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g time with the witness.”
“She’s a nice kid, Lieutenant.”
“Any further data from her?”
“Sir, she doesn’t talk much about it. She’s broken down a couple of times. Not hysterical, just sits down and cries. I’m trying to keep her busy. She seems comfortable with me, and with Summerset, though she asks about you.”
“Asks what?”
“When you’re coming back, what you’re doing. When you’re going to take her to see her parents and her brother. If you’ve caught the bad guys yet. I don’t know much about, well, I guess you’d say child psychology, but I’d say she’s holding on to herself until you do. Catch them. To date, she hasn’t said anything that would add to her previous statements.”
“All right. Moving on to Meredith Newman. CPS reps in cases like this are kept confidential. However, it’s not that complicated to access the data. Anyone with serious interest and reasonable hacking capabilities could slither into the CPS files like a snake through grass. Feeney, I’ll want your department to check the d and c’s for any evidence of hacking. Maybe we’ll get a bounce. The subject was abducted off the sidewalk on Avenue B, daylight grab, with witnesses. The speed and success of the grab indicates the suspects have some experience in daylight abductions. It also indicates there were three. It’s unlikely these two would trust their vehicle to auto under the circumstances. We must assume Newman’s connection to Nixie Swisher was the motive for the grab. We must assume that the perpetrators had experience in making grabs of this nature, in electronics and security, in stealth assassinations.”
“Military or para,” Feeney said. “Espionage or special forces. Average citizens, they’re not.”
“If they were military, it’s likely we’ll find they washed out—or were promoted to fucking general because of their particular skills. One way or the other, these men have been in the field, and they’ve gotten wet. They’re not rusty, either, so they’ve kept in the game.”
“Paramilitary seems more probable,” Roarke commented. “There’s testing in standard military that would question the personality type or predilection of killing for personal gain or satisfaction—particularly children.”
“Mercenaries kill for personal gain, and are often attached to military ops.”
“True enough.” But he shook his head at Eve. “That’s most usually monetary. Where is the monetary gain here?”
“We might not have found it yet, but let’s say I agree. And I agree that it takes a certain kind of personality to slit a child’s throat while she sleeps. That’s terrorist tactics, and fringe at that. I think that’s where this arrow’s going to point.”
“More cross-checking then,” Baxter put in. “Known terrorists or members of fringe organizations.”
“Look for teams. Two or more who are known to work together, or known to have trained together. Then we need to put one of them, at least, in New York during the last few years.”
“Could be hirelings,” Baxter pointed out. “Brought into New York to do the job.”
“Low odds. Hirelings would’ve been smoke an hour after the Swisher hit. But they’re still in New York, still here to grab up Newman. One or both of them targeted the Swishers, and for a reason. This means, at some point, one or more of them crossed paths with one or more of the Swishers. Security and wet work, and they’re in shape. No desk jockeys or data crunchers. These are field operatives. Males, between thirty and sixty to start. White or light-skinned males. Either they or their organization has deep pockets. Look for the money.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, finished off the cold coffee. “They’ve got a place, in or near the city. Headquarters. They’d need something local, and they’d need something private. The only logical motive for grabbing Newman would be for information on Nixie Swisher. They’d need somewhere they could take her, work it out of her.”
“We’ll be cross-checking until the blood runs out of our ears. Not complaining, Lieutenant,” McNab said quickly. “You can’t look at that board and complain. Just feels like the time’s dripping away.”
“Then you’d better get busy.” She checked her wrist unit. “Baxter, you’re all right where we set you up?”
“It’s prime.”
“Trueheart, maybe you could spell Summerset with the witness for fifteen. Mira’s due here shortly, then she’ll take her. Work with Baxter when you’re off babysitting duty. Feeney, you and McNab can work here in the computer lab?”
“No problem.”
“I’ll join you,” Roarke told them. “But first, Lieutenant, a minute of your time.”
“That’s about all I’ve got to spare. Peabody?”
“I’ll head down with Trueheart, say hi to Nixie.”
Then, to Roarke, she said, “I have to contact the commander, give him a report, so this has to be quick.”
He merely went to the door, closed it behind Peabody.
“What?” Eve’s hands went automatically to her pockets. “You pissed about something?”
“No.” Keeping his eyes, deep and blue, on hers, he walked to her. “No,” he repeated, and taking her face in his hand, kissed her. Long, deep, soft.
