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"Yeah." Eve nodded. "I’m thinking that matters here."
"With Bobbie’s remains found, identified, and her killer identified - at least in the media - he’s fulfilled his obligation. If the killer is the grandson - or connected to the grandson, as even if he did die in the Urbans, it’s certainly possible to have produced an offspring at seventeen - he or she knows how to blend."
"Likely to just keep blending," Eve added.
"Most likely. I don’t believe your killer will seek the spotlight. He doesn’t need acknowledgment. He’ll slide back into his routine, and essentially vanish again."
* * *
"I think I know where to find him."
"Yancy does good work." Eve held the photos of John Massey - youth and maturity - side-by-side.
"He does," Roarke agreed. "As do you, Lieutenant. I doubt I’d have looked at the boy and seen the man."
"It’s about legacies. Redheads ran in Bray’s family. Her father, her daughter. Her grandson."
"And Yancy’s work indicates he’s alive and living in New York."
"Yeah. But even with this I’ve got nothing but instinct and theories. There’s no evidence linking the suspect to the crime."
"You’ve closed a case on a murder that happened decades before you were born," Roarke reminded her.
"Now you’re greedy."
"My current suspect did most of the work there. Discovered the body, unearthed it, led me to it. The rest was basically lab and leg work. Since the perpetrator of that crime is long dead, there’s nothing to do but mark the file and do the media announcement."
"Not very satisfying for you."
"Not when somebody kills a surrogate figuring that evens things up. And plays games with me. So it’s our turn to play." Eve shifted in the limo. She felt ridiculous riding around in the big black boat.
But no one would expect Roarke to ride the subway, or even use a common Rapid Cab. Perception was part of the game.
"I can’t send you in wired," she added. "Never get a warrant for eyes or ears with what I’ve got. You know what to say, right? How to play it?"
"Lieutenant, have a little faith."
"I got all there is. Okay," she added, ducking down a little to check out the window when the limo glided to the curb. "Showtime. I’ll be cruising around in this thing, making sure the rest of this little play is on schedule."
"One question. Can you be sure your suspect will hit his cue in this play of yours?"
"Nothing’s a given, but I’m going with the odds on this. Obsession’s a powerful motivator. The killer is obsessed with Bray, with Number Twelve - and there’s a sense of theatrics there. Another legacy, I’d say. We dangle the bait, he’s going to bite."
"I’ll do my best to dangle it provocatively."
"Good luck."
"Give us a kiss then."
/> "That’s what you said last night, and look what happened." But she gave him a quick one. When he slipped out of the limo, she pulled out her ‘link to check on the rest of the game.
* * *
Roarke walked into Bygones looking like a man with plenty of money and an eye to spend it as he liked. He gave Maeve an easy smile and a warm handshake. "Ms. Buchanan? I appreciate you opening for me this afternoon. Well, it’s nearly evening, isn’t it?"
"We’re happy to oblige. My father will be right out. Would you like a glass of wine? I have a very nice cabernet breathing."
"I’d love one. I’ve met your father, though it’s been three or four years, I suppose, since we’ve done business."
