New York to Dallas (In Death #33)(42)

“Too many people.” She nodded, felt the buzz. “Just too many people. She’s got a source in Dallas, too. Find the source, find her. Find her, find McQueen.”

“Jayson—Detective Price’s brother—works in Illegals,” Bree began. “He’s the one who interrupted you during the briefing. He and Melinda just started seeing each other a couple months ago, so—”

“Don’t care. Have him tap his brother. Really Fat Vik said boosters, but it’s going to be more. She needs something to level out, keep it smooth. Can’t just bounce on the high with all this going on. She needs to tune out, relax.”

“She’d think she’s competing with girls, sexually, wouldn’t she?” Annalyn commented. “I’d add sex drugs. Erotica at a minimum to that.”

“Good point. Make it happen, Jones.” She considered Annalyn. “You look good.”

“Thanks. I work with what I’ve got.”

“And you’re single. You’re out in the mix. You do the salon thing? The hair and all that?”

“Tough on a cop’s salary, but once a month or so, yeah. I see where you’re going. She’s got to look good for him. I bet she’s had some body work since he hooked her. Lift the girls up some, laser off the lines, like that.”

“Recent, after she stopped counseling, before his escape. In Dallas, or close. She’s thinking about seeing him, him seeing her, being with him, she might’ve gone for the works at some salon, and in the last few days.”

“Feels right.”

“Look, I’ll take the inmate search. You and Jones know the city. Put together a list of most-likely salons, body work locations. Show both her ID shots. Let’s get lucky again.”

“Are you going to update the feds with this angle?”

“Shit. Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”

“Too bad,” Annalyn said, and grinned. “Come on, Bree. Let’s track this bitch down.”

Eve sat, started the search. Annalyn was right, she thought. It felt right. Felt good. While she worked she forgot the unfamiliar room, fell into a routine.

McQueen had mucked with his, she thought, and now his foundation cracked under the weight of too much fuss, too many additions.

It didn’t surprise her to find so many cons, deemed rehabilitated, with connections to illegals.

“Prisons are full of bad guys,” she mumbled, ran each one.

“I like you, Burt, street name Thor, Civet. I like you a whole bunch.” She ran probabilities, smiled slowly. “See there, the computer likes you, too. You’re a popular guy. Contact Peabody, Detective Delia, NYPSD,” she ordered the ’link.

Peabody’s face, showing a little wear, came on screen. “Hey, Dallas. We’ve got Stibble and Lovett on hold. We think we’ve tapped them out, but we’ll give them another go tomorrow.”

“I’ve got a line. Burt Civet, aka Thor. Did time with McQueen until he made parole about four years ago. His current address is listed on Washington Street. No current employment, so I’m just taking a wild guess he’s dealing again. Find him, pick him up, squeeze him. Probability’s high McQueen tapped him to supply the partner when she was in New York, keep her happy.”

“Got it.”

“I want everything he knows about this woman, Peabody. Everything. I want to know how McQueen handled the payoff. Make whatever deal you’ve got to make, but convince him it’s in his best interest to roll over. He did five hard last time. Use it. He likes to sell to minors, tends to set up shop near playgrounds, schools, arcades.”

“Makes him a good match for McQueen.”

“I’m sure they bonded. I want McQueen’s bitch, Peabody. Squeeze hard.”

“He’s the lemon, we’ll make lemonade. How’s it going down there?”

“It’s weird. They’re too polite, they talk funny, and stuff has too much shine on it. But the coffee’s worse than Central’s, so that’s something. I’m going to send you everything I’ve got, then I’m going to pull Roarke in from whatever he’s doing at EDD. I want to work on my own at the hotel for a while. You can reach me on my pocket ’link.”

“I’ll let you know when we’ve got him.”

Eve clicked off, sat back. She wanted to be there. She wanted to track down Civet, squeeze his lemons into lemonade.

She hadn’t been able to intimidate, squeeze, or snarl since she’d left New York. It just wasn’t right.

She tagged Roarke. “I’ve got a couple lines,” she told him. “I want to take what I’ve got and work at the hotel. I need to get out of here as soon as you can shake loose.”

“I’m right there with you. On my way.”

She copied and saved data, gathered what she wanted. Rather than contact the feds directly, she wrote a quick, down-and-dirty summary and shot it to their ’links as text mail.

When she walked out to inform Ricchio of her plans, Roarke intercepted her.

“I let the Texas lieutenant know where you’ll be. Let’s get the bloody hell out of here.”

“Problem?”

He took her arm to hurry her along. “Let’s just say I’ve gotten used to your cop house. This one’s given me an itch between the shoulder blades.”