Echoes in Death (In Death #44)(102)

“‘Best you ever had,’” Eve finished.

She paused, noted that Roarke brought Mira a cup of tea. “We know who he is, what he is, where he lives, and where he works. APA Reo will secure the necessary search warrants for his residence, his studio. Peabody, find out the suspect’s schedule for today. Use whatever ploy works.”

“Can do.”

“McNab, request from Captain Feeney an e-team, including uniforms to secure, to be deployed on my go to the studios. All of the suspect’s electronics in that location are to be confiscated.”

“You want me there?” McNab asked.

“No, I want you at the residence, where it’s more likely he keeps any records of his crimes, of his victims and his plans. Should the schedule indicate the suspect will be at the studio at the time of the go, I want Peabody, Tredway, and Olsen to take him in for questioning. Should the schedule indicate he’ll be at his residence, we all hit it.”

“That’s a lot of cops,” Olsen pointed out.

“This started with the Patricks, and that’s your case. You’re going to be there for the takedown.”

“Sir,” Trueheart began. “The suspect may be in another location, on a shoot or in a meeting.”

“Should that be the case, it’s Peabody, Tredway, Olsen. You, Baxter, McNab, and myself hit the residence wherever the fucker may be. If he’s there, we serve the warrant and proceed. He will be held and brought in for questioning. I’m taking the lead there.”

“No argument,” Tredway told her.

“I’ll break him.”

“As long as we can watch,” Olsen added.

“Mira, I’d like you to observe as well.”

“I’m planning on it.”

“The rest of you, remember: He’s a coward, and cowards can be more dangerous than the cocky.”

Reo circled a finger in the air as she studied her ’link screen. “You’ll have your warrants within thirty because I’m just that good. Go get him.”

“Peabody, get me his location.”

Peabody rose. “Let me just…” She wandered off into the kitchen. “Oh, man, the kitchen, too!”

“Focus, Detective.”

“Give me a couple.”

“Getting a last hit of real coffee before the wars.” Baxter strolled back to the buffet.

Roarke pulled Eve aside. “Tag me, will you, when you bring him into Central.”

“Sure, if you want.”

“I do. I want to watch you work him.”

“You must have a couple million things to do.”

“I did at least a million of them last night and this morning. Let me know. I’d like to be there. I saw what he did to Daphne Strazza firsthand.”

And because he believed, very strongly, his cop might need him before it was done.

Peabody hurried back. “He’s slated as working from home until noon today.”

Eve thought: Perfect. “By noon he’s in a cage. McNab, give Feeney the go. And let’s move out. Reo, nice tap dance.”

Reo executed a quick, snappy time step, complete with jazz hands. “Keep me updated.”

The A-T waited. She decided Roarke had ordered it with the idea she’d have more than Peabody in tow. “Leave your ride,” she told Baxter. “I’ll get you back to it.”

He and Trueheart climbed in the back with McNab. “You figure he’ll try to rabbit?”

“He’s arrogant, so that won’t be his first impulse. Insult, fury, threats—lawyer, blah-blah. Might be he’ll try the rabbit when he realizes we’re going to find his cache—because he damn well has one.”

“Don’t want to be a downer,” Peabody began, “but what if he keeps the trophies in another location? A storage locker we don’t know about, another residence we haven’t uncovered.”

“He needs to look, touch, bask whenever the mood strikes. He needs them with him.”

“I’ve got a basketball trophy from high school.” Trueheart smiled at the idea. “My mom keeps it on a shelf in the living room. And the team picture from that year, too.”

“I’ve got first-place comp science awards from elementary school,” McNab added. “I like looking at them.”

“Not sick, but sweet—ever the geek,” Baxter commented. “Still, same thing. How about the boy and I do a walk around the building while the rest of you serve the warrant? Just in case he tries to climb out a window.”

“That’ll work.”

She grabbed a street spot, watched Olsen pass and circle as she hunted up a place to park.

Eve got out, studied Knightly’s building. Square and substantial on the corner, with the bricks painted a silvery gray, the windows privacy screened, the double entrance doors heavily secured.

“Let’s take a walk, my man.” Baxter slapped a hand to Trueheart’s shoulder and they strode away.

Though everything inside her revved—get this done, get this done—Eve waited until Olsen and Tredway rounded the corner on foot.

She pulled out her PPC, checked, then printed out the warrant.

“Here we go.”

“Bet he recognizes us,” Tredway said to his partner, then glanced at Eve. “We interviewed him after the Patricks. Never got a buzz, and I’m pretty pissed about that now.”