Midnight in Death (In Death #7.5)(20)

The entire business had been loaded into the cargo area of his shiny new Booster-6Z—which the clerk had admired—on the morning of December 22.

Eve imagined Palmer had been a busy little bee that day and throughout the next, setting up his private chamber of horrors.

By eight they’d eliminated all the houses on Eve’s initial list.

“That’s it.” Eve climbed back in her vehicle and pressed her fingers to her eyes. “They all check out. I’ll drop you at a transpo stop, Peabody.”

“Are you going home?”

Eve lowered her hands. “Why?”

“Because I’m not going off duty if you’re starting on the list of rentals I ran.”

“Excuse me?”

Peabody firmed her chin. Eve could arrow a cold chill up your spine when she took on that superior-officer tone. “I’m not going off duty, sir, to leave you solo in the field with Palmer on the loose and you as a target. With respect, Lieutenant.”

“You don’t think I can handle some little pissant, mentally defective?”

“I think you want to handle him too much.” Peabody sucked in a breath. “I’m sticking, Dallas.”

Eve narrowed her eyes. “Have you been talking to Roarke?” At the quick flicker in Peabody’s eyes Eve swore. “Goddamn it.”

“He’s right and you’re wrong. Sir.” Peabody braced for the explosion, was determined to weather it, then all but goggled with shock.

“Maybe,” was all Eve said as she pulled away from the curb.

Since she was on a roll, Peabody slanted Eve a look. “You haven’t eaten all day. You didn’t even steal any of my oil chips. You could use a meal.”

“Okay, okay. Christ, Roarke’s got your number, doesn’t he?”

“I wish.”

“Zip it, Peabody. We’ll fuel the metabolism, then start on the rental units.”

“Zipping with pleasure, sir.”

Chapter Eight

It began to snow near midnight, fat, cold flakes with icy edges. Eve watched it through the windshield and told herself it was time to stop. The night was over. Nothing more could be done.

“He’s got all the cards,” she murmured.

“You’ve got a pretty good hand, Dallas.” Peabody shifted in her seat, grateful for the heat of the car. Even her bones were chilled.

“Doesn’t matter what I’ve got.” Eve drove away from the last rental unit they’d checked. “Not tonight. I know who he is, who he’s going to kill. I know how he does it and I know why. And tonight it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Odds are, he’s done with Carl now.”

It was rare to see Eve discouraged. Angry, yes, Peabody thought with some concern. And driven. But she couldn’t recall ever hearing that quiet resignation in her lieutenant’s voice before. “You covered all the angles. You took all the steps.”

“That’s not going to mean much to Carl. And if I’d covered all the angles, I’d have the son of a bitch. So I’m missing one. He’s slipping through because I can’t pin it.”

“You’ve only had the case for three days.”

“No. I’ve had it for three years.” As she pulled up at a light, her ‘link beeped. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant, this is Detective Dalrymple, assigned to observation on the Polinsky residence. We’ve got a mixed-race male, mid-twenties, average height and build. Subject is on foot and carrying a small sack. He used what appeared to be a key code to gain access to premises. He’s inside now.”

“I’m three blocks east of your location and on my way.” She’d already whipped around the corner. “Secure all exists, call for backup. Doesn’t make sense,” she muttered to Peabody as they barreled across Madison. “Right out in the open? Falls right into our laps? Doesn’t f**king make sense.”

She squealed to a stop a half a block from the address. Her weapon was in her hand before she hit the sidewalk. “Peabody, the Polinsky unit is on four, south side. Go around, take the fire escape. He comes out that way, take him down quick.”

Eve charged in at the front of the building and, too impatient for the elevator, raced up the stairs. She found Dalrymple on four, weapon drawn as he waited beside the door.

“Lieutenant.” He gave her a brief nod. “My partner’s around the back. Subject’s been inside less than five minutes. Backup’s on the way.”

“Good.” She studied Dalrymple’s face, found his eyes steady. “We won’t wait for them. I go in low,” she added, taking out her master and bypassing the locks.

“Fine with me.” He was ready beside her.

“On three. One, two.” They hit the door, went through high and low, back to back, sweeping with their weapons. Music was playing, a primitive backbeat of drums behind screaming guitars. In the tidy living area, the mood screen had been set on deep reds and swimming blues melting into each other.

She signaled Dalrymple to the left, had taken two steps to the right herself when a naked man came out of the kitchen area carrying a bottle of wine and a single red rose.

He screamed and dropped the bottle. Wine glugged out onto the rug. Holding the rose to his balls, he crouched. “Don’t shoot! Jesus, don’t shoot. Take anything you want. Anything. It’s not even mine.”