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She sat back, put her boots on the desk, shut her eyes.
Likes good wine, s
he remembered. He’d had a nice selection—heavy on the Cabernet—in his New York hellhole.
She put herself back there, using her mind, her memory rather than the crime scene photos.
Wineglasses lined by type in the cabinet. She hadn’t known good crystal from crap back then, but she did now. Good glasses. Dishes—four-piece place settings, nice quality—simple, classic white with a raised pattern around the lips.
Fresh fruit and vegetables in the market bags. Nothing processed. Some cheese, a—what was it?—baguette. Eggs in the friggie. Not egg substitute.
Good food, good wine, and good dishes and stemware to enjoy it. He’d have missed that in prison.
He’d want what he wanted now.
She roamed the apartment in her head, eyes closed, boots up.
Not much furniture, and no clutter. Clean, tidy, organized.
Organic cleaning products, she remembered. Unscented.
His bedroom had posts and rungs on the headboard. He’d needed those to secure the ropes, the cuffs, his restraints du jour.
Good sheets—two spare sets—all white, organic cotton.
He’d always used the beds, always raped his prey on good, clean sheets.
Good sheets had to be laundered.
Bathroom. Organic cotton with the towels, too, and white again. Always white. Soaps, shampoos, grooming products. All natural again, no additives, no chemicals.
He’d need shops that carried his preferences. He’d have given his partner his requirements. Local shops, online? Maybe a mix of both.
Security cameras, soundproofing, shackles and restraints. The locals and the feds already had those, were already running those elements.
But they needed to work the other details.
She swung her boots to the floor, rose to circle the board as she dictated the additional list to the computer.
“Advise search for retail venues carrying these products in the Dallas area and online. Purchases of linens, kitchenware, cleaning products within the last six weeks. Grooming products, wine within four. Foodstuffs within the last two to three days.
“Also check on laundry services—white organic cotton linens.”
She circled again as Roarke came in. “Copy and send memo to all listed partners. Mark priority.”
Acknowledged, working . . . Task complete.
“I wasn’t thorough enough,” she said to Roarke. “And I’ve been so focused on the woman herself, I didn’t think about the little things, the everyday things. Dishes, towels. Fuck! It’s part of his pattern, part of his profile.”
“Then it’s in the file, which every team member has.”
“Yeah, but every team member wasn’t in that apartment, didn’t see the dishes, the bottles of expensive wine. The tub of Green Nature cleaner under the sink.”
Fascinated, he lifted his eyebrows. “You remember the actual brand of cleaner?”
“Yeah, I remember it, and while that’s buried somewhere in the list of items found and logged in his place, who’s going to pay attention unless you put it all together? We’d have had men on this today if I’d just thought of it sooner.”
“And how soon did you think of it once you had an actual opportunity to sit down, clear your mind, and think?”
