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She frowned, realized he wanted her desk, pushed up and away.
“Bad angle, too,” she muttered. “That’s just stupid. We’re not going to get a tag, angle’s too high. But that’s going to be enough for somebody to nail down make and model. Where are they? Where – there – somebody’s getting out on the curbside. Is that somebody getting out? McNab!”
“Working on it. I can take it into the lab here or at Central, clean it up better and faster.”
“Just give me something here.”
Roarke strolled over, leaned over McNab’s shoulder. The two of them began muttering in geek.
“Can’t see the street-side door. Cam’s just shit, but that’s the woman. That’s the female. Short skirt, short jacket.”
“Can’t get a good read on her.” Banner strained as Eve did. “Height, maybe. Figuring the height of the van – that’s a van… maybe five-six? Hair’s covered, face turned away, gloves. Can’t see enough of her.”
“Is that a corner of the license plate? I think it is,” Peabody gestured. “And that’s some sort of sticker in the back window. That triangle.”
“That’s better, a little better,” Eve said as the image cleared a bit more. “Yeah, that’s the woman. You can tell by the way she moves she’s hunting, and she’s wearing the slut stockings.”
“Fishnets,” Peabody supplied.
“Looking around, opening the back. Can you zoom in on the back, on the interior while she’s got the back open?”
The image jerked, flickered again, madly for a moment, then steadied.
The woman hauled a chair halfway out the back. A big armchair, but she didn’t seem to have much trouble with it. Some muscle there, Eve gauged, and a routine.
An open bag – small duffel? – on the floor. She saw a shadow move farther up.
“Pull it back! There, that’s the male – getting out street side. He’s in the shadows, but… shit. Used something to break out the streetlight.”
“Slingshot maybe.”
Eve frowned at Banner. “A slingshot?”
“That’d be my guess. We’ve got kids do that back home when they’re bored enough. You can’t see him anymore.”
“He’s got to get out of sight. Slide around in front of the van, maybe slip into one of the doorways on the other side of the sidewalk. Vics are hit from behind. Peabody, I want all the security cam feed from the buildings on that side of the street.”
“On it.”
“She’s looking back – a little bit of profile. Sees somebody? Yeah, yeah, see how she glances back – signaling her partner. Here it comes. Oh yeah, she pulls the hat off, shakes her hair back, so he can see her – so Mulligan can see her. Long blond hair. Probably Caucasian.”
“Jesus, Dallas, can we make her from this?”
She kept her eyes on screen as she answered Banner. “We will make her. There’s Mulligan – hunter green coat, hood up, he’s blocking her from the camera, but we’ll make her. Give me a hand, could you?” Eve whispered. “I’m just not strong enough to get it inside. Aren’t you sweet to stop and help? And he bends his knees, like you do, gets a grip on the chair, starts to lift it.”
It was fast, shadows and jerks, flickering and blurs, but she caught enough. The sap – some sort of sap – coming down fast and hard, and the man, the woman, shoving Mulligan inside, the woman scrambling in behind him. The door slammed shut, and in seconds, the van pulled out and away.
“They weren’t there ten fucking minutes. Their luck’s not going to hold, that kind of luck doesn’t hold. Get that in the lab, use this one,” she ordered McNab. “Get it as clean as you can, and send me every piece of the unsubs, every piece. I want an ID on the sticker on the back window, make and model of the vehicle.”
“Corner of the plate,” Peabody added.
“If you can do anything with it, do it.”
“I’ll give you a hand with it,” Roarke told him. “Load up a plate first. A man’s got to eat,” he said to Eve.
“Fine. Would Feeney make a difference?”
“Considerable.” Roarke got a plate for himself. “We could split up the identification and cleaning and enhancing.”
