“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.”
“You get me the warrants, I’ll take him down.”
“You take him down, we’ll put him away. Okay if I grab some food? I’m starving. A night saying bon voyage eats up the calories.”
“Go ahead. Here come Peabody and McNab,” Eve added, recognizing the clomp and prance.
Peabody clomped into the doorway, stopped. Her mouth fell comically open. “Wow! I mean mega-wow. This is— When did you—Wow. You have all kinds of— Oooh, a balcony!”
“Command center extreme!” McNab bounced straight over.
Eve should’ve figured an e-geek would know what really mattered.
“You got holo, and multiscreen.” He wedged himself in the U with her, bending down to study controls and babbling in geek, apparently about available bytes, streaming, functions.
“Don’t touch anything,” she ordered, but got out of his way because he looked, well, aroused.
“It’s mag, Dallas.” Peabody wandered, letting her fingers skim over a chair back. “It’s a really good space, and it really, really works. For you, for the house.”
“It worked fine before.”
“Yeah—the work’s the work, right? But, jeez, the new board’s awesome ult, and it just all fits with the house instead of being, you know, sort of separate. Got some power vibes going in here.” She looked over at McNab, grinned. “He may start crying over that command center.”
“Get him, go eat. That’ll dry his tears.”
Since Eve didn’t want to tangle with McNab, she went to the buffet table for more coffee. Then had to deal with the reactions of the others as they filed in.
Baxter looked around, nodded. “Nice. Oh, yeah, very nice. This is what I call a home office. You ought to hit your office at Central like this, Dallas.”
The thought actually had a chill whipping down her spine. “Don’t even go there.”
“Swank, but not fussy,” Olsen said, taking a long scan of the room. “Serious work space with just enough pizzazz.”
“Priorities,” Tredway interrupted. “When we got the word on breakfast, I figured some half-assed Danishes, but…” He lifted the dome on a warming dish. “Holy pig meat.”
“Dig in,” Eve ordered. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
She let them mill, stuff faces, and when Roarke came in, made herself a plate because otherwise he’d make her one.
When, as she’d expected, most went back for seconds, she got the ball rolling.
“Kyle Knightly, prime suspect. If you haven’t read the report, do so.” Since she had the kick-ass wall screen, she used it, ordered Knightly’s ID image up. “The suspect is…”
She trailed off when Mira came in.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Mira, I didn’t know you planned to attend.”
“I thought I might be able to answer any questions regarding your suspect’s pathology.” She looked around as she spoke, started to speak, then stopped herself. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
Eve continued, detailing Kyle’s basic data while Roarke moved to Mira, whispered in her ear. Mira shook her head, patted his arm, then moved to take a seat.
“As detailed in the report, we believe the suspect’s fixation and fantasy regarding his aunt escalated into a need to fulfill that fantasy through rape and violence. We are requesting the full incident reports and statements from his arrest at the age of eighteen for sexual assault, and any legal documents that may have been generated to persuade the complaining party to recant.”
“A million macaroons are pretty persuasive,” Baxter put in.
“Damn right, and the payment casts suspicion on the recant. Considering the length of time between that incident and the assault on the Patricks, it’s probable there were other incidents, possible payoffs, possible treatment for the suspect for his behavior. We are requesting access to his medical files, in full.”