She gulped some down, ignored the jitter in her belly from caffeine overload, as Feeney came in. “Got your ninety percent. Ninety-point-one, and you ain’t going to get better. Give me that.”
He grabbed the coffee, drank it like a camel at an oasis. And he eyed her over the rim. “Maybe you need this more than I do. You don’t look like you’ve slept in a week.”
“Four dead, Feeney, in less than that. And those?” She gestured to the side of the board where she’d put the other victims. “All of those, too, from before. Their practice sessions. There could be another face up there tonight, or tomorrow. And what’ve I got?”
She pushed at her hair, pressed on her eyes. “It’s like weaving cobwebs together. A few strands of . . . whatever’s stronger than cobwebs. What I’ve got points to motive, method, opportunity, but it doesn’t hit the bull’s-eye. And I have to convince the PA and Whitney that it does, that it will.”
“You believe you can make it stick?” When she hesitated, he jabbed her shoulder.
“Ow.”
“You better fucking believe it or they won’t. Don’t waste my time here, or everybody else’s.”
“I know it. I know it. I’m tired. Half punchy, half twitchy.”
“I’d tell you to take a booster but you’ve probably had a cargo hold of coffee already.” He took a long, merciless study. “Go . . . do something with your face.”
“Huh?”
“Whatever it is your kind does. It’s one thing to look overworked, and another to look wrung out when you’re trying to pull a warrant this way.”
“You think because I have a vagina I cart around face enhancers?”
“Jesus, Dallas, you don’t have to use language like that. Borrow some, for Christ’s sake. You don’t want them looking at you thinking, ‘Man, Dallas needs some sleep.’ You want them focused on what you show them.”
“Fine. Fine. Crap.” She yanked out her communicator. “Peabody, put this on private.”
“What? Is there a break?”
“Are we private?”
“Yeah, what—”
“Do you have any face gunk?”
“Ah . . . sure. I got a supply in my desk for—what’s wrong with my face?”
“It’s for me. And if you say a word, if you breathe a syllable, I’ll rip your tongue out with my bare hands and feed it to the first rabid dog I find. Meet me in the bathroom, and bring the crap.” She clicked off. “Satisfied?” she demanded of Feeney, and stomped out.
It only took about five minutes, and that with Peabody trying to offer advice and instruction. The first thing she did was put her head in the sink, grit her teeth, and turn the water on full and cold.
It shocked the edge of fatigue away.
She toned down the circles under her eyes, added some color to cheeks she had to admit looked pasty and pale.
“That’s it.”
“I’ve got some nice lip dyes, and this mag eyeliner, and some—”
“That’s it,” Eve repeated, and raking her fingers through her wet hair, headed back to the conference room.
The scent of food hit the empty pit of her stomach. In the few minutes she’d been gone, someone had brought in another table and loaded it with paninis, subs, pizza.
Roarke picked up a panini, held it out. “Eat. You’ll think more clearly. And later, you can have a cookie.”
She didn’t argue, but took a huge bite. And just closed her eyes. “Okay. Good. You got cookies?”
“It seemed apt. Now take this blocker. No point going into this with a headache. Just a blocker,” he added, popping the little pill in her mouth, then handing her a bottle of water. “Hydrate.”
“Jesus. Cut it out.” She guzzled water, took another bite of panini. “I’m in charge here.”
He tugged a damp lock of her hair. “And it suits you. Your bullpen’s buzzing.”
“I need five minutes of quiet before—”
“Food!” McNab, who probably smelled pizza in EDD, led the charge.
“Take your five,” Roarke told her, and she nodded.
She settled for crossing to the windows, and blocking out the sound of cops pouncing on a bonanza of free food.
When she heard the commander’s voice, she turned. Mira came in, walked straight to her. “I wasn’t able to get away sooner.”
“Were you able to review any of what I sent you?”
“I read all of it. You make a number of persuasive points. If we could take another hour, I think we could refine several of them.”
“It’s already midday on a Friday. In July, when half the people who live here go somewhere else for the weekend. I’ve got to lay this out for Reo, have her convince a judge to issue warrants. I want to get it down before the end of business. We’re just waiting for her now, so . . . and there she is. I’m going to get started.”
She moved to the center of the room. “Officers, Detectives, take your seats. If you’re going to continue to gorge, do so quietly. Commander, thank you for taking the time.”
He nodded, took a seat. He had two slices of pizza on a plate and looked . . . guilty, she realized, and wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“The wife doesn’t like him eating between meals,” Feeney muttered in her ear.
“I thought I’d missed lunch.” Reo chose a seat, nibbled on half a panini.
Eve let the murmurs, the shifting, the laughter run on for a moment. Let them settle. She glanced at Roarke. He hadn’t sat, but stood leaning against the wall by the windows.
She walked over, shut the conference room door, then moved back to the center of the room.
“I’d like to bring everyone’s attention to the board.” She used a laser pointer, highlighting each photo. “Bristow, Melly, Zimbabwe, Africa,” she began, and named them all.
“All of these people were killed by Winston Dudley and Sylvester Moriarity. I know that with absolute certainty, just as I know with absolute certainty that they will kill again if they aren’t stopped.”
She let that sink in, just two beats of silence.
“Detective Peabody and I have built a case that I believe is substantial enough for search warrants for the suspects’ homes and businesses and vehicles. With the murder of Adrianne Jonas, Detectives Reineke and Jenkinson joined the investigative team. Earlier this afternoon, I assigned every officer in this room specific tasks relating to this investigation. Together, we’ve built a stronger, wider case. We’ve correlated with EDD, Doctor Mira, and the expert consultant, civilian.
“Bristow, Melly,” she said again, and ordered the data on-screen.
It took time, but she couldn’t rush it. She walked them through every victim, every connection, every overlap. She called on each member of the team to present his or her findings, then connected those.
“The shoes.” Reo gestured. “How many sold, that size and color?”
“Peabody.”
“Three pair, from New York merchants. I’ve verified one of the buyers was in New Zealand at the time of the murder. The other lives in Pennsylvania, is eighty-three years of age. Though I can’t absolutely confirm his whereabouts at the time in question, he doesn’t fit the height or body type from the image EDD was able to access from park security. He’s six inches shorter, at least twenty pounds lighter.”
“Okay, that’s good. But worldwide there would be more, and that’s what the defense would point out.”
“Less than seventy-five pair sold as of the date of the murder,” Eve said. “Peabody’s already eliminated forty-three.”
“Forty-six now, sir.”
“I’ll take those odds.”
“The alibis,” Reo began. As she and Eve debated, Baxter’s ’link signaled. He glanced at the ID, held up a finger to Eve, and walked out of the room.
“Some people swear they were there the whole time,” Eve continued. “Some state they don’t remember seeing one or both of them for long periods. Others just don’t remember one way or the other. If you can’t break that flimsy an alibi, you’re not doing your job.”
“You don’t want to tell me my job,” Reo shot back. “I’m doing my job by questioning every aspect of this. If you go after these two before we’re solid, they could slip through. My boss isn’t going to go for arrests on this unless he believes he can convict. These are wealthy men, who can afford an army of very slick attorneys.”
“I don’t care if they’re—”