The In Death Collection 06-10 (42 page)

Eve hissed between her teeth. This Christmas shopping was tough stuff. Doing her best, she focused and described the city’s top profiler and shrink.

By the time Peabody walked in, she was choosing the bottle and waiting for Simon to generate hard copy and disc.

“You shopped again.”

“No, I bought again.”

“Should we have this delivered to your home or office, Lieutenant?”

“Home.”

“Would you like it gift wrapped?”

“Hell. Yeah, yeah, wrap it up. Simon, how about that data?”

“Just coming, Lieutenant dear.” He looked up, beamed at her. “I’m so happy we could help you in that matter.” He slipped the papers and disc into a gold foil shopping bag. “I added some samples. I think you’ll find them perfect. Naturally.” He chuckled at his own joke as he passed the bag to Eve. “And I hope you’ll keep me informed. Please come back, any time, any time at all. I’d love to work on you.”

An ocean of humanity swamped Fifth Avenue. People swarmed on the sidewalks, the people glides, clogged the intersections and crowded at display windows, all in a flurry to get into stores and buy.

Some, already burdened like pack mules with shopping bags, elbowed and shoved their way through the waves of pedestrians to fight the hopeless fight for a cab.

Overhead advertising blimps encouraged the masses toward a shopping frenzy with competing announcements of sales and products no consumer could live without.

“They’re all insane,” Eve decided as she watched a mini-stampede toward a maxibus heading downtown. “Every one of them.”

“You bought something twenty minutes ago.”

“In a civilized and dignified manner.”

Peabody shrugged. “I like crowds at Christmastime.”

“Then I’m about to make you very happy. We’re getting out.”

“Here?”

“It’s as close as we’re going to get in a vehicle.” Eve nosed her car through the stream of people and inched it toward the
curb at Fifth and Fifty-first. “The jeweler’s just a few blocks down. We’ll make better time on foot.”

Peabody shoehorned her way out, and caught up with Eve’s long strides on the corner. The wind rushed down the street like a river through a canyon and turned the tip of her nose pink before they’d managed a block.

“I hate this shit,” Eve muttered. “Half these people don’t even live here. They come in from all over hell and back to clog the streets every damn December.”

“And drop a nice ton of money in our economy.”

“Cause delays, petty crime, traffic accidents. You try to get uptown at six o’clock some night. It’s ugly.” Scowling, she walked through the roasting meat–scented steam of a corner glide-cart.

A shout had her flicking her glance to the left in time to see a scuffle. She lifted a brow in mild interest as a street thief on airskates toppled a pair of women, snatched what bags he could reach, snagged both purses, and skimmed away through the crowd.

“Sir?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him.” Eve noted his grin of triumph as he weaved through the crowds of people, gaining speed as they leaped out of his path.

He ducked, swiveled, dodged, then veered around toward Eve’s right. Their eyes met for one brief second, his bright with excitement, hers flat and level. She pivoted and took him out with one short-armed, back-fisted punch. Had there been less of a crowd, she thought he would have sailed nicely for ten feet or so. Instead he barreled back into a group of people, upended with his skates still humming and facing the sky.

Blood gushed out of his nose. His eyes rolled back white.

“See if you can get a beat cop in here to take care of this jerk.” Eve flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulder, then absently put one booted foot on the thief’s midriff as he began to moan and squirm. “You know what, Peabody? I feel a lot better now.”

•  •  •

Later, Eve thought busting the thief had been the high point of her day. She didn’t learn squat from the jeweler. Neither he nor his sour-faced clerk remembered anything about the customer who’d paid cash for the partridge pin. It was Christmas, the jeweler had complained, even while his clerk rang up sales with the speed and precision of an accounting droid. How was he supposed to remember one transaction?

Eve suggested he think harder, and contact her when his memory cleared. Then ended up buying a copper ear chain for Mavis’s lover, Leonardo—much to Peabody’s disgust.

“You catch some transpo, go back to the house, and work with McNab.”

“Why don’t you just punch me in the face with a bare fist?”

“Handle it, Peabody. I’m going into Central. I’ll need to give Whitney an update, and I want to see Mira, start her working on a profile.”

“Maybe you’ll pick up a few more Christmas presents on the way.”

Eve stopped by her car. “Was that sarcasm?”

“I don’t think so. It was too direct for sarcasm.”

“Find me a match on those lists, Peabody, or we start interviewing lonely hearts.”

Eve left Peabody elbowing her way toward Sixth to catch a maxibus uptown. She engaged her ’link as she headed in the opposite direction, and set up the two meetings.

She scanned the incoming, listened to Nadine’s harried voice, and decided to give the reporter a break. “Stop whining, Nadine.”

“Dallas, Christ, where have you been?”

“Keeping the city safe for you and yours.”

“Look, there’s just enough time to plug something into my noon report. Give me a line here.”

“I just busted a mugger on Fifth.”

“Don’t be droll, I’m up against the wall. What’s the connection between the two murders?”

“Which two murders? We got a lot of bodies this time of year. Christmas brings out that wacky holiday spirit.”

Nadine snarled audibly. “Hawley and Greenbalm. Come on, Dallas. Two women strangled. I’ve got that much. You’re primary on both. I hear there was sexual molestation. Will you confirm?”

“The department will not confirm or deny at this time.”

“Rape and sodomy.”

“No comment.”

“Damn it, why the hardball?”

“I don’t have any breathing room right now. I’m trying to stop a killer, Nadine, and I just can’t be too worried about the ratings for Channel 75.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“I guess we are, and because of that when I’ve got something to give, you’ll get it.”

Nadine’s eyes brightened. “First, exclusive?”

“Don’t keep tying up my ’link.”

“A one-on-one, Dallas. Let me set it up. I can be at Cop Central by one.”

“No. I’ll let you know when and where, but I don’t have time for you today.” And time, Eve thought, was the biggest factor. No one she knew researched as fast or as deep as Nadine Furst. “You’re not seeing anybody in particular these days, are you, Nadine?”

“Seeing anyone—as in dating or sleeping with? No, not in particular.”

“Ever try one of those dating services?”

“Please.” Nadine’s eyelashes fluttered as she lifted her hand to examine her manicure. “I think I can find my own men.”

“Just a thought. I hear they’re popular.” Eve paused and watched Nadine’s eyes narrow and glitter. “You might want to give it a try.”

“Yeah, I might do that. Thanks. Gotta run. I’m on in five.”

“One thing. Do I have to buy you a Christmas present?”

Nadine’s brows went up, her lips curved in a wide smile. “Absolutely.”

“Damn, I was afraid of that.” Frowning, Eve broke transmission and steered into the garage at Cop Central.

On the way to Whitney’s office, she snagged an energy bar and a tube of Extra-Zing Coke from a vending machine. She wolfed down the bar, chugged the soft drink, and as a result stepped into Whitney’s office feeling slightly ill.

“Status, Lieutenant?”

“I have McNab from EDD working with my aide at my home office, Commander. We have the lists from Personally Yours for each victim. We’re hoping to get a match. We’re still working on the jewelry he left with the victims, and have the brand and projected source for the enhancements he used.”

He nodded. Whitney was a powerfully built man with a smooth, dark complexion and tired eyes. Through the window at his back, Eve could see the city—the constant flow of air traffic around the spears of buildings; people moving around offices behind other windows. She knew if you stepped up to that window, you could look down and see the street below. All the people rushing to or away. All the lives that needed protecting.

As always she thought she preferred her cramped office and limited view.

“Do you know how many tourists and out-of-state consumers come into the city in the weeks before Christmas?”

“No, sir.”

“The mayor gave me the estimated number this morning when he called to inform me the city couldn’t afford a serial killer scaring away holiday dollars.” His smile was thin and humorless. “He didn’t seem, at that point, to be overly concerned with residents of the city being raped and strangled, but with the distressing side effects such events could cause if the media plays the Santa killer angle.”

“The media isn’t aware of that angle at this time.”

“How long before it leaks?” Whitney leaned back, kept his eyes level and on Eve’s.

“Maybe a couple of days. Channel 75 has already been tipped that they’re sexual homicides, but their data is patchy at this point.”

“Let’s see if we can keep it that way. How long before he hits again?”

“Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.” No way to stop it, she thought, and saw by Whitney’s face he understood.

“The dating service is the only connection you’ve got.”

“Yes, sir. At this time. There’s no indication that the victims knew each other. They lived in different parts of the city, moved in widely different circles. They weren’t of a type, physically.”

She paused, waiting, but Whitney said nothing. “I’m going to consult with Mira,” Eve continued. “But in my opinion he’s already established a pattern and a goal. He wants twelve on or before the end of the year. That’s less than two weeks, so he has to move quickly.”

“So do you.”

“Yes, sir. The source of his victims has to be Personally Yours. We’ve tagged the cosmetics used on the victims. Sources of purchase for them in the city are fairly limited. We have the pins he left at both sites.” Then she exhaled. “He knew we could trace the cosmetics; he left the pins deliberately. He feels secure that his tracks are covered. If we don’t find a match within the next twenty-four hours, our best defense might be the media.”

“And tell them what? If you spot a fat man in a red suit, call a cop?” He pushed back from his desk. “Find a match, Lieutenant. I don’t want twelve bodies under my tree this Christmas.”

Eve pulled out her communicator as she left Whitney’s office. “McNab, make me happy.”

“I’m doing my best, Lieutenant.” He gestured with what appeared to be a slice of pineapple pizza. “I’ve pretty well
eliminated the ex-husband of the first victim. He was at an arena ball match with three friends on the night of the murder. Peabody’s going to check on the three pals, but it looks solid. No transpo to New York was issued under his name. He hasn’t been to the east coast in over two years.”

“One down,” Eve said as she hopped a glide. “Give me more.”

“None of the names on Hawley’s list match any on Greenbalm’s, but I’m checking finger- and voiceprints to make sure nobody tried to pull a fast one there.”

“Good thinking.”

“And two on Hawley’s list look clear so far. Need to follow up, but they’re alibied. I’m just going into Greenbalm’s now.”

“Run the names on the cosmetics first.” She dragged a hand through her hair as she stepped off the glide and squeezed into an elevator. “I should be back within two hours.”

She got off the elevator, crossed a small lobby area, and entered Mira’s offices. There was no one at the reception desk, and Mira’s door stood open. Poking her head in, Eve saw Mira reviewing a case file on video and nibbling on a thin sandwich.

It wasn’t often she caught Mira unaware, Eve mused. Mira was a woman who saw almost everything. Too much, Eve often thought, when it came to herself.

She wasn’t sure what had caused the bond to form between them. She respected Mira’s abilities—though they sometimes made her uncomfortable.

Mira was a small, cleanly built woman with soft sable hair waving elegantly around a cool, attractive face. She habitually wore slim suits in quiet colors. Eve supposed that Mira represented all she, Eve, thought a lady should be: self-contained, quietly elegant, well spoken.

Dealing with mental defectives, violent tendencies, and habitual perverts never seemed to ruffle Mira’s composure or her compassion. Her profiles of madmen and murderers were invaluable to the New York Police and Security Department.

Eve hesitated at the door just long enough for Mira to sense her. The psychiatrist turned her head, and her blue eyes warmed when they met Eve’s.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. Your assistant isn’t at her station.”

“She’s at lunch. Come in, close the door. I was expecting you.”

Eve glanced at the sandwich. “I’m cutting into your break.”

“Cops and doctors. We take our breaks where we find them. Would you like something to eat?”

“No, thanks.” The energy bar wasn’t sitting well in her stomach, which made her wonder just how long it had been since the vending machine had been serviced.

Despite Eve’s refusal, Mira rose and ordered tea from the AutoChef. It was a ritual Eve had learned to live with. She’d sip the faintly floral-tasting brew, but she didn’t have to like it.

“I’ve reviewed the data you were able to transmit, and the copies of your case reports. I’ll have a complete and written profile for you tomorrow.”

“What can you give me today?”

“Probably little you haven’t gleaned for yourself.” Mira settled back in one of the blue scoop chairs similar to those in Simon’s salon.