Echoes in Death (In Death 44)

“I’ve advised anyone who isn’t essential to work from home, arranged for some to house on-site tonight. If you need to go into Central or into the field, take one of the all-terrains. Your vehicle can likely handle this, but you’ll be better off in an A-T.”

“Yeah. I might end up doing some of the interviews from here by ’link, possibly holo. I want a face-to-face with the bartender, so I may push for that, and I want another with Daphne. The more she sees me, I think, the more she’ll open up. Anyway, I’ll need to get into Central at some point. I’m the boss.”

“That you are.”

“You, too. You’ll take an A-T?”

“I will.”

“How many do we have?”

“More than enough,” he said, and smiled. “How many couples have you noted out of your portion of the list?”

“Six that meet all. That’s out of nearly two hundred and fifty people. A couple more that skim the margins. How about you?”

“Nine, that’s out of about three hundred. So we’ve made some progress.”

She told herself it didn’t matter he’d cleared through more than she had. It wasn’t a competition. Exactly. “So that’s fifteen, plus two marginal. Even if we triple that before we’re finished, it’s a workable number.”

“And how will you work it?”

“Talk to all of them. Cross-check any who use the caterer, have used the hospital, the rental company. Even any who socialize with any of the other vics. Look for a connection, put them on alert. Maybe one of them has had an incident—something. A thwarted break-in, an altercation, or the female will have had an encounter with someone who made her uncomfortable. I think the Patricks were the first, but that doesn’t mean this guy hasn’t practiced. Maybe he did the Peeping Tom deal, or broke into a house or two, stole a cocktail dress. Maybe he just got pushy with a female. Something.”

She shrugged. “It’s fishing.”

“You tend to catch what you fish for. One of my nine is a same-sex couple.”

“One of mine, too. I might have dismissed that.”

“I doubt it, once you dug in.” Lifting his wine, Roarke studied her over the rim. “You realize we fit his pattern, you and I.”

Eve shook her head. “I’m not his type. He goes for the killer looks, leaning or nailing glam.”

When Roarke raised his eyebrows, she shook her head again, ate more pasta. “You’ve got a blind spot.”

“I’d say the blind spot is yours. In any case, he’d never—however skilled—get through the security.”

“Jamie Lingstrom did once,” Eve reminded him. “A teenage kid.”

“A remarkably talented kid,” Roarke added, thinking of Feeney’s godchild. “And he didn’t get through, as the alarms alerted us, and we dragged his talented young ass inside. Plus I’ve added to security since—and asked Jamie to try to circumvent it.”

“I didn’t know you had him try another break-in.”

“Because it failed. Twice. He’s determined to conquer it. If and when he does, I’ll use that to add more layers.” Reading her face, he sat back with his wine. “I didn’t mention us and the pattern to give you ideas about being bait. It wouldn’t work for one thing. He’d be stupid to try for a cop, especially you. Or to try to get into this house. I expect he’s too careful for that sort of challenge.”

“He’s too much of a coward,” Eve corrected. “But a trap … not us, not here. If he considered trying for us, he’d want weeks of planning—and he’d want Summerset out. When does Summerset go on his winter vacation deal?”

“I thought it was marked with glittering stars and dancing fairies on your calendar. Soon.”

“Just wouldn’t work. But if I can refine the list, try to suss out who he might be targeting, I might be able to talk a couple into letting us bait the hook. Gonna think about that.”

“Let’s think about that later, top off our wine, and drink it on the sofa there, watching the snow fall. That’s a fine way to round out the dinner break.”

“Can’t argue with it.”

She settled down with him, actually put her feet on the table in front of them.

“I believe you’re relaxing, Lieutenant.”