New York to Dallas (38 page)

She ordered it on screen. “See, working man—traveling. A duffel, a ball cap, sunshades—Tray Schuster’s—skids, Schuster’s again. He makes contact with me from the hotel room, using the filtered ’link and jammer. He calls for the valet to press his suit, the one she sent him. He orders a hearty meal from room service. Gets suited up.”

She shifted the screen image, showed him coming out of the elevator, blond hair, sharp suit, briefcase he probably bought in New York. “He used the in-room checkout. He’d arranged for private car service, which picked him up, took him a block from Central, where he ordered it to wait. Breezed by to see me, slipped back into the car, which dropped him off at the shuttle. He had a light snack and two glasses of Cabernet in flight. Stibble spilled he’d helped McQueen purchase a vehicle that was waiting at the transpo station here.”

She snorted. “Claims, according to Peabody, McQueen told him it was a gift for an old friend.”

“He’s a poor judge of people for a grifter,” Roarke commented.

“He wasn’t. Prison’s taken some of the shine off him, and he had a fairly murky pool to fish from. Stibble served his purpose well enough,” Eve added. “McQueen didn’t think we’d fish Stibble out of the pool so fast.”

“One of a number of miscalculations this time around.”

“Even miscalculating, he’s killed two people, tortured two more, abducted Melinda, abducted and raped Darlie.”

“So don’t underestimate him,” Roarke concluded.

“Never. We lose him once he picks up the car at the transpo center here, but I’ll fill that in. What he did was go to the fancy wine store, run more errands before going to the apartment.”

She tucked her hands in her pockets as she tried to put herself in McQueen’s head. “I think he didn’t give Sylvia his ETA. Didn’t want her there to greet him. Had things to set up. He’d want to enjoy his alone time, check the cams, hide whatever he didn’t want her poking into. Plus, she’d want a romantic reunion, wouldn’t she? No time for that. He wants to get Melinda in before the champagne and caviar.”

She walked around the board. “And maybe, most probably, one of the errands he ran was a stop-off at his second location. Check it out, set up whatever he wanted in the place, assure himself it was adequate when and if, if and when.”

She glanced over, saw the cat had found the sleep chair, and was putting it to his usual good work. Then she turned, saw Roarke drinking coffee, watching her.

“No comments?”

“Just watching my cop work. I like the look of her when she’s on her game.”

“I feel on game—or close. Better.”

“I can see it.”

“Aired out the brain, and the belly. Then filled the belly part with spaghetti and meatballs. McQueen’s toasted.”

He smiled at her. “And what does all this tell you, his errands and caviar?”

“It’s pattern, it’s movement. The more you know, the more you know. He’s had to take time to change his hair, subtle changes to the face, eye color. That means supplies. Wigs and rinses, enhancers. We didn’t find anything at the apartment, so he took those with him. Which tells me he means to use them again.”

She stepped back to study the various photos, the IDs he’d used.

“You’re always buying me jewelry.”

“Are you angling for a gift?”

“Jesus, no, I can’t keep up as it is. She had jewelry at her place. A couple of nice pieces. She was wearing jewelry when I crashed her van. Wouldn’t she have had some at his place? She had clothes, shoes, the face and hair gunk. Wouldn’t she have left some baubles there?”

He considered. “Yes. She wanted to be with him, hoped to live with him. When a woman’s maneuvering to move in with a man she tends to leave pieces of herself behind. Get him used to it.”

“Really?”

Her tone made him grin. “Something you were careful not to do initially. I had to make do with a stray button.”

“Living with you wasn’t in the plans. Plans change. So saying she left some baubles, he took them. Which means he thinks he can use them, or sell them, pawn them. The locals could look at that.”

“Sounds like busywork, as you don’t know what or when he might sell or pawn.”

“Investigations are loaded with busywork. The locals need to find the people he told her to contact for the soundproofing, the security. He wanted them, specifically for the main apartment. Wouldn’t he have used them for the secondary location? No,” she said before Roarke could comment.

“No,” he agreed. “Because they might have mentioned the other job to his partner, even if he instructed them not to. She was a player, knew the games. Sex, money, or just asking the right question at the right time, and she could have found him out. Better to keep it all separate.”

“So, the locals dig up the first round, and we dig for the second. I need you to search for a second location. The higher level. Classier, more central. He had to arrange it from prison, and without an outside partner. I’ll get Feeney on it, piecing through what he’s getting on McQueen’s coms, but everything coming through is patchy and fractured.”

“It takes time to piece jammed, wiped, and filtered coms back together.”

“I’m not saying otherwise. We work it here; they work it there. The locals and feds do what they do.”

“You want him now,” Roarke decided. “Before, you wanted him, but it didn’t matter who took him down. Now, you want it.”

She didn’t answer at first, but walked to the AutoChef for coffee. “It’s not because he killed her,” she began, and turned back to Roarke. “Not because of the connection.”

“All right.”

“It’s because he killed. Because she killed a cop. It’s because Darlie’s father gave me ice cream while he was fighting back tears. And I guess it’s because I remember when I was the kid in the hospital bed with a cop standing over me.”

“I don’t care why unless you do. I’m just glad of it, because it’s been personal, Eve, all along. And don’t tell me it can’t be, that you have to stay objective. It’s both. It’s always both for you. That’s why you’re so good at it.”

“I want to take him down, but I won’t bitch if someone else gets it done.”

“Fair enough. I’ll look for your centralized high-rise, high-end location.”

“With a good view of the city. No less than two bedrooms, two baths, attached garage. What time is it in New York?”

He shook his head. “An hour later than it is here. The earth simply has to revolve, Eve, however annoying it is for you.”

“It can revolve all it wants. I just don’t see why people can’t settle on the same time.”

“I’ll think about that when I’m running your search, and talking to Hong Kong.”

“What time is it there?”

“Morning.”

“See? Crazy.” She walked to her desk, settled down. And contacted Feeney.

It felt good, good and solid, just to see his face, hear his voice.

He said, “Yo,” and took her right back to New York.

“I got an angle I want you to work. What’s that noise?”

“Ball game. No score, bottom of the second. Two outs, runner on first. Mets don’t screw up they can clinch the division tonight.”

“Shit, I wanted to see that game.”

“They got a ban on baseball down there?”

“No. Or probably not. Maybe I’ll catch it on replay.”

He shook his head sadly. “Not the same.”

“Better than nothing. Anyway, I’m working on the theory that McQueen’s got a second hole down here.”

“Peabody’s kept me in the loop. She’s doing good. I know McQueen sliced the partner, slithered out. You got the woman and the kid back.”

“She killed a cop, walked right out of the hospital, stole a car out of the lot. She had an hour on us.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too.”

He shifted, paused the game. She realized he was home, not at Central. Which considering the time she should have expected.

Home, she thought. Beer and the ball game.

“I know you’ve been on this, hard.”

“We’re running it round-the-clock, digging out bytes, cleaning them up, piecing them together. The guy’s a fucker, but he’s no amateur.”

“I’m looking for different bytes. If he’s got this place . . . and I know he does, Feeney. I know it.”

“I wondered if he had one here back in the day. A grifter has to grift. He couldn’t take marks into the place on Murray. But we had him, so digging hard for that got pushed down the line.”

“Everything points to a second location here. So he had to find it, rent, or buy it. To do that he had to communicate with some sort of real estate or rental company, right? Even if he used a go-between, he’d have to communicate. He’d have to wire funds.”

Feeney popped a couple candied almonds, washed them down with beer. “He wouldn’t be running games yet. No time to set them up. So how’d he know he’d need the other digs?”

Yeah, it felt good, Eve thought as she ran it through for him. If she tried hard enough she could imagine herself in his office at Central, bouncing the info, the theories back and forth.

“Makes sense to have an alternate, a safe zone if things go south. He’s not going to want to leave Dallas, what with wanting to kill you so bad.” Feeney pursed his lips, tipped the beer back again. “Yeah, he likes having all his frogs in a line. Always meant to slice the partner. You just made that sooner than later. From what he packed up he’d likely have more wherever he was going. The thing is, he’s smart. It’s smarter to lay low, take the hike, let you come back home. Wait you out some, then come at you when your guard’s down.”

“He needs it. Needs to clinch the division. He can’t move on and up until he’s taken me. He took the kid because he needed to get off, and because he wanted to rub it in my face. Added to it, it gave him two lures or bargaining chips. Now he’s got none.”

“You think he’ll go after another kid?”

The possibility had been one more thing eating at her gut all day. “I think we’ve got some time. A day, maybe two. He’s got to regroup, and he doesn’t have a partner running interference. He’s pissed, Feeney, and smart enough to know to take time to cool off. Plus, he’s got the recording. It won’t be the same for him—like watching the game on time delay—but it’ll take the edge off.”

“Sick fuck. I’m going to program some key words—rent, lease, real estate, closing, down payment—that kind of thing. If we dig up anything that matches, it’ll pop, and we’ll focus on cleaning that com. Can’t promise you we’ll have anything in a day, but we’ll be on it.”

“Roarke’s searching for applicable units down here. I’m going to start on the security and soundproofing he’d need done. We got lots of pieces—exclusive champagne, his vehicle, make, model, tag, nailed down multiple IDs. The feds are going to freeze his accounts, Feeney. They’re leaning that way.”

“Piss him off good.”

“Yeah, and maybe enough for him to screw up. Or maybe shake him enough for him to take the route you talked about before. Go under and wait.”

She hesitated. They’d covered it so she should let him deal with the work, then get back to his game. But she didn’t want to let him go.

“So, how’s your wife?”

“Same as always. She’s out taking one of those pottery classes. Why?”

“No reason.” Jesus, she was actually making small talk. She needed to get the hell back to New York. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”

“Get some sleep, Dallas. A pair of B-and-E men could hide in the shadows under your eyes.”

“I’ll get there.”

Since even the idea of sleep made her twitchy, she rose, walked over to Roarke’s office. “He has to have another account.”

“For paying the rent or the mortgage, the expenses of the unidentified second location,” Roarke finished. “I’m looking.” He sat back, studied her. “I need to deal with Hong Kong. That should give you time to start your search on the security and soundproofing.”

“That’s next.” She left him to it, started her own work.

High-end location, high-end services. Everything aboveboard on this one, she mused. Everything clean and shiny.

New?

She thought of the cranes all over the city, the new buildings popping up like glossy weeds. Custom-build maybe. He could have the amenities installed as it was constructed, designed with his needs in mind rather than rehabbing, tearing out, patching up.

She started to get up again, give Roarke that angle. And remembered Hong Kong. Maybe he was faster, but she could handle the task.

“Computer, run search on buildings constructed in Dallas within the last two years. Central location, residential accommodations.”

She closed her eyes, went through her list of requirements.

He was there, she thought. Right now, sitting in his new digs, stewing over the change of plans. But putting things in order, oh yeah, putting everything in place. And telling himself he liked it better this way. This added more challenge, more fun, would make the kill more meaningful.

But wishing, really wishing, he could start his latest collection.

Can’t let that happen, she told herself. Can’t have another pair of eyes in my head.

When she felt herself drifting, she straightened in her chair. And when the computer announced the results—what the hell was
with
this city that it couldn’t make it work with the buildings it already had?—she got up for more coffee.

Roarke found her hunched over the machine. He could all but see the fatigue sitting on her shoulders like stones.

“Finished with Hong Kong?”

“For the moment.”

“I’m working this angle that he bought or leased something recently constructed. He could have the work done during the build, customize the design. The problem is they build too damn much down here, but I’m filing it down.”

“Good thought.” He’d had the same thought himself, and was doing an ancillary search. But didn’t see the point in mentioning it. “Come with me.”

“You got something.”