit."

Feeney scratched his cheek, ate more pastry. "Public does, too. Sick bastards."

"I've got a lot of data, a lot of angles. Thing is, I pull one line, and six more drop down. I can push Whitney for more manpower, but you know how it goes. I keep it low profile, and `the budget only stretches so far. Once it breaks and people start screaming, politics come into play and I can stretch it further."

"EDD's got more manpower, more funds," he finished.

"I've got no direct need for EDD on this. The research and runs are standard stuff, nothing fancy. I've got no 'links or security to probe. But...,'

"My boys can always use the practice." Feeney called his detectives and drones `boys,' no matter how their skin was appreciate it. It would free me up for interviews and fieldwork. I started thinking last night: This guy, he's careful and he's precise. Look at the vic photos-the old ones, and his. Positioning, basic build and coloring of the vics, method of death. Everything. They're-good copies, careful copies. So how do you get so good?"

Feeney polished off the danish, gulped coffee. "You practice. I'll run that myself, through IRCCA, see if we get a Pop."

"It won't be exact," she said, grateful. "I've got a hit on the first, and it's not exact. But when I did the run I was only looking for the one style.. Now we've got two styles, and the potential for others. He's- too careful for an exact match-he might do it that way, but, he'd change it after. Wouldn't leave the scene precisely as he intended to leave the ones he'd make public."

"Doesn't want to show off until he's got it down.to a science," Feeney said with a nod.

"Yeah. Any that were exact, he'd get rid of the bodies. Bury them, dump them. But he's not a kid. Not twenty. He's mature, and he didn't start killing, with Wooton. He's been at this awhile."

"I'll work both styles, and whatever else you think he might go for."

"Everybody on my shortlist, but one I haven't pinned yet," she said, thinking of Breen, "travels. The States, Europe especially. They get around, and they get around well. First-class. If he's on, that shortlist, the world's been his f**king playground."

"Send me the files."

"Thanks. I should tell you, there are some sensitive names on my list. We've got a diplomat, a well-known entertainer, a writer making a name for himself, and an ass**le entertainment broker who's hooked up with a top-name actress. There've already been complaints of police harassment and blah blah. There'll be more."

He grinned. "Now this sounds like fun." He pushed to his feet, set his empty cup aside, and rubbed his hands together. "Let's get started."

Once Feeney left, she organized the files, sent them to his unit in EDD, noted the action in a memo to the commander. She ran another spurt of probabilities, toyed with some simulations, but they were really no more than an exercise to let her mind work.

By the time she was done, the computer and she agreed on a list of prototypes her killer might emulate next.

She eliminated any who had worked with a partner or targeted males. Any who concealed or destroyed the bodies. And highlighted any whose notoriety had outlived them.

She was just beginning to wonder where Peabody was when one of the domestic droids came to her door.

The droids always spooked her. Roarke rarely used them, and she rarely saw them in the house.

She would have withstood any manner of hideous torture before admitting she actually preferred the flesh-and-blood Summerset to the automated staff.

"Excuse me for interrupting, Lieutenant Dallas."

The raid was female, with a husky voice. The dignified black uniform did nothing to disguise the fact she'd been built to rival a  p**n  star.

Eve figured she didn't have to be a trained investigator to deduce her amused husband had activated this one purposefully, just so she could compare the big-titted blonde to the bony-assed Summerset.

She'd have to pay him back for this one, eventually. "What's the problem?"

"There is a visitor at the gate. A Ms. Pepper Franklin who wishes to speak with you. Are you available?"

"Sure. She's saving me a trip. Is she alone?"

"She has arrived in a private car, with driver. But she has no companion."

Left Fortney at home, Eve thought. "Let her in." "Shall I bring her up?"