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“The party girls at functions like this don’t advertise. They’re frosting.”
“Okay, so it’s possible he didn’t make her as a pro.”
“Exactly, and you can read between the lines and assume she smelled money and played it up with this guy. He suggested they go out for some air, which they did. Then that they go for a drive—which she couldn’t do or lose her event fee. In any case, she said she started feeling off—dizzy, woozy. She also claimed she hadn’t been drinking, which, of course, she had. But I’m betting she knew her limit when she was working, and they mistook drugged for skunk drunk.”
“Could be.” Eve nodded. “Yeah, that could be.”
“When she realized he was leading
her away from the opera house, she resisted. Here’s where I think she embellished or there would have been marks, tears, something. Figure when she started to struggle, to scream, he cut his losses. She tears back to the party. He slides off.”
“You gotta have more than that.”
“Yeah, I do. The third victim was a waitress, worked for the caterer who did this party. She worked the party. And a week later, she’s dead. So—”
“He cherry-picks potentials at the event,” Eve concluded. “Weeds it down to two. The first doesn’t work out for him. So he goes for the second. Where was she last seen?” Eve turned to boot up the file.
“Leaving her apartment four days before her body was found. She’d been scheduled to work that evening, called in sick. She wasn’t reported missing for two days because—”
“She’s the one who took an overnight bag, clothes. Good clothes.”
“Good memory. Yeah. It was assumed she’d gone off with some guy. Which, I guess she did. First woman said Othello had a voice like silk—soft and smooth. Wore heeled boots and a high headdress—compensating.”
“Short guy, we got that.”
Nadine’s brows lifted. “Oh, do you?”
“You’ll get everything when you get it. Anything else?”
“She said he talked about music—opera particularly—like it was a god. She said a lot of bullshit, actually. His eyes were burning red, his hands like steel as they closed around her throat. Blah, blah. But there was one more interesting thing that sounded true. She said she asked about his work, and he said he studied life and death. In a twisted way, that could be what he’s doing, or thinks he’s doing.”
“Okay. That’s okay.”
“Worth any inside info?”
“I leak anything at this point, it’s my ass. Don’t bother with the media briefing. Send a drone. When I’m clear, you’ll get it all.”
“Off the record. Are you close?”
“Off the record. I’m getting closer.”
Since the two conversations had eaten away her prep time, Eve just gathered everything up. She’d organize on the fly. Lining it up in her head, she headed out, reminding herself there was now—courtesy of Roarke—decent coffee in the conference room.
She glanced over at raised voices, saw one of her detectives and a couple of uniforms dwarfed by a man about the size of the vending machine they’d gathered in front of.
“I want to see my brother!” the giant shouted. “Now!”
Carmichael, generally unflappable in Eve’s estimation, kept her voice low and soothing. “Now, Billy, we explained that your brother’s giving a statement. As soon as he’s done—”
“You’ve got him in a cage! You’re beating him up!”
“No, Billy. Jerry’s helping us. We’re trying to find the bad man who hurt his boss. Remember how somebody hurt Mr. Kolbecki?”
“They killed him dead. Now you’re going to kill Jerry. Where’s Jerry?”
“Let’s go sit over—”
Billy screamed his brother’s name loudly enough that cops stopped, turned, slipped out of doorways.
