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“Took her crash time,” Baxter told her. “She’s been down about fifteen.”
“Fine.”
“Mira’s in your office.”
“Oh.”
“My boy and I are heading out. Got a floater in the pond in Central Park. Couple of kids found it.”
“Nice way to start the day.”
“Fun never ends.”
Mira sat in Eve’s ugly visitor’s chair in her pretty pale pink suit. She’d matched the suit with heels several shades deeper and a multi-chain necklace with tiny little pearls and colored stones. Her rich brown hair curled around her lovely face in a way both stylish and flattering.
Her quiet blue eyes tracked up from the screen of her PPC to meet Eve’s.
“I was just rereading your data. I had some time now so thought I’d wait for you here.”
“I appreciate you getting to it so fast.” It threw her off, just a little. Consults were usually in Mira’s airy office, and included cups of flowery tea Eve pretended to drink.
Which reminded her to offer.
“You want some tea or something?”
“Actually, I’d love some of your coffee. Dennis and I were out late last night with friends. I could use the boost.”
“Sure.”
“Have you slept?”
“Not yet. I’ll get some in when I can.” Sometime between the vic’s apartment and Central her second wind had settled in.
Maybe it was the omelets.
“He’s hit fast,” Eve said as she took the steaming mugs from the AutoChef. “Two for two. Both risky, organized, and planned.”
“Yes. He’s organized, controlled enough to spend time with, and interact with, his victims and maintain his prepared persona. Clients, both times.”
Eve turned with the coffee in her hand. “He buys his kill.”
The smile lit Mira’s face. “You could have gone into my line of work.”
“No thanks. You have to be nice to the whacked. Buys his kill,” she repeated. “That’s an interesting angle. Does he figure since he’s paid for them, they’re his to bag? Like a hunter. But you don’t hunt with a bayonet, so the hunting thing’s thin.”
“I’m not sure. We think of a bayonet as a wartime weapon, when man certainly hunts man. The killer has chosen the ground, established the rules—his—selected the weapon. All in advance.”
“But in Houston’s case, he couldn’t know, not for certain, who he’d get for prey. No, that’s not right,” Eve corrected. “You don’t know which furry animal you’re going to shoot in the woods. It’s just the species—the type. You go after a type. He likes the rush.”
“In both cases, it was a fairly close-in kill, and in a location where discovery was a factor—and likely part of the excitement. He’s mature, and the esoteric nature of the weapons tells me he’s interested in the unique—in showing his knowledge and his skill.”
“Showing off, that’s how it hits me.”
“Yes. God, this is good,” Mira murmured over her coffee. “He
has wealth or access to it. Excellent e-skills, or again access to them. His choice of the men whose identification he used tells me one of two things: He either resents those in authority, specifically in the corporate world, or he considers them subordinates, those to be made use of.”
Mira angled her head. “Why does that make you smile?”
