J.D. Robb - Visions In Death

Bad vibes, she thought again, and looked out at her city.

It wasn't extrasensory. What she had, what she did was, in her opinion, the antithesis of paranormal. It was elemental, maybe on some level even primitive the way early man had known when to hunt and when to hide.

She'd say visceral except the word always sounded sort of pompous to her. And there was nothing pompous about cop work.

The vibes, for lack of a better word, were a combination of instinct and experience and a knowledge she had no inclination to analyze.

She knew he'd marked his next target. And could only wonder who, and where, he'd strike tonight.

In his elegant dark business suit, Roarke circled Eve's new vehicle while it was parked in her slot in Central's garage.

"Haven't had a chance to really examine your upgrade. Long overdue, Lieutenant." "It does the job." "Better, one hopes, than your previous one." He tapped the hood. "Release the hood latch." "Why?" "So I can look at the engine." "Why? It runs. What else is there to know? Looking at it doesn't change anything." He gave her a long, pitying smile. "Darling Eve, your absolute lack of interest and aptitude for mechanics is so female." "Watch it, pal." "Wouldn't you like to know what's under here?" He tapped the hood again. "What's getting you where you're going?" "No." Though he had stirred some mild curiosity. "Besides, I'm getting a later start on this than I'd planned. Let's just move." "Well, let's have the codes." He lifted a brow when she frowned. "If you won't let me play with it, you can at least let me drive it." She supposed it was fair. He was giving her the evening for work. She gave him the codes, then walked around to the passenger side. "The department appreciates your time and assistance, blah, blah." "Please, you're much too effusive in your gratitude." He settled behind the wheel, adjusting the seat to his preference, scanning the dash. He judged the data and communication system to be middle-range. It baffled him that the NYPSD didn't spring for top-of-the-line for their mobile situations.

He engaged the engine and wasn't displeased by the sound.

"You've got more power under you this time, at least." Then he smiled at her. "Sorry I couldn't get here sooner." "It's okay. I kept busy. And Feeney couldn't wiggle loose until about twenty minutes ago, so he and Peabody are getting a late start with this, too." "Then let's catch up." He eased out of the slot, drove at a discreet speed to the entrance. Flicked a glance at the pattern of traffic.

And punched it.

"Jesus, Roarke!" He whipped through, skimming his way around cabs and cars and one-seaters, and nipped through a light a blink before it went to red. "Not bad," he decided.

"If I bung this thing up the first week, I'll never live it down." "Umm-hmm." He went vertical, maintaining it until he'd swung around a corner. "Could be a bit more elastic on the turns, but it handles well enough." "And if Traffic lights you up, I'm not flashing my badge to kill the violation." "Lateral's fairly smooth," he decided after testing it out.

"So, where are we going?" She sighed, long and deep, but at least the question allowed her to relay the first name and address to her map system.

"You want the route displayed on windshield or the dash monitor?" "Dash will do." "On monitor," she ordered and couldn't suppress the smile when it popped on. "I ditched the vocals. It'll only blab at me if I specifically order it to. Too bad people don't come with the same accessory." She rattled off the route.

"How did Celina's session go?" Roarke asked her.

"She handled it. We got a few more details, but it's tough going. Mira won't approve another session without a twenty-four-hour break."

"A slow process." "Yeah, and he's not going to move slow. It's not just women he's after, but women he sees as having control over him." "Symbolically."

"Maybe I pushed him the wrong way, pushed him when I did the interview with Nadine, then the media conference.

He's escalating." "Whether you push or not, he'll continue to kill until you stop him." "Yeah, I'll be doing that. I'll damn well be doing that soon."

Her first stop was named Randall Beam, and he wasn't happy about having a cop at the door.

"Listen, I got a thing. I'm just about out the door already.

What gives?" "If we can come in, Randall, we'll tell you what gives, then maybe you can keep your thing." "Hell. How come a guy has a coupla assaults on his sheet, cops're always yanking him?" "It's a mystery all right." Eve stepped in, scanned the room. It was small, man messy without being revolting. There was the faintest whiff of something in the air that could get Randall a little visit from Illegals, but she'd let it pass unless she had to squeeze him.

There were curtains at the windows, which was a surprise, and a couple of nice-looking pillows tucked into the corners of a sagging couch.

Physically, Beam didn't fit her profile. He was about six feet tall, a solid and muscular one-eighty. But compared to a size fifteen, his feet were almost dainty. His complexion leaned toward jailhouse white, and he sported a long brown ponytail.

Still, she'd need to take the time with him. He might have a friend, a brother, whatever, who fit her needs more closely.

"Need your whereabouts, Randall." She gave him the nights of the three murders, waited while he stood looking put-upon and sad.

"How'm I supposed to know?" "You can't tell me where you were last night?" "Last night? One of them's last night? Last night, after I got off work? I got gainful employment." "Good for you." "So, after work, me and a couple of the guys stopped in at the Roundhouse. Bar on Fourth? Knocked back a few, grabbed some chow, played some pool. LC works the joint.

Name's Loelle? I was flush, so I took her up to one of the privates Roundhouse's got two for a bang. Had a couple more drinks, got home, I dunno, about two? This here's my day off." "Loelle and your buddies going to confirm all that?" "Sure. Why not? Loelle's down there most nights; you can ask her. And you can ask Ike -Ike Steenburg we work together. He was there last night. What gives?" "Let's get through the other two nights." He was clueless about his activities on the night of Napier's murder but he balked on explaining what he was doing on the night of Maplewood's.

"I had a thing. Was there till after eleven. Went out with… with some people after for, you know, coffee. Got home, I dunno, maybe midnight. I really gotta go now." "What's the thing, Randall?" He shuffled his feet, stared at them while color came up on his cheeks. "Why I gotta say?" "Because I have a badge, you have a sheet, I need to know, and if you make me ask again I'm going to be a lot more interested in the Zoner I smell." "Jesus. Cops. You're always hassling a guy." "Yeah. It's the part of the job that gets me up out of bed every morning with a big smile on my face." He blew out a breath. "I don't want the guys to hear about it." Tm the soul of fricking discretion." He shifted his gaze up, ran it over her face, shifted it to Roarke, and hunched his shoulder. "You shouldn't oughta get the wrong idea. I ain't no fairy or nothing. Don't know why guys want to bang each other when there's women around.

But you know, live and let." "That's a touching philosophy, Randall. Spill." He pulled on his nose, shuffled his feet. "Just that… last assault bust, they say I gotta take anger management and shit. So I stop punching people and starting fights. But I never punched nobody didn't ask for it." Eve supposed the flaw was in her, but she was starting to like him. "I know the feeling." "So they, shit, they say I should do some therapy kind of deal. Occupational, recreational, relaxational. What all. I sign up for this class in ah, crafts." "You do crafts."