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“I’ll do more than growl. I’ll rip out your liver with my bare hands and eat it.” She slapped the two sealed playbills down. “One of these is going to have his prints. I want his goddamn prints and fuck your end of shift.”
“Hey, hey, hey. You used to at least offer me a decent bribe. Not that I’d take one, under the circumstances,” he added hurriedly. “Just saying.”
Shoulders hunched, he drew one of the playbills out with tongs, set it on a sterile pad. He ran a scanner over the front, keyed in something on his comp. Blew out a long-suffering breath.
“Got smears, and lots of them, some partials, a couple of decents—and that’s just the cover of one. Do you know how many people handle this kind of thing? You got the people who put them together, pack ’em, ship ’em, unpack ’em, divvy them up, pass them out.”
“I want every print, and smudge, on both of them—inside and out—analyzed and ID’d.”
“It’s not a fucking snap. We’ll do it, we’ll get it done, but it’s not a fucking snap with this many hands on them.”
“Just get me the prints. I’ll do the eliminating.”
“Damn right you will.” He pointed at her, stood—or sat—his ground. “We got you what you needed this morning. I worked this myself, and put two of my best on it. We did our job, and we’ll do this one, too. So don’t jump down my throat.”
Because she respected his annoyance and pride a lot more than his whining and bullshit, she nodded. “The bastard who killed Deena MacMasters handled one of these. Had to. I don’t have a face, I don’t have a name. I’ve got lines and avenues and angles, but I don’t have a single viable suspect. We’re going to hit the end of the first forty-eight, and I’ve got no suspect.”
“We’ll get you what you need.”
She stepped back, hands in her pockets. “Two boxed seats, third base side, Yankees, first home game in July.”
He bared his teeth in a smile. “That’s more like it.”
What the hell, she thought as she trudged back to her car. He’d have earned it.
She started to head back uptown, toward home, then realized she wasn’t all that far, not really, from Louise’s new place in the West Village. A quick detour, and she could do her duty.
Probably Louise wasn’t even home. Probably. And if Charles was, she could just make noises about stopping in on the way home to see if there was anything she could do for Saturday.
She’d be off the hook, and it wouldn’t take more than thirty minutes.
Excellent plan. She called up the address, which she couldn’t remember, on her in-dash, and began weaving and dodging her way toward the more trendy sector.
Shady trees, old brownstone and brick, tidy little front courtyards gave this slice of the West Village a neighborhood appeal. Flowers bloomed, little dogs pranced on the ends of leashes held by people who could afford to stroll on a weekday afternoon. Vehicles, of the smart and shiny variety, lined the curbs. She snagged a spot two blocks from her destination and used the walking time to run probabilities.
Mira’s profile said he worked, and since he had better-than-average e-skills, maybe he worked in that field. The computer gave the idea some merit with a seventy-two-point-one probability.
Going with that, she thought, if he’d attended Columbia, he’d have taken e-courses. More, certainly, than were required for any degree. Possibly, he majored in some e-field.
Tap the source there, she thought, and refined her search request to Peach Lapkoff to include students from Southern states who’d majored in or had a strong focus in e-degrees.
Immersed, she might have walked by if Louise hadn’t hailed her.
“Dallas! You have to be the last person I expected to see walking by.”
Distracted, Eve stopped, glanced over. And there was the bride-to-be, with her sunny hair under a pink ball cap, wearing a dirt-smeared T-shirt and a pair of baggy cotton pants. The doctor held some sort of little shovel in her hand while flowers burst into bloom at her feet.
“I was in the neighborhood. Sort of. Did you actually do that?” Eve gestured to the flowers spreading and climbing behind a pretty iron gate.
“I did. Who knew?” Laughing, Louise pulled off gloves the same color as her cap. “I was going to get someone to do it, then I thought, for God’s sake, I can dig into someone’s abdomen, I ought to be able to dig in some dirt. It’s fun!”
“Okay.” She wasn’t sure about that part, but the results were fairly mag. “It looks great.”
“I wanted to get it all in before the wedding. Some of the out-of-town guests are coming for dinner tomorrow night. I have to be insane adding a dinner party to the list, but I can’t stop myself. Come in! You have to see the house.”
“I’m just swinging by,” Eve said when Louise opened the gate. “On my way home. To work. But I thought I’d see if there’s anything you need, or that I should—could do to help you out before the deal.”
“I think everything’s right on schedule, which is helped by the fact I’m ridiculously hyper and out of my mind. I had no idea I’d be such a lunatic about every tiny detail.” She led the way up the path through the flowers to the main front door. “I have lists of lists. And I’m enjoying every minute of it.”
