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“With him.” She looked over, saw he held two mugs of coffee. ?
?Thanks,” she said, taking one.
“And where is he?”
“Heading out to dinner. Soup to nuts. He’ll pay cash. He always pays cash. He’ll linger over it until nearly midnight, then he’ll take a long walk. Marsonini didn’t drive, and rarely took cabs. He’ll walk here, juicing himself up, block by block.”
“How did they catch him?” He knew, but he wanted Eve to say it, to talk it out.
“His intended victim lived in a loft, not so different than this. Makes sense. One of her friends had a major fight with her boyfriend, and came over to cry on Lisel’s—that was her name—came over to cry on her shoulder or whatever women do.”
“Eat strawberry ice cream.”
“Shut up. So the friend finally cried it out and bunked on the sofa. It was the music that woke her up. She hadn’t heard him come in—apparently they’d killed a bottle of cheap wine or brew. Something. Marsonini hadn’t spotted her sleeping there, which was a break. So the friend goes toward the bedroom to see about the music. Lisel was already bound, gagged, with a broken kneecap. Marsonini was naked. His back was to the doorway. He was climbing onto the bed, getting ready to rape Lisel.”
She knew what had been in the victim’s head, swimming over the pain. She knew that the awful terror of what was to come was worse, so much worse than pain.
“The friend kept her head,” Eve continued. “She ran back to the living room, called nine-one-one, then hurried back to the bedroom, picked up this bat he’d used to break Lisel’s kneecap, and she whaled on him. Fractured his skull, broke his jaw, his nose, his elbow. By the time the cops got there, Marsonini was unconscious and in a sorry state. She’d untied Lisel, covered her up, and was holding a knife to the bastard’s throat, hoping—she said in her statement—he’d come around so she could stick it in his gullet.”
“I’d say it stuck in his gullet that a woman stopped him.”
Her lips quirked a little, because she understood. “I’m counting on it. He died in prison two years later when an unidentified inmate or guard castrated him and left him lying in his own cage. Bled to death.”
She breathed deep, found it had helped to talk it through. “I’m going to make the rounds. You’ve got two hours to stretch your legs around here, then we tuck in. And we wait.”
At midnight, she hauled a stool into the closet. She kept the door open to an angle that gave her a view of the bed, and Peabody’s upper half.
The apartment was full dark, and silent.
“Peabody, check your communicator every fifteen, until I order radio silence. I don’t want you nodding off in there.”
“Lieutenant, I couldn’t fall asleep if you gave me a high-powered soother. I’m revved.”
“Do the checks. Stay icy.”
What if I’m wrong? she asked herself. If he changed targets, changed methods, got a whiff of me? If he doesn’t come tonight, will he kill randomly or just rabbit? Does he have a back door? An emergency route, emergency funds, and ID?
He’ll come, she assured herself. And if he doesn’t, I’ll track him.
She ran through her own checks, got the all-quiet from the street teams, the house teams. After an hour, she stood up to stretch and keep herself limber.
After two, she felt her blood begin to pump. He was coming. She knew he was coming seconds before her communicator hissed in her ear.
“Possible sighting. Lone male, proceeding south toward building. Six-two, a hundred and ninety. Light-colored suit and dark tie. He’s carrying a briefcase.”
“Observe only. Don’t approach. Feeney, you copy?”
“Loud and clear.”
“McNab?”
“We’re on it.”
“Looks like a false alarm. He’s moving past the building, continuing south. Wait . . . He’s watching, that’s what he’s doing. Scoping things out, checking the street. He’s turning back, approaching the building again. Something in his hand. Might be a security jammer. Turning in. He’s heading in, Lieutenant.”
“Stay in the vehicle. Wait for my command. Peabody?”
“I’m ready.”
