“Yeah, wrapped and packed. Report’s in your box.”
“Okay then. I’m pulling in you and Trueheart to conduct interviews.”
Baxter’s sleepy eyes cleared with interest. “The Strazza murder? The serial rapist Nikki’s working?”
She glanced over as Trueheart came out of the locker room, his hair still showing damp from his shower, his young, earnest face all but dewy.
“Loo’s drafted us, pal. Come on and get briefed.”
“I’ll copy you on the file,” Eve began. “Basically, the suspect targets wealthy married couples, childless, in single-family residences. He possesses the skills to bypass their security, enter the residences. In the first two incidents, he laid in wait until the couple came home. In this last, he entered the premises during a dinner party, walked right by outside contractors and up the main stairs. He disables the male, restrains him.”
She punched her way through the details, the connections, the theories.
“Using the guest list from this charity event all known victims attended, we’ve extrapolated most likely future targets. It’s probable he’s attended other events and functions, earmarked targets there, but it’s a decent bet there’ll be some cross. I’m going to give you five. Arrange face-to-faces, walk them through what they need to know, find out if they use the caterer, the rental place, know or socialize with any of the other vics. You know the drill.”
“We’ll get it covered, boss.”
“Um, Lieutenant?” Trueheart half raised his hand. “Our usual vehicle probably won’t handle the current road conditions.”
“Requisition an all-terrain.”
She glanced around as Jenkinson came in, snarling, his blindingwhite snowflakes on a fiery red background tie leading.
“Didn’t they know it was coming?” he demanded of his partner as Reineke, smirking some, came in with him. “Didn’t they?” He threw out his arms to the nearly empty bullpen.
“Problem, Jenkinson?” Eve asked.
“Yeah, there’s a problem. Damn straight there’s a problem with the basic infrastructure and maintenance of this city we serve and protect.”
Reineke slapped Jenkinson’s arm. “I’m gonna get us come coffee, partner.” So saying he walked toward the break room, giving Eve a wild eye roll on the way.
“Weather guys all say the storm’s coming. Hold on to your asses, boys, it’s gonna hit. But are we prepared?” Jenkinson demanded, arms out like an evangelist preaching to the flock. “No, we are not.”
He tossed his coat on his desk chair, stomping that way on boots crusted with snow.
“I was fucking prepared. I tag my kids, tell them to get over to the skinny-ass garage I pay my left nut for every month, clear the snow from the door so I can get my vehicle in there. And they do, my kids do the job, so I get home, park it up. And what do you think happened? I’ll tell you what happened,” he ranted before Eve could respond. “I come out this morning, wade down there over sidewalks nobody’s cleared along streets the crews have half-assly cleared, and see they’ve shoved a couple feet of that fucking snow right in front of the garage door. What the fuck, LT!”
“Bastards.”
“Damn straight. Ends up, I flag down a black-and-white to haul me in, pick up Reineke. And my kids are bitching—can’t blame ’em—that they’ve got to go back over, dig me out a-fucking-gain.”
“Requisition an all-terrain.”
He opened his mouth, more raging on the tip of his tongue. Then angled his head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You might as well have one on tap in case, and do it now before everybody else gets the same idea and we’re out. Meanwhile, you and Reineke hold down the fort.”
Reineke came out with coffee, shoved one at Jenkinson. “Tell him it’s not going to do any good to call and bitch at the mayor, Dallas.”
“It’s not going to do any good to call and bitch at the mayor.”
Jenkinson’s face settled into a haughty sulk. “It’s the principle.”
“It’s the politics,” Eve corrected. “I need you holding the wheel if I don’t make it back in from the field today. Remember?” She gestured to the squad slogan posted over the break room door. “That holds for before, during, and after snowstorms and shitty road-crew work.”
Jenkinson sighed, gulped coffee. “Yeah, but I bet nobody blocked the mayor’s car in.”
“Five’ll get you ten the mayor’s buried under irate ’link calls, e-mails, v-mails, and texts this morning.”
The idea had Jenkinson brightening. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s something.”
“If Peabody comes in, tell her to keep her coat on. We’re heading out in ten.”
Eve escaped to her office, got her own coffee. At her desk, she sent the list to Olsen and Tredway, to Baxter and Trueheart, earmarking names for each team to contact. She sent Baxter and Trueheart a copy of the case file, put a brief update together for Olsen and Tredway.