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She’d leave it to the sweepers and lab techs to take samples of carpet for a comparison to the fibers in evidence while she concentrated on the massive imaging files.
Part of that concentration was to breathe down McNab’s neck while he ran a disc search.
“Lieutenant.” In defense, McNab hunched his bony shoulders. “This guy’s got tens of thousands of images on file. It’s going to take some time for me to run through them and match the victim’s face, if she’s here.”
“She’s here. He recognized her.”
“Okay, but . . .” He turned his head, and all but bumped noses with Eve. “I could use a little space here.”
Eve scowled at the computer screen. Half of it was filled with Rachel’s smiling face, the other with a rapid blur as filed images whizzed by. Sooner or later it would stop. She knew it would stop. And a second image of Rachel would appear.
“The machine’s doing all the work.”
“I respectfully disagree,” he replied. “The machine’s only as good as its operator.”
“EDD propaganda.” But she backed off. She was crowding him, and knew it. “I want to know the minute you get a hit.”
“You’ll be the first.”
She glanced over to where Hastings sat, arms folded, mouth set in a perpetual frown as he watched the small army of cops buzz t
hrough his studio. With her attention on him, she motioned to her aide. “Peabody.”
“Sir.”
“Pick a uniform and go interview the second name on your list.”
“Sir?”
“Was there some foreign language in that order?”
“You want me to handle the interview?” Peabody’s face had gone sheet pale. “Without you?”
“Is there any reason, after more than a year in Homicide, you feel unable to question a suspect without the primary holding your hand?”
“No, sir.” Now her face went bright pink. “It’s just that you always—I haven’t—” She swallowed hard under Eve’s bland stare, then squared her shoulders. “I’ll take Catstevens, Lieutenant.”
“Fine. When you’ve finished, contact me for further orders.”
“Yes, sir. I appreciate you trusting me with this.”
“Good. Don’t screw up.” She turned her back on Peabody, mentally crossing her fingers to wish her aide luck, then sauntered over to Hastings.
Her gut told her the lead was here, and Peabody would get nothing more out of the assignment than some solid field experience.
She leaned back against the windowsill, crossed her feet at the ankles. “It’s a pisser, isn’t it, having strangers put their fingers all over your stuff.” She waited a beat while he simply stared through her. “We can cut a lot of the crap if you tell me how you know Rachel Howard.”
“I never said I knew her. Seen her face somewhere. That’s not a freaking crime.”
“You take pictures of her?”
“Might have.”
“Here, in the studio.”
His brows drew together. Eve saw him struggle to think back. “No.”
“She’s never been up here?”
