Apprentice in Death (In Death #43)(14)

She rose, as did he, but she turned to him. “When this office thing happens, you could work in here on this kind of thing, if you wanted. Take the cop stuff out of your own space.”

“I don’t mind the cop stuff in my space.”

“I know. We’ll add that into the appreciation sex. I’ll look at the designs again when I finish this, pick one.”

“If one suits.”

“Yeah, if that.”

She manned her desk again, solo, began the cross-search. While it ran, she managed to figure out how to send Peabody the complicated program Roarke had written and implemented in under two hours.

She imagined fellow e-geek McNab would do a happy dance.

After adding an update, she went into the kitchen to program more coffee, reminding herself that space would change, too.

No need to hold on to the old, she told herself. And in reality, even the old had changed, since Mavis and Leonardo had her old apartment.

Nothing about it looked like the Spartan and basic cop place she’d lived in, not with all the color, the clutter, the kid.

The kid.

When Bella blipped into her mind, she remembered the party. She had to go to a baby birthday party, where surely there would be more babies. Crawling or walking in that drunk way they did, making those weird noises.

Staring like dolls.

Why did they do that?

She shook the thought away, got her coffee, went back to murder.

The incoming from Roarke signaled moments before he came back.

“Hotels, including an SRO flagged for you, and several rentals in the last six months. I’ve put those rented to families with children and multiple-use office spaces or with staff over three on low.”

“You ran occupants?”

“That would’ve been next, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a couple matches, but they don’t ring. A guy from the license list who has an aunt in one of the buildings—but she’s on a lower floor than works here. Plus, he’s got no military or police training, doesn’t actually appear to have any weapons training. We’ll check him out, but this isn’t our guy.”

Leaning back in her chair, she picked up her coffee, propped up her boots in her think-it-through mode.

“The other’s got a big residential on Park, does some designer hunting. It doesn’t strike—not much skill from my background check, but he could have downplayed that. But added to it, he lives with wife number three, has a live-in nanny for the kid with wife number three, and a teenage son from wife number two lives with him half the time. Full-time housekeeper—not a droid. Still, I bet he has a private space in his digs, so we’ll check.”

She dropped her feet, pushed back. “No criminal to speak of on either. And no connection I could find to the rink or the victims.”

Rising, she approached her board. “If this wasn’t his mission, just this, he’ll hit again and soon. Three strikes, three down. It’s too successful not to hit again. Not the rink, that’s done—unless it is the rink.”

“You think, and I agree, if it were the rink, there would be more than three on your board.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think. Another public place, another multiple strike. If that’s the plan, he’s already got it selected, scoped, and has his nest. Anyone, anywhere, anytime. He’s holding the cards now.”

“You’ve plenty of your own.”

“But I can’t add more to them tonight, not with what’s here. Morris, Berenski, they might add more tomorrow. Peabody and McNab are working their end. I’ll get a profile from Mira, see if that refines things. It’s not a pro.”

She narrowed those cop’s eyes at the board again. “A pro doesn’t take out three unrelated targets, and they’re not connected. Correction, a working pro doesn’t. We could have a pro who’s gone loony, but this wasn’t murder for hire—or unlikely. Client could have paid to have three hits, with two as cover. Can’t disregard even that.”

“Lieutenant, you’re circling.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She took one long last look at the girl in red. As Roarke said, she haunted. “Okay. Let’s have another look at the design stuff.”

“You don’t have to do that tonight.”

“It’ll bug me until I clear it. How hard can it be to just pick something?”

“You’re a rare woman, darling, as you not only actually believe that, but make it true.”

He called the first design on screen.

“I don’t much like this one. The colors are kind of girlie, and the stuff’s sort of . . . I don’t know, sharp and . . . slick. So plain it’s fancy. I don’t know the word, but that’s how it hits. I mean, the setup’s okay—where she’s got things—but the things are going to make me feel like I’m in somebody else’s place.”

“Then we move on. Number two.”

She shifted her feet as she studied it. Felt stupid and ungrateful. “The stuff here’s okay. It doesn’t have that I’m-new-and-cutting-edge-and-really-important deal going on. I could work here without feeling like somebody whose name begins with Summerset would give me the fish eye if I messed it up or spilled something.”

“But?”