J. Robb - Creation In Death

“No, not that I know of, and I started a check on the way back. He changed the products with this one. If you’re part of the reason, we need to figure out why. A competitor maybe, a former employee. We need to work that angle.”

“When did he take the second one?”

“She was reported missing yesterday. I don’t have the details yet-Feeney’s on it. I’ve got to go pull another chain now, but we’re going to dig into this. I know this is a kick in the ass, but it’s also a mistake. His mistake. There was nothing connecting the victims in any of the other cases. Now there is.”

“Yes. Now there is.”

“I’m sorry, I have to go do this.”

“Go on. I’ll stick with this for now.”

She didn’t kiss him, though part of her wanted to, just to give comfort. Instead she laid her hand over his, squeezed gently. Then left him.

She started back toward her office and crossed paths with Baxter. “Got nothing,” he told her. “Reinterviewed the sister, went to the club, talked to the vic’s neighbors. Big zero.”

“Ex?”

“Out of town for the weekend. Neighbor said he went snowboarding out in Colorado.”

“Why would anybody deliberately jump and flop around in the snow, on a mountain?” she wondered.

“Beats me. I like summer sports, where the women are very, very scantily clad. Snow and ice? No skin.”

“You’re such a pig, Baxter.”

“And proud of it. Do you want me to run down the ex? The neighbor thought he knew where the guy was staying. He’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“We’ll hit him once he gets back. Check with Jenkinson. See how far he and Powell have gotten going down the list of people interviewed in the other cases. You and Trueheart can help them run through it. Media’s out with this now, which means by tomorrow we’ll be buried in looney leads. We’ll have to follow up on them, so let’s clear this first plate today.”

Nadine was waiting, sitting in the visitor’s chair, legs crossed, examining her nails as she talked on her headset.

“You have to reschedule or cancel,” she said. “No. No. We agreed in writing when I took this that if and when I had something hot, something I felt it was necessary to pursue personally, it would take precedence over everything else. That was the deal.”

She looked over at Eve, rolled her clever green eyes. “That’s what assistants are for, and assistants to assistants. And as far as the piece, the reporter can reschedule. I know. I’m a goddamn reporter.”

She yanked off the headset.

“Heavy is the price of fame,” Eve said.

“Tell me, but I wear it so very well. Can I have coffee?”

Obligingly, Eve moved to the AutoChef. Her own system kept begging to sag. Coffee would put it back on alert. Nadine sat, saying nothing.

She did wear fame well, Eve supposed. The streaky and stylish hair, the sharp features, the camera-ready suit. But Eve knew: Though Nadine might have her own show, though Now’s ratings were reputedly higher than a souped-up chemi-head, the woman was exactly what she’d claimed-a goddamn reporter.

“Who were you talking to during the briefing?”

“Who do you think?” Nadine countered.

Eve turned, offered the coffee. “Your research people to give you the pertinent details of the case from nine years ago.”

Nadine smiled, sipped. “Look who’s wearing her thinking cap today.”

“Some of the details on that investigation leaked.”

“Some,” Nadine agreed and the smile faded. “Some of the details on how the victims were tortured. I imagine there was a lot more, a lot worse, that didn’t leak.”

“There was more. There was worse.”

“You worked it.”

“Feeney was primary, I was his partner.”

“I wasn’t in New York nine years ago. I was fighting my way out of a second-rate network affiliate in South Philly. But I remember this case. I remember these murders. I bullied my way into doing a series of reports on them. That’s part of what got me out of South Philly hell.”

“Small world.”

Nadine nodded, sipped more coffee. “What do you want?”

“You’ve got that research department at your fingertips now, being you’re a big shot.” Eve eased a hip down on the corner of her desk. “I want everything, anything you can dig up on the murders. All the murders. Here, Europe, Florida, South America.”

Nadine blinked. “What? Where?”

“I’m going to explain it all to you, off the record, then you can put your researchers and your own honed skills on the scent. He’s already got the second one, Nadine.”

“Oh, God.”

“Can’t help her. Odds are slim we’ll track him fast enough to save her. I need to know everything I can know. Maybe we can save the one he’s hunting now.”

“Let me think.” Closing her eyes, Nadine sat back. She drank more coffee. “I’ve got a couple of smart people I can bully and bribe to keep the work and the results off the radar. I’m pretty damn smart myself, so that’s three.” Nodding, she sat up again. “You know I’d do this because I believe a life is worth more than a story. Marginally,” she said with a smile. “I’d do it because you and I are friends who also happen to respect each other to play it straight. No payback required.”

“I know that. Just like you know I’m going to pay you back.”

Nadine cocked a brow. “Being pretty damn smart, I’m not going to say no. A one-on-one exclusive with you.”

“After he’s bagged, not before.”

“Deal. A live appearance on Now.”

“Don’t push it.”

Nadine laughed. “By any member of your team you choose-with portions of that exclusive-and did I mention extensive-interview by you to run during the show. Recorded prior.”

Eve thought it through. “I can work with that.”

“Okay. To get details, I need details.” Nadine pulled out her recorder, cocked her head. “All right?”

“All right.”

T here was something unnerving on some visceral level about working in a cop shop. It was an interesting experience, Roarke thought, but very, very strange for someone with his…colorful background.

He’d worked with cops-in addition to his own-a number of times now, had had cops in his home professionally and socially. But working in a war room in the core of Cop Central for the best part of a day, well, that was a different kettle.

They came and went, he noted. Clipping into the room, clipping out again, communicating for the most part in that cop speak that was oddly formal, as clipped as their footsteps and somehow colorful all at the same time.

He was flanked by McNab whom he had great fondness for, and the dark, curvy, and sloe-eyed Callendar. They might sit, or stand and walk-almost dance-around as they worked. Slogging through data, searching for just one vital byte. Busy bees in their busy hive.

As for colorful, well, excepting their captain, it appeared the e-division went for the flashy. McNab with his bright yellow jeans, the turquoise shirt with what appeared to be flying turtles winging across it. He had his long blond hair sleeked back in a tail and secured with a thick yellow band. On either side of his thin, pretty face, his earlobes were weighted down with a complex series of hoops and studs.

Roarke wondered why, honestly, anyone would wish to have that many holes punched into his flesh.

But the boy had a way about him, and was damn clever at this job.

The girl, for she looked barely twenty, was an unknown. She had burnt honey skin, masses and masses of black curly hair pinned in a multitude of hanks with a neon rainbow of clips. Silver hoops he could have punched his fists through hung at her ears. She wore baggy, multipocketed pants in bleeding colors of lavender and pink with a snug green sweater that exclaimed E-GODS! across her rather impressive breasts.