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He leaned down, kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “Despite that remark, I love you. I will, indeed, take a blocker—though it doesn’t appear I’ll need the tanker load I wanted ten minutes ago—and get back to work. I’ve a meeting scheduled at Dochas,” he said, referring to the abuse shelter he’d financed. “It looks like I’ll make it.”
“Later then.” She started out, stopped. “Oh, where’d you dig up Smiley?”
“Who? Oh.” He managed a half laugh. “PA Spence? Louise recommended her.”
“I guess she had a reason.”
“I’ll be seeing her shortly.” Roarke opened a cupboard, took out a bottle of blockers. “Be sure I’ll ask her what it was.”
Chapter 7
Eve headed straight to her office, hunkered down at her desk, and called up the Howard file to see if Peabody had added the requested data.
As the list of businesses with attached residences streamed on-screen, she sat back. Okay, this was going to take time. She culled out any that dealt with photography or imaging, and focused on a more workable list of nine.
With them, she ran down the list of possible suspects looking for another link.
Diego Feliciano. Knew the vic, hustled and hassled her. Spent time and money on her, and didn’t get the bang for his buck. Several possession with intent arrests. Access to illegals. Alibi runs like a sieve. Access to data club and to a vehicle. Little guy, not much brawn; more hot-headed than cold-blooded. No known imaging skills.
Jackson Hooper. Knew the vic, desired her. Knew place of employment and home residence. Attended Columbia. Would know campus setup and vic’s cl
ass schedule. Alibi won’t hold. Access to data club. Vehicle? Big, athletic. Good brain. Knowledge of photography at least from modeling gigs.
Professor Leeanne Browning. Knew vic. One of the last to see victim alive. Teaches imaging. Frustrated photographer? Alibied by spouse and security discs. Technical knowledge to doctor discs? Tall woman, well-built. Strong. Knowledge of campus and vic’s class schedule.
Other possibles: Angela Brightstar, Browning’s spouse. Steve Audrey, bartender data club. Disc junkie at club yet to be ID’d. Fellow students at Imaging class. Neighbors. Teachers.
The killer had a camera, a good one, and imaging equipment, she thought. She’d go back to the tools.
“Okay, let’s just see here. Computer, split screen. Display map, ten square block radius around Columbia University, highlight listed addresses.”
WORKING . . .
When the map flashed on, she sat back, considered. “Computer, highlight Broadway parking port, Columbia. Calculate most direct routes from that location to marked addresses.”
WORKING . . .
“Yeah, you do that,” Eve mumbled, and rubbed her empty stomach. Why the hell hadn’t she thought to grab something besides coffee when she’d been home, in a fully stocked kitchen?
She glanced toward her open door. Through it, she could hear the buzz and beeps from the detective’s bullpen. Easing away from the desk, she walked to her door, poked her head out, scanned.
Satisfied, she closed the door, quietly. Locked it. She climbed onto her desk, stretched up and worked one of the ceiling tiles out of its slot. Playing her fingers over the back of its neighbor, she reached her goal, and laughed softly, almost evilly as she pulled down the candy.
“I have beaten you, Candy Thief. You sneaking bastard.”
With as much pride as avarice she stroked the wrapper. It was the real thing, genuine chocolate, rich and pricey as gold. And hers. All hers.
She replaced the tile, studying it from all angles to make certain it was exactly positioned, then hopped down. She unlocked her door, sat back down, then began to slowly peel away the wrapper with all the attention, the affection, the anticipation a woman might use to undress her beloved.
She sighed deeply, and savored the first bite. And tasted both chocolate and victory.
“Okay, let’s get serious.”
Straightening in her chair, she nibbled candy and studied the information on-screen.
Browning and Brightstar had a big-ass apartment close to the university. Rachel would have trusted her instructor, her instructor’s spouse. She’d have gone with either one of them, or both of them into the parking port, even to their apartment if the play had been good enough.
Of course, there was the sticky part, getting Rachel past the doorman, past security. But nothing was impossible.
