Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(34)

“What’s Intelicore?”

“Data gathering and storing services. Major player globally and off planet. Three generations in.”

“Interesting,” Eve murmured. “That’s another two for two.”

8

THE MINUTE SHE SPOTTED THE CAR PEABODY wiggled her hips and swung her arms in the air. “Hotdiggity damn!”

“Stop that.”

“It’s so pretty.” She settled for wiggling her shoulders. “It’s so sexy. It’s so frosty. It’s so Roarke.”

“Keep it up and you’ll be taking public transportation to the Village.”

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good. I’ll be especially good if we can have the top down. Can we? Please, please?”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.” Eve uncoded the locks.

“Not even close. It’s all smooth and shiny.” She purred as she stroked fingertips along the hood.

“Your ass’ll be all smooth and shiny when I’m finished kicking it. I’m putting the top down.” Eve’s snarl and pointed finger cut off Peabody’s squeal. It came out as more of a peep.

“Because it’s hot, and because the wind will blow away some of your idiocy.”

Eve turned the car on.

“Ooh, it sounds like a lion that’s just fed.”

“How do you know what a lion that’s just fed sounds like?”

“I watch nature shows on-screen sometimes to further my education.”

“Because you never know when we’re going to have to track a lion through Midtown.” She ordered the top down, and Peabody executed a quick seat wiggle.

“If you’re finished with your vehicular orgasms see if you can make any connections between Dudley and Intelicore.” Eve activated the GPS on her wrist unit, read in Urich’s address.

“We are so freaking high-tech!”

“I’m just seeing if it works.” She shot out of the lot. Peabody let out a joyous, “Whee!”

“There’s just not enough wind.”

“You’re going ‘Whee,’ too. Inside.”

Maybe, Eve thought.

“If the killer isn’t Urich—and nothing’s that easy—then he has to look enough like him, or have made himself look enough like him to fool the vic. He could change his hair, add weight, take it off, do some face work, but there should be at least a surface resemblance. The killer’s probably Caucasian or looks it, likely in the neighborhood of five ten and a hundred seventy like Urich. Unless he’s just randomly hacking IDs for his kills, we’ll find a connection between Sweet and Urich.”

“He’s picking the top in their field for his victims,” Peabody said as she worked. “Sweet and Urich both work for important companies, and have important positions in them.”

“It’s more,” Eve said with a shake of her head. “When you think of the top companies, the wealthiest corporations, the biggest businesses, what comes to mind first?”

“Roarke.”

“Yeah, but this guy’s taken out two without crossing into Roarke’s businesses.”

“The amusement park.”

“Yeah, which Roarke has a piece of, and a part in. But it’s hard to pick a company without bumping into one of Roarke’s, and the killer didn’t go there for his cover either time. There’s going to be a connection between the men and/or their companies. It’s not random. Neither are the vics. They’re not personal, but they’re specific. We’ll run a search to see if there’s any connection between Houston and Crampton, but it’s going to be the men, the companies, not the victims.”

“I don’t find anything on this first round. None of the subsidiaries are connected or even in direct competition. They do have offices in some of the same cities, but that’s a stretch. They do each have long-running charitable foundations, but again, they veer off into different areas of interest and support.”

“It’s in there somewhere,” Eve noted.

Peabody put her head back, closed her eyes. “Maybe employees who crossed over, or interbusiness marriages, relations. So the killer has at least some data on both.”

“Possible.”

“Or somebody who knows and has a hard-on against Sweet and Urich.”

“A lot of trouble to go to, and pretty f**king extreme to take a punch at somebody. But we’ll be looking for connections between Sweet and Urich. The methods aren’t random either. They’re planned well in advance, so they’re deliberate. A bid for attention. He’s showing off. Send an alert to Mira’s office,” she said referring to the department’s top profiler and shrink. “I want a consult tomorrow. Send her the files so she can take a look.”

When she pulled up in front of the dignified old brownstone, she smiled at her wrist unit. “Bastard really works.”

She got out of the car, took a moment to study the townhouse, the neighborhood. “Nice spot. Quiet, established, monied but not flashy. Urich was married once and did it in a twelve-year stretch. He’s worked for the same company for close to twenty years. He sticks. Got a little garden going here that looks all tidy and organized. Everything all nice and settled.”

She passed through the short wrought-iron gate, to the walkway between a small, structured front garden, and up the stairs to the main door.