Echoes in Death (In Death #44)(100)

“It’s not you and me. I’m just using you and me so I don’t have to think about everything else. I want it done, I want it over. I want to close this door.”

“This door opened so hard on the heels of the last investigation. It’s hardly a wonder you’re scraped raw.”

“Yeah. Time to hope for a nice, straight murder. Greedy bastard shoves business partner out the window. Brother stabs brother over the last bag of soy chips. Spouse bludgeons spouse over sidepiece. You know, the fun stuff.”

“I have no doubt you’ll get that wish. After all, there’s never a dearth of greed or sidepieces in the world, but only a finite number of soy chips.”

“That’s the damn truth. We okay?”

“Of course we are.”

“I want to go ahead and finish up the rest of the names, just check that box off.”

“I’ve one or two things to see to myself.”

“I fed the cat,” she said when they started out together.

“That’s a coincidence. So did I.”

“I knew it!” Glancing back at Galahad, she would have sworn he smirked.

Roarke smirked right back at him. “What he doesn’t know is he’s now eating low-calorie kibble.”

“He is?”

“By Summerset’s decree after a vet checkup where the vet advised that our boy should lose three to five pounds.”

“I gave him a little salmon,” Eve confessed.

“I went with tuna.”

The laugh felt good. Then she walked into her office, saw the long table already stacked with plates, flatware, cups.

“Oh, hell.”

“People need to eat,” he reminded her, and walked into his office.

She sat, got more coffee, and diligently worked her way through the remaining names. She barely noticed Summerset rolling trays of heat-domed dishes out of the elevator. Or did her best to ignore it.

She heard someone coming—not Peabody, wrong stride, wrong sound—swiveled in her chair as Reo came in.

“Look at this! You redid your office. It’s fabulous. You have a fireplace. I’d kill for a fireplace this time of year. I love the colors, and your workstation—”

“Command center,” Eve corrected.

Reo went, “Oooh,” and walked over on boots with high, thick heels. “Very impressive. And whatever’s for breakfast smells wonderful.”

“Didn’t your friend make you breakfast?”

Reo sighed, took off her coat. She wore a slim dress, short jacket, both in deep, dreamy green. “No, he had an early shuttle to catch. It’s someone I’ve been seeing for a few months, semi-seriously the last few weeks. And now he’s leaving for Sierra Leone for sixteen months.”

“Where the hell is Sierra Leone?”

“West Africa. Can I have coffee?”

Eve tapped the AutoChef in the command center.

“Okay, now I’m seriously jealous. He’s a teacher, part of an organization called Literacy Warriors. He’s going there to teach, to educate. It’s noble, admirable, and really crappy timing for me, personally. But.” She shrugged, took the coffee. “That’s how it goes.”

Now she walked to the board. “Your report was detailed, thorough, and largely based on circumstantial.”

“I’m right.”

Reo sipped, studied. “A sexual obsession for an aunt—she is a knockout—leads him to rape, torture, and eventually murder?”

“A sexual assault on his record at eighteen.”

“The complainant recanted.”

“And, gee, a million dollars shows up in her bank account.”

“That does add interest. It’s still a thin net, Dallas.”

“He fits the profile.”

“He does. He certainly does. But so do others, as you’ve very aptly illustrated.”

“I’ve eliminated all but a handful from the gala. You want to tell me it’s just a strange coincidence that every victim up there attended that gala and the assailant didn’t?”

“No—that’s a defense ploy. You honestly think you’re going to find the things he took from these people—the jewelry, the valuables, the clothes—right in his home?”

“Yes, I do. He needs them close, and he needs them private. He lives in a converted loft, has the whole building. It’s not huge, but it’s plenty big enough. He doesn’t do much entertaining—according to his own statement. Prefers to take people out. He knows makeup, costuming, staging. And the last victims, hit on the night after the blizzard? Under four blocks from his place. He could’ve walked it, Reo. He targeted them because he could get there, because after Strazza’s death, he wanted the blood. He had to get a kill.”

“How sure are you?”

“Truth? All the way. I got an itch the first time I talked to him, but I knew when he came in yesterday. We’d already started on the list of potential males, and he came in. I knew. We still ran them, dug in. And he fits like a fucking glove, Reo.”

She nodded, brushed back her frothy mop of blond hair. “I’m going to get you the warrants. It’s going to take some tap dancing, but…” She turned back, smiled. “I’ve got the talent.”