“No. Not everybody.”
Her luck was turning, Eve decided when she was able to collar Yancy as her Ident artist. There were others who were as good with a sketch or a comp-generated image, but Yancy had a way of helping a witness remember details, of talking them through the process.
“What’s the latest with Peabody?” he asked Eve.
She couldn’t count the number of times she’d been stopped with a variation of the question on her way through Central. “No change.”
He looked down at the sketch she’d handed him. “We’ll get this fucker.”
Her brows lifted. Yancy wasn’t just known for his skill with imaging, but for his mild manner. “Count on it. I need you to run me a copy of that, for now.”
“Get that right for you.” He moved to his imaging comp, slid the sketch in.
“He’s got layers of sealant on his face and it distorts it some. You need to factor that. I know I shouldn’t ask how long, but I have to.”
“I wish I could tell you.” He handed her the copy. “How cooperative are they?” He nodded to the anteroom where the witnesses waited.
“Unbelievably. Almost make me want to hang up my cynic’s cap and wear the badge of the optimist.”
“Then it’ll be quicker.” He studied the sketch again. “Artist is good. That’ll help considerably. I’m pushing everything else aside till we have him for you, Lieutenant.”
“Thanks.”
She wanted to stay, watch the process, somehow hurry it along. She wanted to be at the hospital with Peabody, somehow bring her back. She wanted to yank and draw on every line and thread at once.
“You can’t be everywhere, Eve.”
She glanced over at Roarke. “Shows? I feel like I’m running in place. Goal’s in sight, but I’m stuck in this spot. Maybe you could contact the hospital again, charm some information out of somebody. I just make them mad.”
“People tend to get cross when someone threatens to pull their brains out of their nostrils.”
“You’d think they’d give me points for creativity. I’m too wired.” She shook herself as they headed toward her division. “Damn chemicals. You take the hospital, check in on Summerset. Talk the e-talk with Feeney, and I’ll cut through the rest. Do you need me to find you a space?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Dallas!” Celina sprang off a bench. “I’ve been waiting. They said you were on your way in. You haven’t answered your voice or e-mail.”
“Been busy. Getting to it.”
“Peabody.”
She clamped a hand over Eve’s arm.
“She’s holding. I’m really pressed, Celina. I can give you a few minutes in my office. You set?” she asked Roarke.
“I am, yes. I’ll meet you out here.”
“I’m sorry.” Celina pushed her hands through her luxurious hair. “I’m upset.”
“We all are,” Roarke told her. “It was a long, difficult night.”
“I know. I saw . . .”
“Let’s take it in here.” She led the way into her office, shut the door. “Have a seat.” Though she knew caffeine wasn’t the best idea at the moment, she wanted coffee. Ordered two. “What did you see?”
“The attack. On Peabody. God, I was in the tub. Hot bath before bed to relax me for today. I saw her walking—sidewalk, buildings. He—he just leaped out at her. It was like a blur, and the next thing I know I’m floundering around in the tub like a damn trout. I tried to contact you.”
“I was already in the field, and went straight to the hospital. I haven’t gotten to a lot of my messages.”