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But it was quickly done. At least it was quick.
And when it was done, the killer’s eyes were as dead as his victim’s. He calmly turned Talbot over, examined the body, then with some delicacy removed the tiny body ornament. With it cupped in his palm, he used his foot to shove the body facedown again.
Naked, gleaming with sweat, he turned away, gathered his clothes and briefcase.
He would walk into the first-floor bath where the house cams didn’t reach. In precisely eight minutes, he would come out again, scrubbed, neatly dressed, the briefcase in his hand. He would leave the house without looking back.
“End disc.” As Eve gave the order and rose, she heard Peabody’s sigh, a broken sound that was relief and pity.
“He checked his wrist unit a number of times,” Eve began. “He was on a timetable. Since it appears from his movements he knew the house, either from a previous break-in or through blueprints, I believe he knew about Talbot’s usual lunch date. According to the time print on the disc, he entered the premises at thirteen hundred, almost on the dot. He left the scene fifty minutes later. Ten minutes before the lunch date and well before anyone expecting the victim would bother to check on him. He left the door unlatched so Talbot could be found quickly. There’s no reason for him to wish to postpone the knowledge of the crime. Whoever hired him wants it out as soon as possible.”
She walked over to the board used for the investigation, and where stills of Darlene French and now Jonah Talbot held prominence. “More than forty known or suspected hits in his career, but Talbot gives us the first visual of the act. This break-in pattern indicates Yost was unaware the house cams were activated. Even so, he could and should have checked.”
“He’s getting sloppy,” McNab put in. “Sooner or later, they get sloppy.”
“Sloppy maybe, but factor in his profile. Arrogance. He didn’t bother to check, didn’t put it on his to-do list. He isn’t worried about us. He pinches us off like fleas before we ever get the first bite. He bought four lengths of wire. Four potential victims. This is the biggest job, done separately, for a single client we can find in Yost’s case history. He’s flirting with exposure, almost daring it. I say he feels protected. Maybe invulnerable.”
“His take from this job would be, at his suspected minimal fee, ten to twelve million.” Feeney scratched his chin. “He’s moving through them fast, and at this pace would finish the contract in a week or so. That’s a hefty paycheck.”
“None of his data indicates a previous with this number at this speed,” Eve confirmed.
“Maybe he’s planning on retiring after this one, or at least taking himself a long vacation. He can get himself a new face and live the high life somewhere.”
“A vacation.” Eve considered it as she studied Yost’s image posted on the board. “He’s never hit four in close geographic proximity before, never spread out connected hits in the same area over different dates and locations.”
She let it filter through. “He’s been at this twenty-five years or more. Thinks of it as a job. Twenty-five, thirty years, then retirement. Could play. Certainly a vacation after a big important job is something a lot of execs go for. The arrangements would have already been made. He’s a planner.”
“Where would Roarke go?”
Eve turned her head to frown at Peabody. “What do you mean?”
“Well, the profile indicates he sees himself as a highly successful businessman, one of impeccable taste. He likes fine things, and he can afford the best. The only person I know who falls in that slot is Roarke. So if he were going to take a break after a big job, where would he go?”
“That’s good thinking.” Eve nodded, tried to focus on her husband’s pattern. “He owns places all over hell and back. It would depend on whether he wanted to be alone, solitude and a couple house droids. Not a city, because he wants relaxation at first, not stimulation. From the profile and pattern, Yost is more of a loner than Roarke. He’s booked or bought himself an estate somewhere, with a good wine cellar and all the trimmings. Finding that on the data we have would be like looking for a ripple in a pool.”
Then her scowl began to turn into a slow smile. “But I think that’s a damn good lead to feed the feds. One for us is music. He knew the Mozart thing playing. Called it by name, hummed along with it. Peabody, I want you to start checking out the high-dollar season tickets to the symphony, the ballet, the opera, all the highbrow stuff. Single ticket holders. He’d go alone. McNab, you concentrate on purchases, cash purchases of recorded discs for the same kind of music. He’s a collector.”
She paced the room as she spoke because the steps and the thoughts were lining up for her now. “We need the lab results. I’ll hound Dickhead there. I want to see what the sweepers got out of the bathroom drain. He took a shower, but the guest soap was dry. Our fastidious sociopath probably carries his own soap, shampoo, and so on in his briefcase when he’s on a job like this one. It won’t be an ordinary brand, so we could have another line to tug there. Feeney, can you go back to following the wire, talk to those cousins, while I kick at Dickhead?”
“Can do.” Even as he agreed, his communicator beeped. “Hold on.” He rose, pulling it out, and stepped away as he answered.
“Lieutenant?” McNab called for her attention. “I was thinking about the . . . can’t be delicate about this. I was thinking how Yost used the wire to help him get off during the rape. So even if the guy goes for Mozart and fine wine, he’s got some experience with porn or licensed companions who’ll skirt the sexually deviant line. If he’s a loner, it’s most likely he gets into it at home with VR or video or holo. You gotta have programs or discs. You can get some through legitimate sources, and the darker versions—right down to snuff porn, which it strikes me he’d go for—through the black market.”
“You sure seem to know a lot about it,” Peabody commented.
“I worked in Vice awhile and stuff.” Still he squirmed a little under her stare and gave his attention to Eve. “I could start hunting in that venue. Like you said, he’s a collector. They even got some of this stuff that leans toward the art film side. I could start with that.”
“McNab, sometimes you surprise me. Do it.”
“Want to watch some dirty discs, She-Body?” he whispered, and Eve pretended, mostly for her own sake, she didn’t hear.
“Son of a bitch.” Feeney pocketed his communicator. “We got a break. I’ve been running the like crimes, couldn’t find any in London or England for the time frame you wanted. I put a man on it to run variations of the pattern, just in ca
se. He got a hit.”
“Where?”
“It’s a place in Cornwall, along the coast. Cops found some bodies out in the moor. They were in pretty bad shape—exposure and they’ve still got, you know, wild life around there. Thing was, they were garroted, but there was no wire, so I didn’t get the pop. Plus the locals there hadn’t hooked it into the network until two months after the crime.”
