Visions in Death (In Death #19)(98)

Fired at him, Eve thought. Flying through the goddamn air, but she'd fired at him. And had held onto her weapon. "Tell me about the van."

"Black or dark blue. Almost sure it was black. It was new, or really well kept. Lieutenant... I'm sorry."

"Dallas."

"It happened really fast. Like—" He snapped his fingers. "And we were all yelling and running, so it's pretty jumbled up. I tried to catch the plate, but it was dark, and I couldn't make it out. It had windows on the side, and in the cargo doors. They might've been blacked out or covered, I couldn't tell, but there were windows."

"You may think it's jumbled, Mr. Jacobs, but every detail you're giving me matters. Tell me about the assailant. Did you see his face?"

"We got a look. When he heard us yelling and turned our way, we got a decent look, I think. Essie and I spent some time last night trying to put it together. Hold on a minute."

"He was like something out of a nightmare," Essie added when Mike went into the bedroom. "I couldn't sleep last night because I kept seeing him, and hearing the way it sounded when he threw her down."

"I think this is the best that we've got." Mike came back in with a sheet of paper, handed it to Eve.

She felt her heart thud when she looked at the sketch. "You drew this?"

"Art teacher." He smiled a little. "We only saw his face for a second or two, but I think that's close."

"Mr. Jacobs, I'm going to ask you to come into Central, work with an Ident artist."

"Sure. I've got a class at nine, but I can call in. You want me to go in now?"

"It would be a great help if both of you, and Mr. Jibson could go in. This sketch can be used in an ID program. And the three of you can help the police artist create the closest possible likeness."

"I'll get a hold of Jib now, tell him to meet us there. Where do we go?"

"I'll take you. Tell your friend to go to Level Three, Section B. Identification Procedure. I'll have him cleared and escorted."

"Give me ten minutes."

Eve got to her feet. "Mr. Jacobs, Ms. Fort, I want to tell you how much the department, how much I personally appreciate what you did last night, what you're doing now."

Mike moved a shoulder. " Anybody'ddo the same."

"No. Not everybody."

———«»——————«»——————«»———

Her luck was turning, Eve decided when she was able to collar Yancy as her Ident artist. There were others who were as good with a sketch or a comp-generated image, but Yancy had a way of helping a witness remember details, of talking them through the process.

"What's the latest with Peabody?" he asked Eve.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd been stopped with a variation of the question on her way through Central. "No change."

He looked down at the sketch she'd handed him. "We'll get this f**ker."

Her brows lifted. Yancy wasn't just known for his skill with imaging, but for his mild manner. "Count on it. I need you to run me a copy of that, for now."

"Get that right for you." He moved to his imaging comp, slid the sketch in.

"He's got layers of sealant on his face and it distorts it some. You need to factor that. I know I shouldn't ask how long, but I have to."

"I wish I could tell you." He handed her the copy. "How cooperative are they?" He nodded to the anteroom where the witnesses waited.

"Unbelievably. Almost make me want to hang up my cynic's cap and wear the badge of the optimist."

"Then it'll be quicker." He studied the sketch again. "Artist is good. That'll help considerably. I'm pushing everything else aside till we have him for you, Lieutenant."

"Thanks."

She wanted to stay, watch the process, somehow hurry it along. She wanted to be at the hospital with Peabody, somehow bring her back. She wanted to yank and draw on every line and thread at once.

"You can't be everywhere, Eve."

She glanced over at Roarke. "Shows? I feel like I'm running in place. Goal's in sight, but I'm stuck in this spot. Maybe you could contact the hospital again, charm some information out of somebody. I just make them mad."

"People tend to get cross when someone threatens to pull their brains out of their nostrils."

"You'd think they'd give me points for creativity. I'm too wired." She shook herself as they headed toward her division. "Damn chemicals. You take the hospital, check in on Summerset. Talk the e-talk with Feeney, and I'll cut through the rest. Do you need me to find you a space?"

"I'll manage."

"Dallas!" Celina sprang off a bench. "I've been waiting. They said you were on your way in. You haven't answered your voice or e-mail."

"Been busy. Getting to it."

"Peabody." She clamped a hand over Eve's arm.

"She's holding. I'm really pressed, Celina. I can give you a few minutes in my office. You set?" she asked Roarke.

"I am, yes. I'll meet you out here."