“She kept collecting data there, but it doesn’t amount to anything that he doesn’t want anybody to know. She couldn’t dig down. So he gets the low rank. And it’s my take she collected the data more for her public work than her private. When I look at the ones she exploited—though we’ve got a lot more to talk to now—they follow a pattern.”
Mira nodded. “A secret that usually embarrasses another, and the financial power to pay easily.”
“Yeah, it’s a fertile field. Or the ones she hit for favors instead of cash? Easily intimidated, those afraid to do otherwise. Not the sort who’d kill. Everybody’s capable under the right circumstances, but she picked types who’d cave and cooperate. She read people and well.”
“She might have had a touch of the sensitive.”
As she’d thought the same, Eve gave a shrug of agreement. “So where did she make the mistake in her read? Who did she pick who could and would kill? Or is it not a mark? Someone connected to one somehow. Someone who made it his business to eliminate her.”
She pushed up again, restless. “Not one of them goes to the cops. Not one. Even Roarke. He didn’t tell me she’d tried to put the arm on him.”
“Do you tell him every time a suspect threatens you?”
Hissing out a breath, Eve jammed her hands in her pockets. “I say that’s different because it is. And I’m saying if somebody she successfully put the arm on had gone to the authorities, she’d be alive. Probably, hopefully, doing some time, but alive.”
She paced the confines of Mira’s office. “It’s none of the marks I’ve talked to. Somebody connected maybe. I’ve got dozens more to look at now, but if the pattern holds…”
She turned back to Mira. “Looking at the pattern, what’s your take?”
“Anyone under pressure may snap. Someone being victimized can strike back, end the victimization.”
“When you snap, you punch somebody in the face.” Frustrated, Eve jabbed the air. “Throw them out a window. Grab a heavy object and whale away. This was planned out, and carefully. But I get it. You can snap, then start planning. He had to stalk her, at least enough to get her routine. Any of the marks she shook down at that bar would know she used it, know how the place is set up. But they wouldn’t know she’d be there at that particular time unless he’d clocked her habits and routines.”
So Eve circled back.
“He’d been in the bar enough to have cased it, scoped out the security. What if she hadn’t gone down to the restroom? Could have taken her outside,” Eve continued, talking as much to herself as Mira now. “Maybe that was the preferred plan. Take her right on the street. Just a quick swipe, and keep walking.”
Once again, she sat. “The bathroom was of the moment. That makes more sense. She goes down, he thinks: I can do it now. He’s been sitting there, sitting there, it’s building up—or maybe it’s ebbing. He’s starting to lose his nerve. Then she goes downstairs, and he straps on his balls and goes after her.”
“The killer had the control to plan. It wasn’t impulse,” Mira said. “While it’s certainly possible the killer and his victim just happened to be in the same place at the same time, he had a weapon. Morris’s opinion is scalpel. While a medical might have a scalpel in a medical bag or kit, your witnesses never mention one. And the security feed doesn’t show the person you’ve identified with one. So he armed himself for this purpose.
“I’d say he has medical knowledge, as the strike was accurate, and lethal. However,” Mira qualified, “it takes only a little research to learn about this kind of injury, and a bit of practice to successfully inflict that injury. If he didn’t have previous medical knowledge or training, he also has the intellect and control to research and practice.”
“She wasn’t afraid of him. He walked into a private area, one where a man isn’t supposed to walk. But she wasn’t afraid. She doesn’t try to get her defenses out of her bag—right there where she’d been primping. She knew him, which leans back toward a mark or a connection she knew. She had an ex-lover, but he just doesn’t ring. I should take a closer look there anyway, another look.”
“She was confident,” Mira put in. “Used to having the upper hand. She needed to have it. When she came up against someone like Roarke, or you, Nadine, she backed off. She couldn’t gain the upper hand so she retreated. It’s likely she believed she had that upper hand with her killer.”
“Agreed. So maybe he’s in her books, or it’s someone at Seventy-Five, or in the business. Another lover maybe, or someone she kept on the back burner. She made a mistake with him, underestimated him. Not the snap. I can’t buy the snap and blow.”
“Let’s use your back burner then. A slow simmer can hit boil.”
“That’s a cooking thing, but I get it.” And, as she liked it, Eve nodded. “You think you’ve got it on just enough heat, right, but maybe it gets turned up while you’re not paying attention. The planning time, the research, the practicing. That adds more heat. He walks in. She thinks: I’ve got this. Maybe she tosses out an insult or a come-on, depending where he fits. And that’s the snap, the blow, the boil. But he’s still smart enough to walk right out, to walk right the hell past me and out the damn door.”
“I wondered how much that troubled you.”
“Pisses me off.” Eve expected it always would. “I don’t see him. I can describe at least a dozen people in that bar from before it happened, and every single one of them left in there once I secured the scene. But I don’t see him.”
“You will. Despite the lack of respect you feel, justifiably, for the victim, you’ll look until you see him. If he blended in the bar—”
“See, that’s it.” Eve pointed a finger. “He did blend. Stood out just enough because he kept the outdoor gear on, but the servers just didn’t really look at him. He was not important. Not a celebrity.”
She circled the office again as that planted in her mind. “A well-known figure doesn’t risk that kind of public display. Sitting there like that in a bar where somebody might look, might see. Just like the wits he merged with when they left. One of them looked enough to see a little, but didn’t get a buzz. Not a famous face. I’m bumping the famous faces down,” she decided on the spot. “Connected to, possible. One of the ones, the unimportant types, she intimidated. That’s possible. A bad read on her part, but possible. You can’t hit every time, right? Somebody connected to, or a wrong read that simmered and boiled. Snap. That’s the direction.”
She focused on Mira again. “Sorry. I said I wouldn’t keep you long, and I’ve gone overtime. I’m just thinking out loud now.”
“The process is very interesting. I’m finding myself seeing exactly what you’re thinking and why. Just as I find myself agreeing with that direction. We may both be wrong, but it fits. He’s old enough to control impulse, educated enough to have that medical knowledge or to have the skills and intelligence to gain it. Patient enough to learn her routine. And yes, very likely, able to easily blend into a crowd at an upscale, trendy bar. I’ll add, as he had or acquired this medical knowledge, he could have acquired the same to have killed her more quickly.”
“She bled to death. She bled people. I’d say he appreciated the symbolism.”