New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

She sprang forward, but the crowd swallowed them both. One hand on the butt of her weapon, Eve muscled her way through, craning her neck. Cops and civilians swarmed around her; the noise of downtown rolled over streets and sidewalk. An ad blimp blasted out a jingle for a sale at the Skymall.

Roarke snaked his way through to where she stood on the sidewalk, one hand still on her weapon, the other fisted in frustration.

“What is it?”

“I saw him. He was here.”

“Who?”

“McQueen. Isaac McQueen.” She shook her head. “Son of a bitch. I have to report to the commander.”

“I’ll wait. Go,” he said. “I’ll make your excuses to Mavis and the rest. And Eve.” He laid a hand on her arm. “I want to hear about this—all of it—when you’re done.”

Commander Whitney still wore the uniform, as did Eve, when she walked into his office. He stood behind his desk, a big man who carried the weight of command well on strong shoulders. His dark eyes, cop’s eyes, measured her before he nodded.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir. He wanted me to see him, wanted me to know he could walk right through a sea of cops outside this house. He needs to insult and humiliate this department, and me in particular. I need to put a team together, Commander, asap, and find him.”

“He’s being hunted, Lieutenant, by the NYPSD, and the FBI.” He held up a hand before she could speak. “I understand you want him, and want a piece of the hunt. I’m not going to tell you not to use your considerable knowledge of McQueen, and your resources to aid the search. The fact is he wants you as much as you want him, and I suspect has given you a great deal more thought over these past years than you’ve given him.”

“I know him, Commander.” The frustration she’d felt on the street wanted to bubble back to the surface. “Better than any cop in the NYPSD, better than anyone in the FBI. I made it my business to know him. I don’t want to wait until he kills someone to make him my priority.”

“Do you believe he’ll contact you again?”

“Yes, sir, he will.”

“Then we’ll take it from there. In the meantime put together everything you know about him, run your probabilities, use your resources. I expect a full report from the warden, the chief administrator, the prison psychiatrist in charge of McQueen’s case, and the guards on his block by morning. You’ll be copied.”

“He has a plan. He always has a plan. He didn’t walk out of Rikers without one. I want to interview other prisoners he had regular contact with, and the guards. I need access to his records, his visitor’s list, his communications.”

“The prison’s conducting an internal investigation.”

“Commander, he’s been out for nearly twenty-four hours.”

“I’m aware of that, Lieutenant. I wasn’t informed about the escape until this morning.” He waited a beat, nodded slowly. “The mayor and I had more to discuss today than handing out medals, however well deserved. Prison administration has requested until nine hundred to conduct their investigation. They’ve been given the time. I can promise you at one minute past nine tomorrow, you’ll have what I have.”

“They’re playing politics and CYA. By nine tomorrow, he could have taken another girl. More than one.”

“I’m aware of that as well.” He sat now. “Even after we’re given what we need, we may not know anything to aid in this manhunt. His previous capture involved solid police work, Dallas, and a stroke of luck. We’re going to need both to put him back where he belongs.”

She took time to change, to gather up all the file discs she needed, the old reports. Even then she could still taste the bitterness in the back of her throat.

As arranged, Roarke met her by her vehicle in the garage.

“Here, let’s have those.” He took one of the loaded file bags she carried. “I’d’ve helped to carry these down if you’d told me you were loading up.”

She wanted to say it was her weight to carry, but that sounded pompous. “I didn’t realize there was so much.”

Not entirely true, she thought, and let him take the wheel. There was more yet on Isaac McQueen, stored in her home office.

“First, I should tell you I declined a number of invitations for drinks, dinner—and/or a mag, drunken partython at the venue of your choice.”

The last would be Mavis, Eve deduced. “Sorry.”

“No need. You have a lot of people proud of you today, and who understand you’ve work to see to. Peabody’s parents plan to stay a day or two, and hope to see you again before they leave the city.”

“Yeah, that’d be good.” She drummed her fingers on her knee.