Look at what I've done, what I can do. In the city's great park, so close to the home of the wealthy and privileged.
Yeah, he was proud of his work. And what did a man with pride in his work do when that work didn't reach the standards he wanted? He buried the mistakes.
Her blood began to hum. It was the right track. She knew it. And she swung back to her machine. She saved and filed the results of her initial search, then brought up Missing Persons.
She started with a twelve-month search, stuck with Manhattan, and keyed in Elisa's basic description to narrow the parameters.
"Dallas-" "Wait." Attention focused on her screen, Eve shot up a hand to stop Peabody. "He had to practice. He had to. Guy builds his body up, stays strong and fit, it takes discipline. Takes practice. He lives and walks and exists day after day, holding in that kind of rage, it takes discipline, it takes willpower.
But you have to let it out some time, you have to let go. You have to kill. So you practice until you get it just right."
Search complete. Two results that match parameters given.
First image onscreen.
"What is it?" Peabody demanded.
"Potentially? His practice sessions. Look at her. Same physical type as Maplewood. Same age group, same coloring, same basic build." Peabody came in, mirroring Eve's earlier position by leaning over her shoulder. "No resemblance beyond surface I mean but yeah, same basic type." "Computer, split screen for second image, list date on each."
Working.. Task complete.
"Thumbs-up for McNab," Eve mumbled.
"Don't look like sisters," Peabody commented. "Cousins, maybe." "Marjorie Kates," Eve read. "Age thirty-two. Unmarried, no kids, midtown address. Employed as restaurant manager.
Reported missing by fiance, April second of this year. Didn't come home from work. Lansing and Jones caught this one.
Second is Breen Merriweather. Age thirty. Divorced, one child son, age five Upper East Side. Employed as a studio tech, Channel 75. Reported missing by childcare provider, June ten, this year. Didn't return home after her shift. Polinksi and Silk caught it.
"I need these files, Peabody. I need to talk to these detectives." "On it."
Since Lansing and Jones worked out of Central, it only took trips on three glides and one elevator to get to their division.
She found them both at desks, facing each other.
"Detectives Lansing and Jones? Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. Appreciate the time." "Lansing." The bull-chested, redheaded cop of about fifty stuck out a hand. "No problem, Lieutenant. You think one of yours is connected to one of ours." "I need to check it out." "Jones." The petite, thirtyish black woman shook Eve's hand, then Peabody's. "Fiance, Royce Cabel, came in to make the report. She was only missing overnight, but the guy was a mess." "Last seen when she left the restaurant -Appetito on East Fifty-eighth at closing, about midnight, April first." "She lived about three blocks away, usually walked back and forth. Guy's expecting her home by twelve-thirty, he says, but he falls asleep. When he wakes up, about two, she's not there. He flips, calls around to everybody he can think of. Then he's here, bright and early next morning to talk to the cops." "She poofs three weeks before the wedding," Lansing continued. "So you look at a couple things. Maybe her feet got cold and she took off. Maybe they had a fight and he offs her, comes in to report to cover it up." "But it doesn't play." Jones shook her head. "We got copies of the reports, our notes, witness statements, interviews for you. You can see everybody we talked to said Kates was hip-deep in wedding plans. She and Cabel had been cohabbing for about eighteen months. Got nothing on him that points to violence." "Took a Truth Test. Didn't even blink when we suggested it." "She got dead," Jones said. "That's my gut on it, Lieutenant." "And we got nothing, until you buzzed us up." "I don't know if we've got anything now. Any problem if I talk to some of the people on your list?"
"Nope." Lansing pulled his lip. "How about a clue?" "We're on the sexual homicide/mutilation in Central Park.
Our vic's the same physical type as your MR I'm pursuing the theory that he's done some practicing." "Well, shit," Jones said.
We can go by Polinski's and Silk's station on the way to see this Royce Cabel." "How about the gyms with sweaty guys with thick necks?" "We'll move on it." Because it was faster, they squeezed on an elevator to ride down to garage level. Eve did her best to ignore the elbow wedged in her ribs. "I want us to give Nadine an interview." "Because of the 75 connection?" "Not just. I'm thinking it might grate our big, strong man to see three women dissing him on-screen. To know two women are heading the investigation." There's a thought." Several people pushed their way off when the doors opened. Eve glanced up, noted she had three levels to go.
"Why don't we see if we can set up the interview later today?" "At Central?" "Yeah. Central Park. At last." Eve all but leaped out of the doors when they hit the garage.
"Dallas, wait!" Peabody grabbed her arm, dug in her heels.
"I have something to tell you." "Make it snappy." "I want to say first, that in just a few moments, you're going to be overcome with a powerful urge to kiss me on the lips. I won't think less of you for it." "Peabody, why, even in your wild, perverted dreams reams I want no part in or of would I ever have the least compunction to kiss you on the lips?" "Close your eyes."
Eve spoke quietly, almost casually. "Have you lost your fucking mind?" "Okay, okay." Peabody pouted a little. "You're no fun." She crossed over to Eve's parking slot, spread her arms with a flourish and said: "Voila!" "What the hell is that?" "That, Lieutenant, is your replacement vehicle. Pucker up." Eve goggled. It was a rare thing to see the lieutenant goggle, and Peabody celebrated the moment with a snappy little tap dance.
Slowly, Eve walked around the sleek, navy blue sedan. It shone under the hard garage lights like a dignified jewel.
The tires were big, black, and clean. The glass and chrome sparkled.
"This is not my vehicle." "Is too." "This is my vehicle?" "Uh-huh." Peabody bobbed her head like a puppet on a happy string.
"Get out." Eve smacked her in the shoulder. "How'd you pull this off?" "A little fast talk, some slight exaggeration, a lot of prevarication, and a little assistance from an e-fairy who knows how to hack." "You got it through unethical and possibly illegal means." "Damn straight." Eve set her hands on her hips, looked Peabody square in the eyes. "This is such a proud moment for me. A proud, proud moment." "Are you going to kiss me on the lips?" "Not that proud." "How about a peck on the cheek?" "Get in the car." "Your codes, Lieutenant." She handed them over, strolled around to the passenger side. "And you know what, Dallas? This bitch is loaded." "Oh yeah?" Eve slid into a seat, grinned when she didn't get the sensation of sitting on bumpy rock. "Well, let's see what she can do."
CHAPTER 8
It rocked, not only was everything operational, but it moved. She could zip into vertical and down again, stream instead of muscle her way through traffic.
All comp systems were go, as she was told, politely, by a computerized voice before she even thought to ask. The voice addressed her as Lieutenant Dallas, informed her the outside temp was a pleasant seventy-eight degrees with winds from the south, southwest at a mild twelve per hour.
It offered to calculate the most convenient route to her destination, or destinations, with projected traffic patterns and ETAs.
It was a fricking miracle.
"You love this car," Peabody said with a smug little smile on her face.
"I do not love a vehicle. I appreciate and expect efficient machines and tools, machines and tools that assist me in doing my job rather than inconveniencing and hampering me." She whipped around a trudging maxibus, threaded through a mired mass of Rapid Cabs, and for the hell of it, executed a quick vertical maneuver that shot them east.