Obsession in Death

“It’s amazing soup if you consider it came from a hole-in-the-wall.”

 

“You don’t think she’d have tried for Mavis today if you hadn’t seen her?”

 

“No. Just strolling the neighborhood, getting the feel, that’s my sense of it. Maybe she’d’ve gone in the building – used the fake master. Just as well she didn’t, because she’d have ditched it when it didn’t work. This way, we’ll have her next location if and when she tries.”

 

She finished off the pretty good soup. “Bella tried to eat the diamond.” Eve tugged on her chain. “What does Leonardo do but walk off leaving me holding the kid? Why would any sane person do that?”

 

“It’s a wonder,” he said, smiled.

 

“So she digs it out while I’m trying to figure out what to do with her. Popped that sucker right in her mouth when I wouldn’t just hand it over. She likes the shiny, I guess. Calls them ba-bas. Baubles.”

 

“Baubles.” Laughing, he sat back. “Trust Mavis to start the girl early.”

 

“She had this look in her eye – the kid. Like: Not going to give it to me? That’s what you think, sister. It was a little scary considering she’s about a foot and a half.”

 

She shoved the bowl aside, and decided the pie had to wait.

 

“I’m glad I went by. Not only because I got a chance to put the fear of God into the UNSUB, but I can cross worry about Mavis off the list. She’s covered.”

 

“And the others? How many will you worry about tonight?”

 

“I talked to all of them. My gut says, if she’s going to go for someone tight with me, it’ll be Nadine or Mira, since Mavis is off the list. She can’t try for Mavis, not now anyway. I’m going to tag both of them, push the stay-inside, be-careful routine.”

 

She got up, just had to get up, walked to the board.

 

“Murdering Morphing Dollies.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“McNab thinks you should produce a vid game. Murdering Morphing Dollies. When he had the hat on today, he and Yancy got together, came up with a series of possible sketches. Using math and probability and ratio and dimension and what the hell.”

 

“Interesting.” Considering, he finished his wine. “And actually there’s a customer base who’d go mad for Murdering Morphing Dollies.”

 

“They dressed their ‘dollies’ in trashy underwear and skimpy bikinis.”

 

“Well, of course. Why don’t I have a look?”

 

“Because of the trashy underwear?”

 

“Such things are always a factor, but for now, to see the concept.”

 

She set it up, then stood studying the images on screen with him.

 

Head angled, he smiled. “Hmm. We’d need to include weapons. An ax – perhaps a halberd – maybe a boomer, definitely a vial of poison.”

 

“What?”

 

“Sorry, the game idea. It’s intriguing. The body type… No, you’re not looking for fragile or soft. She carried the dead weight of a full-grown woman. She outran you.”

 

“She didn’t outrun me,” Eve protested, insulted. “She had a street-wide lead plus, because I had to dodge traffic to get across.”

 

“Apologies.” But his lips twitched. “I mean to say she’s quick. How far did you chase her?”

 

“Two and a half blocks, not counting through the restaurant.”

 

“Quick and at least some endurance as all this would’ve been as flat-out as possible. So the odds are she’s in shape.”

 

“She runs,” Eve stated, then cocked her head. “She’s fast, yeah, yeah, and likely fit. Maybe she trains. A fitness center maybe, keep in tune. She had Bastwick planned all the way through, I’m sure of it. So she knew she’d have to carry her from the living area to the bedroom since she wanted her on the bed. And – shit.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m an idiot. She put her in bed. She killed Ledo in bed.”

 

Eve began to pace. “I don’t know what she planned for Hastings. No way she would carry him all the way upstairs. But he’s got props, right? In the studio. Something that could stand in for a bed. That’s what she’d use for him. Why in bed? Why does she put them or take them in bed?”

 

“Vulnerability? Sleep, sex, sickness. Wouldn’t those be the top reasons for being in bed? All of those make you vulnerable.”

 

“Good, that’s good.” Struck, she pointed a finger at him. “They’re vulnerable, she’s in control. And it’s tidy, too, isn’t it? She doesn’t leave them sprawled on the floor. She cuts out the tongue – that’s a statement – but doesn’t otherwise mutilate. Tidy. And a bed, it’s like a display. Here’s your present.”

 

She told him about the holo program she’d run, the time lag. How she calculated the killer had used it.

 

“You challenged her today. The media conference.”

 

“I need to piss her off, shake her up. I think I did. And chasing after her added to it. I’m betting she’s not feeling real friendly toward me right now.”

 

“You’d like her to come after you. In your place, I’d want the same. But that’s not likely to be her next move, is it?”

 

“No, not likely. Kill me, the whole thing’s finished. She’s given me gifts, and I just haven’t appreciated them properly.”

 

“If we equate the two murders as giving you something – which hasn’t been fully appreciated,” Roarke considered, “it follows that now she’ll want to take something away.”

 

“Yeah.” And something would be someone she cared about. “I’m going to tag some people before I get down to things.”

 

“I’ll just copy that morphing program.” He did so, with a couple of quick clicks. “And send it to the lab. I may be able to add to it.”

 

“For the case or for the game?”

 

He smiled, brushed a fingertip over the dent in her chin. “I can do both, Lieutenant. Why don’t we say pie and coffee a bit later?”

 

“That works. If you’ve got time, Feeney had this other angle. Geek angle,” she added, and laid out the search-and-match idea.

 

“All right, I’ll set it up. It won’t be quick.”

 

“He said the same.”

 

Alone, she started down the list. It made her feel better, just to touch base, to repeat the need for caution. Better yet, everyone she contacted was in for the night.

 

Really, who wanted to go out in the bitter the night before New Year’s Eve?

 

That’s the night she had to worry about, she decided. When so many she knew and cared about would be out at some party, some shindig.

 

She didn’t think her killer would take someone in public. But what better time to get into a target’s empty place, lie in wait?

 

If she didn’t have the suspect in a cage by the eve, she’d set up some sort of surveillance on potential targets’ houses, apartments.

 

“But you’re going for somebody tonight, aren’t you? You missed last night. You have to make up for it. You had to run twice now, and once from your… bestie,” she muttered, thinking of Mavis’s term. “Hard on a girl’s self-esteem. You need a win, and you need it bad.”

 

Considering, Eve brought ID shots on screen.

 

Not Mavis, she decided, studying the official shot where Mavis had opted for a cotton-candy-pink poof of hair and electric green eyes. Low probability on Mavis and her family.

 

Same with Peabody and McNab, with Feeney – who looked as if he’d slept in the dung-brown suit and industrial-beige shirt. Too risky, at this point, to go for a cop, so she included all the cops in her division.

 

The Miras – now, that was a worry. She could count on Mira to be smart and careful, but she’d put an attempt on them in the high probability range. Even without the link to law enforcement – and she was sure the killer had one – anyone who’d read Nadine’s book or seen the vid would know she had a particular link, personal and professional, with Dr. Charlotte Mira.

 

She also had an embarrassing little crush on Dennis Mira, but nobody knew about that. Mira would, Eve corrected, and felt foolish. Mira always knew.

 

But look at the guy, with his incredibly kind eyes and mussed-up hair and that absent smile that said he was thinking about something else altogether.

 

She considered contacting Mira again, impressing on her – again – that the killer might ditch the delivery guise now, go for a straight break-in using the master.

 

But the master wouldn’t work, Eve reminded herself, and going over it all again edged over into nagging.

 

Nadine, same deal. High probability – the connection between her and Nadine was well known. Nadine Furst was nobody’s fool, Eve thought, and had top-notch security on her building and her apartment.

 

Still, the memory of Nadine’s abduction, of the previous attempt on her life two years before, flashed.

 

It would flash for Nadine, too, Eve decided. She’d take no chances.

 

Reo? Another concern. If the killer knew details of Eve’s life – personal and professional – she’d know details of Reo’s. The APA was smart, but she wasn’t… tough. Not physically.

 

Morris? A hell of a lot smarter than a killer. Security decent, she mused, but not as good as it could be.

 

Louise and Charles. Good security on their home, but each of them worked, patients, clients. Anyone could walk into Louise’s clinic, where the security sucked. Or book a session with Charles. High probability again, but not tonight, she determined. Smarter to try at the clinic, or to pose as a client for Charles. Daytime hit there, most likely.

 

Unless the killer lured Louise out of the house, medical emergency. The clinic or her mobile medical service.

 

Shit.

 

And there was Trina. Not exactly a friend, more of a personal thorn in the side, but a connection. One who posed for official ID as if she wore a flaming tower on her head – fiery red with hot gold tips.

 

“And she can be stupid,” Eve mused.

 

She’d barely closed a case she’d caught because Trina had done the stupid.

 

An e-mail blast, Eve decided. That wasn’t like nagging, it was just putting it all down so everyone had it right in front of them.

 

She settled down to it, tried to think of a way to write it out that didn’t seem like nagging.

 

While she did, the killer poured out her own thoughts in words.

 

J.D. Robb's books