New York to Dallas (In Death #33)(33)

“Uh-uh-uh! That’s enough.”

“I want to see all of her,” Eve demanded. “I came here within the time frame. I want to make sure you kept your end.”

“You have your proof of life, and she has all her digits. Block video.” The screen went blank.

“What do you want, McQueen?”

“Your blood on my hands and a pretty little girl in my bed.”

“Got a second choice?”

“Oh no, I’m sticking with the first. That’s what I’ll have when we’re done. Meanwhile, I’ll have the pleasure of watching you try to find me and, once again, save the girl. You won’t, but I’ll find you, then you’ll end where you started.”

He gave a long, happy sigh. “It’s almost religious, isn’t it?”

“We’ve got Stibble and Lovett,” Eve told him.

“Keep them. I’m done with them. Until later.”

“Location?” Eve called out when the transmission ended.

“Nothing.” One of the men at a nearby desk shook his head in disgust. “He bounced the signal all over hell and back. Wherever it originated, our guys said it’s jammed and layered in. We can’t even verify he’s in Dallas.”

“He’s here.” She rose, turned her attention to Bree. “Melinda’s alive. He hasn’t hurt her. If he had he wouldn’t have her tranq’d. He’d want her to feel it.”

She saw the FBI come in. “If I can have ten minutes with the feds, Lieutenant Ricchio, I’ll be ready to brief your men.”

“Take my office.”

7

She updated the agents, and after a mild tussle won the argument.

She’d brief the Dallas police, after which they’d add whatever additional data and findings they’d generated.

The briefing room held several big, shiny tables. They weren’t surrounded by high-backed fancy chairs, but it still reminded her of a boardroom. Screens covered one wall, flanked by comp stations.

She had a podium, which she intended to ignore.

As the room filled with cops she signaled Roarke aside. “Check in with Peabody, will you? Anything she’s got, I want. Can you break down the bouncing and jamming? Because he’s going to make contact again.”

“Given enough time, and proper equipment.”

She took another, flat-eyed, scan of the room. “They’ve probably got the equipment here. They’ve got everything else.”

“I’d sooner my own. I’ll work with EDD here if I must, but I don’t know them. Neither do you. I can have what I need in our hotel suite, and link up with Feeney.”

She couldn’t argue when she agreed. “Do that. But we’ve got to play it straight with the locals. If you make headway, we bring them in. Financials and communications, they’re on you.”

“I’ll try to earn my exorbitant fee. Did Melinda Jones start to say a name?”

“That’s my take. Sara—Sara something. I gave it to the feds.” She glanced over to where they were huddled with their PPCs. “They’re all over it. I’m going to give the locals everything I’ve got, then I need to set up my own HQ. I need my board, my book, my space. I need to think.”

She looked at the screens. “How the hell do I work those?”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“Good. The last thing I need is to flash up some cute little puppies instead of suspects.”

When she turned to the room, Ricchio walked to the podium. Shuffling and muttering silenced.

“Everyone here knows the situation. We’ve now formed a joint investigation with the NYPSD, represented here by Lieutenant Dallas, and Roarke as civilian consultant, and also with the FBI represented by Special Agents Nikos and Laurence. As you know, or should after the earlier briefing, Lieutenant Dallas apprehended Isaac McQueen twelve years ago and is responsible for the release of the twenty-two minor females he had abducted and held. Melinda Jones was one of the twenty-two.

“Everyone in this unit knows Melinda, has worked with her. I expect every officer in this room to afford Lieutenant Dallas, Roarke, Agents Nikos and Laurence every courtesy, and complete cooperation. Lieutenant.”

She stepped forward. “Isaac McQueen is a predatory and violent pedophile. He’s highly organized, intelligent, and goal oriented. He enjoys taking risks, feeds on them, but calculates them. He never intended to be caught, feels no remorse, but a sense of entitlement. His preferred target is female, between twelve and fifteen. Pretty girls. While he has targeted street kids, runaways, he prefers healthy, stylishly dressed targets—the middle-class kid.”

She looked toward the screen where Roarke displayed McQueen’s image and salient data.

“He’s an experienced grifter. He knows how to run a game. He enjoys them. Statements from the minor females after his apprehension told us he often forced them into role-playing. He adapts,” she continued. “He blends. He is congenial, even charming, well dressed, well groomed, well spoken. He will live quietly in an urban setting, most probably a mid-level apartment building. He enjoys having neighbors—another kind of role-playing for him.

“He will go out. He’ll be compelled to, especially after a twelve-year confinement. He will eat in restaurants, visit clubs, galleries. He’ll shop, extensively and well. Shopping is a particular pleasure for him—acquiring. Collecting again. He’ll know the city and his part of it very, very well.”