New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

She stepped outside, leaned against the wall a moment, just to breathe. She studied the door across the hall, but just couldn’t face going back in. Enough, she told herself. Just enough for now.

She took out her ’link, noted the goo dribbling down the cone. What the hell, she thought, and licked at it.

Roarke came on screen.

“I’m done here, and have a couple things to follow up on. Where—”

“You have ice cream?”

“Yeah, it was a gift.”

“I wouldn’t mind ice cream.”

“Anybody who does is just sad. I’m heading back to the car, so—”

“Why don’t I walk with you,” he said, coming out of a room on the right as she walked to the elevator. “And share your ice cream.”

“I think it’s Fudge Sludge.”

“An unfortunate name.” He leaned down, sampled. “But tasty. How’s the girl?”

“Wounded, fragile, and stronger than she thinks she is. Between her and Melinda I got matching brown leather shoes and belt—both with silver buckles, a leather knife sheath, monogrammed I.M., and a vid cam with tripod. He never used a cam before. None of the other vics mentioned being recorded.”

“A recording can be found, and would incriminate. From what I read in his file, he didn’t need that kind of thing. He doesn’t have to relive what he can simply live again.”

“Exactly. He had the girls. If he wanted a replay, he could just pick one. He didn’t document because he’s smart.”

“But he’s not attempting to hide what he’s doing this time. He’s already convicted. So he needs the vid to relive the moment, at least between victims?”

“I don’t think so. He made it for me. This thing’s dripping.”

Roarke took out a spotless white handkerchief, sacrificed it by wrapping it around the cone. And took payment in ice cream before handing it back. “For you?”

“He made her scream for me while he was raping her.”

“Christ. That’s it for my appetite.”

In agreement, she tossed the cone in a recycler. “I’m going to check the evidence list, but I didn’t see any cam or tripod on it. So he took it with him, which says he means to use it again.”

“Another girl?” At her hesitation, his jaw tightened. “No, you’re saying he means to use it with you, not for you. To record you, once he has you. Perhaps for me, perhaps just for himself.”

“It demonstrates he’s still confident. And she gave me another tidbit that confirms—in my mind—he’s still he

re.”

She opened the car door, slid inside.

“When his partner left the room for a snack and a hit, he talked about keeping Darlie. Not to her, she said, and I think she was right about that. This was thinking out loud, not indulging in his sick version of pillow talk. He talked about getting them a new mommy, and that reinforces the profile. The partners are Mommy, in his very, very sick version. He mentioned having Dallas at their feet. I can’t pin down whether he meant me or the city. Maybe both. But he did talk about going back to New York. Later.”

“You believe he already had his backup location set here.”

“I think he had it set for a long time. I’ve got to work it out in my head. I need to filter some of the excess out of my head and get to it.”

She pushed a hand through her hair. “Anyway.” She contacted Lieutenant Ricchio, relayed the data.

“I should go back to his place, get a better feel for it, for what he took, what he left. What he—”

“And how is adding yet more helping you sift through the extra crap in your head?”