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“I want to talk to Mira. Now,” Eve said to Roarke. “I need a better handle on this guy, and I need it before he decides to kill anybody else.” She turned to the uniform waiting in the doorway.
“Detective McNab started the knock-on-doors. Coordinate with him. Get the photo of the suspect from Detective Peabody. I want the building covered, then hit the street and cover the block. I want to talk to anybody who saw him.”
She pulled out her ’link, moved off to a corner, and tagged Mira.
“Dr. Mira, I’m sorry to disturb you at home.”
“It’s fine, Eve. Do you need to change our consult time for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I need it now. He got to the ex-girlfriend.”
“I see.”
“Indications are he gained access to her apartment while she was out, lay in wait. He brought tools with him—tape, cord, a knife.” Eve began to run through the basics.
“I’d like to see the body, the scene.”
“I’ve recorded it. I can send it to you now.”
“No, I think it would be better if I came to you.”
Weird, Eve thought, and foolish, this initial knee-jerk reluctance to have Mira see, firsthand, the death, the blood, the ugliness of it. Mira hadn’t reached her level by being squeamish or needing to be shielded.
“It would help, but—”
“I have the address from your report. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Thanks. I’ll have you cleared through.”
She pocketed her ’link as she went to the door and ordered the uniform securing the apartment to clear Dr. Mira. When she turned back, she caught Roarke’s glance.
“I’ll wager she’s seen worse,” he said.
“Yeah. There’s always worse.”
“There’s an empty jar here.” He held up a pale blue jar with some sort of flower embossed on it. “Just tossed among the rubble I imagine was his doing in the kitchen. I’d say he cleaned her out again, and ate and drank his way through her stock.”
She stepped over to the kitchen, programmed the tiny AutoChef for its log. “Yeah. Had some pizza nibs about fifteen minutes after TOD. Swarmed through her cupboards—soy chips, cheesy twists, empty wine bottle, empty Coke tube. Snack food. Got the hungries on after he killed her.”
She went back in her head to the first crime scene. “Same deal at his parents’ apartment. He grazed through the food. Ate his way through The Manor, too, when he stayed there. Killing sharpens his appetite.”
“If he keeps it up, you’ll be rolling him into a cell.”
That made her smile a little. “He emptied out her tips, took her wallet, her ’link, poked around for whatever else he could find of use, packed up, cleaned himself up, then walked right out with a goddamn spring in his step.”
She held up a hand as the first of the sweepers arrived.
“Stay out of the bedroom and away from the body for now.” Moving over, she gave them more detailed instructions, let them by.
“I contacted everyone.” Peabody edged back in the room. “Golde’s heading over to his parents. He freaked, and now he’s afraid Reinhold might go after them. I caught Asshole Joe at some club. He did seem moderately surprised, but not especially upset or uneasy.”
“He lives up to his name.”
“Oh yeah. I also contacted Dave Hildebran, former employers and supervisors from this past year. I tagged Kasey Rider, too. I thought maybe Reinhold knew her, knew she was tight with the vic, and might want to pay her a visit.”
“That’s good thinking.”
“She’s a wreck, Dallas. I went ahead, called in a grief counselor and a female officer. We’ll probably need to talk to her at some point, but she’ll feel safer in the meantime.”
