AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It doesn’t hurt.”
chapter five
Leaving the houseguest for Roarke and Summerset to deal with, Eve buried herself in her home office to study the case files on the long list of murders tagging Yost as the primary suspect.
She picked them apart, put them back together, searching for holes in the investigative process, for pieces that had been mislaid or ignored.
Whenever she found something she set it aside in what she began to think of as her Screwup File. There’d been a number of definite screwups, to her way of thinking. Witnesses who hadn’t been thoroughly interviewed, or pushed during an interview. Trace evidence that had been logged, but not tracked down to its root source.
In a smattering of the cases she found there had been some small, personal item taken from the body of the victim. A ring, a hair ribbon, a wrist unit. All inexpensive items that held consistent with the lack of robbery as motive.
But that didn’t, Eve felt, hold consistent with pattern.
“If he took something from one, he took something from all,” she muttered.
He was anal, tidy, habitual.
Souvenirs, she thought. He takes a token. What had he taken from Darlene French?
She brought up the security video, keyed it into the section where
Darlene had wheeled her cart to the door of 4602, froze the image, magnified it.
“Earrings.” In the image Darlene wore tiny gold hoops at her ears, all but hidden by her dark, curling hair. Though Eve was certain no such jewelry had been on the body, she checked the record, split-screening images so that she could examine Darlene, battered and broken on the bed. “He took your little earrings.”
A collector, she decided, sitting back. Because he enjoys the work? she wondered. Wants to be able to look back on various jobs, remember them, revisit them.
So it wasn’t just the money. No, not just the money. Are they thrill kills after all?
Her desk ’link signaled, and still studying the two images of Darlene, she answered.
“Dallas.”
“Got a line on the wire,” McNab began. “It’s sold by length or by weight, primarily to jewelers—professional and hobbyists—or artists. You can get it retail but it’s a hell of a lot pricier that way than going to a wholesale source. Most of the retail suppliers sell small lengths, and my information is most of that’s to consumers who buy it for hairdos or a quick wrap around the wrist or ankle. Impulse stuff.”
“Wholesalers,” Eve said. “He’s not an impulse guy, and he doesn’t like to overpay,” she added, thinking of the hotel amenities.
“Figured. We got way over a hundred wholesalers globally, and another twenty or so off planet. You need an artist or craftsman license, or a retail ID number to purchase at wholesale level. You got that, you can get it from the source or order electronically.”
“Okay, run them all.” She brought up her evidence list as she spoke, checked the length of the wire removed from the crime scene. “He used a two-foot length, exactly two feet, on French.” She made a quick scan of other case files, nodded. “Yeah, he likes that length. Check on orders of that length, and lengths with two-foot multiples.” She shut her eyes a minute. “Silver tarnishes, doesn’t it? Gets spotty or something with age.”
“You gotta keep it polished unless it’s coated. Lab said this was uncoated sterling. I got the report right here, and there’s no mention of any chemical, any polish on the metal. He could’ve wiped it pretty clean, I guess. I don’t know how much might stay on, or what the hell it does to the metal.”
“Highlight the two-foot purchases,” Eve decided. “List them chronologically, going back from the date of the murder. My guess is he’d want a nice, shiny new tool for each job.”
She cut transmission, pondered a bit over the properties of sterling silver, then picked through the files yet again, following the wire.
Other investigators had followed it as well, but in less than half the cases they had done full scans on specific lengths. And in half of those, the primary had focused on suppliers in the city and environs of the murder only.
Sloppy. Goddamn sloppy.
She glanced up, still scowling, as Roarke came in. “What happens to silver when you polish it?”
“It gets shiny.”
“Ha-ha. I mean, does the polish stuff leave a coat on it, or what?”
He sat on the edge of her desk, smiled at her. “Why, I wonder, would you suppose I’d know the answer to that?”
