New York to Dallas (In Death #33)(34)

She glanced at Roarke, nodded. The next image came on screen.

“His mother, Alice McQueen, was a popper addict. She trained him in the grift, and she sexually abused him. It’s believed this sexual relationship lasted until he killed her when he was nineteen. She is the prototype for the partners he acquires, uses, and murders when done with them. Older, addicts, attractive, smart enough to be of use, vulnerable enough to be used.”

She paused a moment until Roarke put the next image up. “We believe this woman is his current partner. At this time, she is unidentified. Through a liaison she was introduced to McQueen while he was in prison. We’ve determined they continued to communicate after the physical visits stopped. Once McQueen selected his target and location, she would have done the legwork. At some point she connected with Melinda Jones, posing as a rape victim. She would have been convincing, and would have developed a relationship with the target. We believe it’s this woman who contacted the target and lured her to McQueen. According to pattern, she’ll have her own residence, but visit his often.”

She stopped again, scanned the room. Cops taking notes, studying her, wanting to get the hell on with it and find the woman they all knew.

“Look, I understand your priority is to find Melinda, to get her home safe. I agree with that priority. But be aware, he will be compelled to hunt.”

This single thought lived in her gut like a parasite. There would be another victim, and soon.

“A day or two,” she continued, pressing the point, “the juice of having Melinda, of screwing with me may be enough to satisfy him. But he’s out, he’s out eating, shopping—and he sees pretty young girls getting a pizza, window-shopping, running around with friends. He sees them, smells them, brushes up against them on the street. He wants—and he’ll take.

“He held over twenty girls at one time. He won’t have any problem holding one woman and a girl. She won’t see it coming, so we have to. They’ll work together. They’ll use a van—something common, nothing new, nothing flashy. He most usually hunts at night, but not exclusively. Crowded places. Places girls of that age like to haunt. He’ll use a pressure syringe, enough to disorient her. He’ll need an apartment building with its own garage. If it has security, he’ll jam it. He has excellent e-skills. For now Melinda’s useful to him, and doesn’t fit his victimology.”

“He raped an adult female in New York,” one of the cops commented.

Eve heard the bitter temper in the voice, as she turned to the detective. Late twenties, she judged, fit, good-looking, brown and brown.

And at the moment with a belligerent set to his jaw.

“He did that for my benefit. He doesn’t need to prove anything with Melinda. He has her, so’s already proven it.”

“You were confrontational with him during the ’link up.”

Eve angled her head, gave him a deeper study. Shirt-sleeved detective, hip holster, messy hair—hands scooping through it—tense face, hard eyes.

“Was I?”

“You told him to get f**ked.”

“Is that confrontational around here?”

She got a quiet roll of laughter before Bree spoke up.

“You kept his focus on you—on you and him. Kept him engaged on that level, and a little pissed off—but at you. You and him. You are the target, so Melinda’s the tool, the lure. So she’s secondary. If he hurts her, deal’s off and you go home. You made him hear that, you made him believe that.”

Okay, Eve thought, maybe Bree Jones would be an asset.

“And every time he contacts me—and he will do so again—I’ll do the same. He expects it. He wants it. He gets off on it because he’s convinced he’ll have this second shot and it’ll end differently. He didn’t just get taken down by a cop, but by a rookie. Believe me, that’s eaten at him, burned his ego. Believe me, too, he’s no pu**y. He’ll gut you like a trout if he gets the edge. He’s strong, and he can fight like a bastard. Don’t make the same mistake I did. Get backup. Stun him to the ground if you have to. I didn’t do either, and the son of a bitch almost killed me.

“Agents.”

As Eve expected, Nikos took the lead and—to her amusement—stepped to the podium.

“Special Agent Laurence and I would like to thank the Dallas Police and Security Department and Lieutenant Ricchio for the cooperation and assistance. The Bureau is committed to reapprehending Isaac McQueen, and to the safe return of Melinda Jones. We agree with the bulk of the profile, the data, and the suppositions Lieutenant Dallas related here. One point.”

She held up a finger, paused briefly.

“We do agree the subject is highly goal oriented, and as such our anal and probability ratio skews extremely low on the likelihood the subject will attempt an abduction of a minor at this time. Our focus will be on apprehending the subject with the safe release of his hostage.”

That’s fine, Eve thought. You do that. And she noted Laurence continued to work as his partner addressed the room.

Nikos went on, repaving ground already covered, wasting time in Eve’s opinion. Roarke edged closer, spoke quietly.

“They’ve arrested the prison guard, and they’re working him and Stibble. EDD has all the electronics, looking for any communications to or from McQueen and the partner.”