Kindred in Death (In Death #29)(92)

Morris released a long sigh. “Fate’s a cruel bastard.”

“Fuck fate, people are cruel bastards. There’s no need to tell her people about the pregnancy, unless they ask. Not yet anyway.”

“No, there’s not.” He stepped back. “First the virgin, now the bride.”

“What?” Eve’s head came up, her eyes sharpened. “Wait. What comes after?”

“After?”

“Virgin, bride—what’s next? If it’s a kind of progression. Logical, organized. What’s after bride?”

“Newlywed,” Morris suggested.

“Wife. For some . . .” Roarke looked down at Karlene with pity. “Pregnancy, motherhood. A cynic might say divorce often fits in there at some point.”

“It might be a way of selecting the order, even the specific vic. You drive. I want to work it. Thanks, Morris.”

She had her PPC out even as she strode back down the tunnel.

“It would be monumentally fortunate from his point of view,” Roarke said, “for him to be able to find the proper victims for the sort of progression you’re proposing.”

“I don’t think so. They don’t have to be female—though I imagine he prefers. Newlywed—either sex. Then you could say husband instead of wife, expectant father, and so on. He’s got kids, grandkids, siblings, parents—maybe extended family—to choose from.”

She slid into the car. “I told Peabody to work probability on stage of contact. MacMasters, then the CS supervisor, the CS rep, the PD. Maybe he’s picking them in order of appearance. Or maybe this way. But there has to be some sort of selection process. A timetable, for trolling them, researching them, arranging the meet, developing the relationship. And there’s overlap. He contacted Karlene while he was working Deena. Started the second round before finishing the first.”

“So, by that criteria, he’s started round three.”

“Yeah, and maybe beyond that. I figured the PD most likely, and we’re on her, but she doesn’t have anyone who fits this other progression.” Eve shook her head as she scanned the data. “She’s been divorced six years, no kids. She has a sister, married over twenty-five years—that’s no newlywed. A niece and a nephew, neither married.”

“You don’t have to be married to be pregnant, or to have a relationship that results in a pregnancy.”

“Good point. Could be one of them for that stage if so, could be the sister for the wife—the long-term kind. We’ll keep them covered, but I don’t think they’re next.”

“Speaking of next, where am I going?”

“Hmm? Columbia. I need to find the clerk. She lists a dorm as her address, and the retail place as her employment. She hasn’t answered her ’link and hasn’t returned any of Peabody’s requests for contact. I just want to tie that one up.”

“Then why not go to the orchard?”

“Trees?”

“And pick a Peach.” He used the in-dash ’link to do it himself.

Dressed in a power-red suit and shoes that emphasized her height— and made Eve’s ankles throb when she noted them—Peach Lapkoff waited outside the administration building. Those razor-sharp eyes took on a sultry hue as she held out both hands to Roarke.

“It’s wonderful to see you.”

Eve stood by, brows raised as they bussed cheeks. “And you,” Roarke said. “You look brilliant.”

“I’m off to reach into the deep pockets of some alumni shortly. It’s best to look the part. Lieutenant.” She offered Eve her hand. “I’ve found Fiona. She’s been in a two-day retreat. No communication devices allowed. I’ve had her pulled out, as it seemed important enough to interrupt. She’ll be brought here. I wasn’t sure if you’d require my office, or some other area.”

“It’s not necessary. It shouldn’t take long.”

“I heard the reports that there’d been another murder. Another young woman raped and murdered.”

“We can’t confirm the cases are connected.”

“The media doesn’t have a problem throwing out speculations about a serial killer, targeting young women. We have a lot of young women on campus. There’s serious concern.”

“I’d advise your students and staff to take sensible precautions. But the media’s claims or speculations have no confirmation from the NYPSD.”

Peach continued to stare at Eve as if trying to X-ray her brain. “I was worried when you requested Fiona Wallace be located. That you might have reason to believe she’s in some danger.”

“Absolutely not. It pertains to a sale she made last March in Sports Center that may connect to the investigation.”

“I’m relieved.” Peach’s gaze shifted over Eve’s head. “Here she comes.”

“Do you recognize all your students on sight, Dr. Lapkoff?”

“Peach,” she said. “No, I don’t, but I looked her up when you requested I locate her. Miss Wallace.”

“Dr. Lapkoff.” The girl was no more than twenty with skin pale as the moon and what looked to be several pounds of red hair piled on top of her head. She was slightly out of breath from, Eve concluded, the trip across campus and fear at being summoned by the president.