He fell hard, as she’d meant him to.
She pulled her restraints, pressed her knee into the small of his back, yanked his arms behind his back as he struggled and spat obscenities. “Kyle Knightly, you’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer.” She leaned down closer. “Believe me, other charges will follow. Peabody, send for a couple of uniforms in a black-and-white to take Mr. Knightly into Central for booking. No rush,” she added.
She pulled her comm. “Baxter, he’s not going to rabbit. Come on in, give us a hand.”
Tredway hauled Knightly to his feet. “I’ve got him, Dallas. Why don’t we have a seat?”
“Take your hands off me. Get these things off me. Do you know who I am?”
“I know exactly who you are,” Eve said.
She watched his face, his eyes as she wandered the large, open, sleekly furnished main level. Plenty of rage—he shook with rage—but no fear, not yet.
Then she saw it, watched it leap through the rage as she started up the first curve of open iron steps.
“Up here, isn’t it?”
His bedroom and an office area both opened onto the wide balcony that overlooked the main level. But beyond, snug behind a jog in the wall, was a large door, closed and locked.
She tapped on it, heard the ring of metal.
“McNab.”
“Yo.” He came double time.
“Can you bypass the security on this?”
“Wowzer. As much as he’s got on the exterior. It’ll take some time, but I’ll get you in.”
“Let me know.”
She walked back to the bedroom, and Trueheart came upstairs. “Baxter said you might want some help up here.”
“Take the office, Detective. Let’s be thorough.”
She found porn—no law against it—some sex aids for solo flights. He wouldn’t bring women here, she thought. No need for women here.
McNab had been right about the security screens in every room—and the audio.
She stepped out again when she heard Kyle shouting.
He looked up as two uniforms gripped his arms. “I’ll make you pay.”
“You know what we’re going to find when my e-guy gets through that door, Kyle. We both know. You’ll be the one paying for the rest of your miserable life.”
When the uniforms hauled him out, Olsen shut the door behind them. “Whew, listen to the quiet.”
“McNab, how much longer?”
“Nearly got it! This bitch is slick, she is crazy slick.”
“Peabody, the battering ram, and this time I mean it.”
“Come on, Dallas!” A kind of panic hit McNab’s voice. “It’s a matter of pride now. Five minutes. Five more.”
It took ten, but he let out a war whoop. “She’s down.”
He glanced back as Eve walked to him. “Could be booby-trapped inside.”
“He’s the best, remember? He’d never believe anybody would get this far. But … stand back.”
Eve eased the door open, shoved it clear, stared into pitch dark. “Lights on full,” she ordered.
The dark remained.
“Probably cued to his voiceprint,” McNab told her. “I can fix that, but—”
“It’ll take a minute.”
“I’ve got a flashlight.” Tredway stepped behind her, turned on his flash, swept the area slowly.
Eve thought: Aladdin’s Cave.
21
While McNab worked, Peabody handed Eve another flashlight from a field kit. Eve walked into the room.
Larger than the master bedroom and bath, she noted on her first scan. More a priority, she supposed, as he’d spend the biggest chunk of his time in this space. The long work counter of comps and comms and screens and other e-toys would likely give McNab a small orgasm—and whatever EDD dug out would surely add to the prosecution’s case.
She might not understand the geeky wonders of electronics, but she damn sure knew a stack of hard drives and motherboards when she saw them tidily stored on shelves.
She’d bet her magic coat they’d find the victims’ security equipment among them, waiting to be stripped for parts or used in builds.
She left that for the time being, angled her light to the left. She heard Peabody’s quickly indrawn breath, understood it. The droid looked very human, very beautiful. It wore the red cocktail dress and sparkling shoes, carried the red bird evening bag Nina Washington had described after the last murders.
Miko’s jewelry as well, Eve observed. Then she shined the light on a square-cut diamond and diamond-encrusted band on the third finger of the droid’s left hand.
All of the victims’ wedding rings had been stolen, but none matched this set.
“He put those rings on her finger. In his head, he married her. Replicated his aunt,” she said, “played dress up, and God knows what else with it. McNab, once you get those lights on, see what you can do with this droid.”
“Kept it all.” Tredway shined his beam over a large display table holding jewelry, three open cabinets carefully arranged with objets d’art and expensive dust catchers.
“Not only organized, boss,” Baxter pointed out, “but labeled. By victim. Jesus, the PA’s going to have a cakewalk.”