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“Okay. She’d have been about nineteen when she made this visit.”
“Facing her monster.”
“Maybe. Probably. I’ll have to contact her, see what he said to her. She’s not his type now. Too old for his tastes, too young for partner status. A rape counselor and a cop. They made something out of what happened to them. It’s good to know that.”
She scanned down the list. “Multiple visits would be the highest probability. Not too many. No point in sending up a flag.”
She ordered the computer to separate out names of subjects who’d visited between six and twelve times. “We’ll start with these.”
“I’ll take four.”
They ran them for data, put images on screen.
“Computer, delete subjects three, five, and eight. Too many busts,” she told Roarke. “He wouldn’t work with someone who screwed up that often and got caught. And since subject two is now deceased, we can toss her out of the mix. Down to four,” she said as she paced. “Number one, Deb Bracken, has a New York address, so we’ll check her out in person. The other three are scattered around. Miami, Baltimore, and Baton Rouge. We’ll have local authorities give them a look once we’re cleared.
“There’s something about this one. Number seven.”
“Sister Suzan Devon,” Roarke read. “Recovering illegals addict. Two busts for possession, one for solicitation without a license.”
“Yeah, but the busts are in her misspent youth. Nothing since she hit thirty. She’s the right age. Early fifties, not bad looking. Member of the Church of Redemption, based in Baton Rouge. Lists spiritual advisor as reason for visits. Bogus bullshit.”
“The last visit was more than a year ago.”
“That wouldn’t matter if he managed to set things up, and contact her under the radar. She gives me a buzz, so we’ll look at her, and number six—she hits the notes. So Bracken, because she’s here, Devon and this Verner because they buzz, and the last of the four, Rinaldi, because she made the cut.”
She turned to him. “If we correlate their geographical location at the time of the e-mails you dug up, can we identify their particular communications? The contact system they used?”
“I don’t know about we, but I can.”
“Smart-ass.”
“I’ll just sit my smart ass down and do that for you, darling. And you can get me a cookie.”
“A cookie?”
“Yes. I’d like a cookie, and more coffee.”
“Huh.”
As he sat his smart ass down, she decided she wouldn’t mind a cookie herself.
4
When Eve walked into Whitney’s office the next morning, she’d already decided how to play it. She had data, theories, and specific individuals who needed a good talking to.
How she divulged it was key.
The meeting with the feds, the prison rep, the lawyers, and the department’s Fugitive Apprehension team could be a lot of blather, spinning, glad-handing, or a pissing contest.
Personally she enjoyed a good pissing contest, but not when she was pressed for time.
So she went in prepared to play the game with every intention of winning it.
“Lieutenant Dallas.” Whitney remained at his desk as he introduced her to the feds.
She judged the curvy brunette, Special Agent Elva Nikos, and her partner, Scott Laurence, with his boxer’s build and shiny pate, as seasoned.
And hoped they weren’t assholes.
