Devoted in Death (In Death 41)

“Or it may be because it just seems right. We’ll work on missing persons, unsolved on the other routes, but I’m going to focus my own efforts on the second.”

She reached for her coffee on her desk, realized it wasn’t there. Even as she frowned Roarke handed her what was left of it.

“This is good,” she told him. “Gives us angles to work until we get the next body.”

He ruffled her hair. “That’s positive thinking.”

“It is. I’m positive there’s going to be a next body. What’s despicable is knowing another DB may give us more to work with.”

She studied the map again, shook her head. “So working back, that’s the best we can do. I’m going to put this together, send it out. Peabody can start doing some searches on the first route.”

“Why don’t I do the same on your least likely? If nothing else you may be able to cross it off.”

She looked at him. Even in casual clothes, he radiated command. He’d have plenty of his own to see to. “That’s a lot of boring cop work for one night.”

“Boring enough I can get some of my own somewhat less boring work done at the same time.”

“I owe you.”

“We’ll work out a payment schedule.”

“Yeah, like I don’t know that currency.”

He laughed, pulled her in for a kiss. “Which makes me the richest man in the world.”

“You already are – pretty much.”

“Not without you.” This time he kissed her forehead, tenderly. “Not any longer.”

He meant it, she thought as she returned to her desk. And she understood the sentiment. Once, the badge had been enough for her. All for her.

Not any longer.

With the first route in Peabody’s lap, another in Roarke’s, Eve buckled down on the second probability. She tapped into IRCCA, refined it region by region, splitting into three searches. Missing persons, unsolved homicides and, the last, incidents that combined the two.

It took time – it always did – so while she waited for the initial results, she went back to her board, chose a victim at random.

She sat, reviewed the case file, asking herself what she might have done differently, if anything, if there were any gaps she could fill, what pattern she could begin to create.

Escalation was a clear pattern – the increase in the violence and duration of the torture, the narrowing of the time between known kills.

Standard, she thought, for spree killer profile and pathology.

From first known to last known, she noted, the time frame went from eighteen hours from last seen to TOD to forty-nine hours. The gap between first known vic TOD and second’s last seen ran ten days. The gap between the victim in New Jersey and Kuper ran four days.

No more traveling, if she read them right. Settled in now. No more small towns, no more back roads. Big city time.

She shifted, looked out the window at the dark.

They’d have another one now, or soon. Before morning if the pattern continued. And that gave her two days to find them, and save a life.

Her eyes rounded with shock when the results began to come in. Too many missing persons who remained missing, she decided, and too many unsolved.

She focused in on the third search, and its lesser number.

“I may have a couple possibilities,” Roarke said as he came in. Then lifted his eyebrows as he saw the fierce look on her face as she worked. “And I’d say you have their scent.”

“Southeastern Missouri. That little wedge that squeezes between Arkansas and Tennessee.”