Apprentice in Death (In Death #43)(22)

“For now, eliminate multi-person offices, residences with families.”

He nodded as more buildings faded. “Okay. If he didn’t use a suppressor, you’re going to find somebody who heard three high-pitched discharges. Have you ever heard a laser rifle?”

“I’ve fired one.”

“Then you know. If he did use one, that would cut the range a bit, but nobody heard anything. It’s going to depend how he wanted to go, that’s all. You’re sure as hell after somebody who knew what they were doing. That’s skill, Dallas. Serious skill. That last strike? That wasn’t only skill. That was fucking cocky.”

Though it pained her a little to agree with Dickhead, Eve had thought the same. “Cocky gets sloppy.”

“Maybe.”

“Work with the program, and if you can eliminate any more areas, I need to know.”

Since he was already running the program again, she left him to it.

“You didn’t have to threaten or bribe him.”

“Because I gave him geek porn, and he’s having too much fun.” Eve had to admit, to herself, she kind of missed the bribe dance.





4


Eve drove straight to Cop Central. She needed to set up her board, snag whoever she could to start clearing buildings—and she hoped to slide in a quick consult with Mira.

It would mean battling Mira’s hard-eyed admin, but a consult with NYPSD’s top profiler and shrink was invaluable.

The minute she stepped into the bullpen, she scanned. No Baxter and Trueheart, which told her they were likely in the field. The way Carmichael sat on the edge of Santiago’s desk indicated a consult rather than gossip.

Jenkinson scowled at his comp as he worked—and Reineke strolled out from the break room with a mug of cop coffee.

“Nothing hot?” she asked Jenkinson.

“Paperwork. I lost the flip.”

“My office in five. Peabody, catch them up.”

In her office, she opened Roarke’s program, then set up her board, centering the three victims. To circumvent Mira’s dragon, she sent a brief e-mail to Mira directly. A text might hit the admin first.

She stood, real coffee in hand, and studied the screen when Jenkinson and Reineke came in.

She’d have sworn the light changed in the glare of Jenkinson’s tie. From his standpoint, she supposed the gold-and-green dots on screaming red struck him as classic, even subtle.

“You’re going to start in this sector, work east from Madison. Peabody’s going to give you the target buildings based on this program. It’s a crapshoot.”

“Sniper type,” Reineke said. “You figure working alone.”

“Most likely. I’m working on a consult with Mira, but going with percentages and probabilities, a single male, military or police training. A loner. You don’t make these strikes without training and practice, so you hit wits on that. At hotels, flops, you’re looking for somebody who came in light. He’d need the carry case for the weapon, but I don’t see him hauling around much more. He’d need a window that opened—or he damaged it to make the strike. He’d want privacy screening. Unsuppressed, a weapon like this emits a whine—three strikes, three whines, rapid succession.”

“Odds of somebody hearing that—”

“Next to zilch,” Eve said with a nod to Jenkinson. “Maybe in a flop, or a low-rent apartment, someplace with no soundproofing.”

“And of finding somebody who gives a crap when a cop asks.”

“And that,” Eve agreed.

“Could’ve used his own place,” Reineke speculated. “Starts obsessing on the rink for whatever fucked-up reason, decides to do some duck hunting.”

“Let’s find out. Peabody and I will start at the sector farthest east, work in toward you. We’ll probably be an hour behind you. We need to hit the second vic’s office, and—”

She broke off as her incoming signaled, turned to her desk. “Okay, Mira’s just coming into Central, and she’ll stop by here. If she adds anything we can use, you’ll hear it. Get going.

“Peabody, refine our list geographically, and contact Michaelson’s office, tell them we’re coming in to interview.” She checked her wrist unit. “I want a quick one with Feeney before we head out. I can go to him.”

“I’m on it.”

Alone, she stepped to her window, looked out. She’d judge herself a decent marksman with a laser rifle. Better, a lot better, with a hand weapon, but okay with the long one.

And calculating, figured she could kill, maim, or injure an easy dozen from her skinny office window inside a minute.

How the hell did you protect anyone?

She turned back as she heard Mira coming. Those quick clicks that indicated some sort of classy heels.

The classy heels were on classy red booties in some sort of textured pattern that matched a skinny and useless belt on a suit in what—for some reason—they called winter-white.

Mira’s soft sable hair curved in a smooth bob today that showed off little earrings where a tiny pearl dripped from a red stone.

How did anybody think clearly enough in the morning to coordinate that exactly—and not look like a fashion droid, but accessibly human?

“Thanks for stopping,” Eve began.