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“Sir; my initial run of the list from Portography—Hastings’s assistants. Some of the names are bogus. Some of these people just make them up, because they think they sound better. But the one who was on during the wedding where Howard was photographed rings false. I’m going to push on that. I’m also going to try some sources, see if I can narrow down the images the killer’s produced to style and equipment. I’ve got a lot of lines to tug, which may keep my people scattered for a while, until I can pull them all in again.”
“Do what’s necessary to close this down. Keep me updated.”
“Yes, sir.” She started to step back, then stayed where she was. “Commander, there’s one more thing. As I mentioned last month, I’d like to have Officer Peabody’s name put in for the next detective’s test.”
“She’s ready now?”
“She’s had about eighteen months of homicide experience under me. She’s worked, and closed, a cold case on her own. She’s clocked more field time than some of the guys in the bull pen. She’s a good cop, Commander, and deserves her shot at a gold shield.”
“On your recommendation then, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d tell her to start prepping. As I recall the exam isn’t a walk on the beach.”
“No, sir.” This time Eve smiled. “More like a run through a war zone. She’ll be prepped.”
She went down to the conference room, taking the time before her team arrived to sit on the edge of the table and study the board.
The images looked back at her. She focused first on Rachel Howard. Smiling, sunny, cheerfully at work. Typical college-age job—clerking at a 24/7. Wanted to be a teacher. Studied hard, made friends, good solid family life. Middle class.
Subway shot—heading home to that solid family life, or maybe off to school. Confident, pretty. Vital.
Wedding shot. Dolled up for the event. Fussier hair, darker lips, longer eyelashes. Big, celebratory smile that just plain popped out from the rest. You noticed this girl. Couldn’t help it.
Even in death, Eve thought. Sitting so neat, so pretty, with the light on her hair, her eyes staring out.
And Kenby Sulu, exotic, striking. Fairly typical job as well, particularly for the theater type. Ushering. Wanted to be a dancer, worked hard, made friends easily, good solid family life. Upper class.
Standing outside of Juilliard. Ready to go in, just coming out. Big smile for his friends.
Then the formal cast shot. Dark and intense, but still, oh yeah, still, you saw the light in him. Anticipation, health, energy.
The death shot mirrored it, she noted. The way he was posed in a dance, as if still on the move. And the light shimmering like a halo around him.
Healthy, she thought. Had to be healthy, had to be innocent, young, well-adjusted. Clean. There was something else the two victims had in common, she decided. They were clean. No history of illegals, no major illnesses on medical records. Good sharp brains, nice healthy young bodies.
She turned to the computer and started a run on any imaging business with Light in the name. She got four hits, noted them, then ran books on imaging with Light in the title. At some time, she was certain, her killer had been a student.
She hit several, and was about to print them out when one caught her eye.
Images of Light and Dark, by Dr. Leeanne Browning.
“Okay,” Eve said aloud. “Time to go back to school, one more time.”
When the conference door opened, she spoke without looking up. “Peabody, requisition and download a copy of a photographic text book titled Images of Light and Dark, by Leeanne Browning. Use the auxiliary computer. I’m not done here.”
“Yes, sir. How did you know it was me?”
“You’re the only one who walks like you. Find out if there’s an actual book copy available while you’re at it. It may be helpful.”
“Okay, but what does that mean? How do I walk?”
“Quick march in cop shoes. Working here.”
Eve didn’t have to look up this time either to know Peabody was scowling at her shoes. She did a cross-check to locate and highlight any other book, paper, or published images by Browning, ran them through.
Sulu had gone to Juilliard, but lived only a few blocks away from the Browning/Brightstar apartment. Could be another connection, she mused.
