“So, maybe they’re using the John Doe’s. Sorry about the maybe. We pursue the possibility they killed and disposed of John Doe to get his place.”
Sensing Peabody’s distress, Roarke crossed over, kissed her cheek.
“I screwed up,” she said.
“Did I say you screwed up?” Eve snapped it out this time. “You’ll know when you’ve screwed up because my boot will be up your ass. This DB hasn’t been reported missing. I’ve combed the missings, and nobody in his age range and race has been reported in the last week. You didn’t have Morris. Porter’s decent, but he’s no Morris, who’d have considered this possible connection and pushed on it. We have no previous instances of disfiguration or mutilation of this sort. You’re working the case, and briefed your partner and LT at the first opportunity.
“Is my boot up your ass?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then you didn’t screw up. Get breakfast. For everybody. We don’t have time for moping around. Move.”
“What do you want me to get – for breakfast?”
“Do I look like I give a skinny rat’s ass?”
“You really don’t.”
Moving fast now, Peabody went to the kitchen.
Eve narrowed her eyes at Roarke. “And don’t even think about giving me grief over that.”
“On the contrary.” He moved to her, tapped the dent in her chin. “I was about to say well done. You gave her just what she needed. Now, why don’t you tell me what this John Doe has to do with these murders?”
“Could be nothing, could be everything.” She reeled it off while she went to her desk, checked missing persons again for anyone in the range of John Doe.
“Pier 40 – it would coordinate with your map, or close enough.”
“That’s right. So, possible scenario: John Doe meets Parsens and/or James, or they scope him out while they’re hunting for a nest. John Doe likely lives alone, or he’d have been reported. That’s playing the odds, but they’re good ones. They take him down, in or near his residence. I vote for in. They have some fun with him, then do what they can to make IDing him difficult, they stuff him in a bag, add bricks. Steal those from an abandoned or a construction site, haul in the van, add bricks to the bag. Dump the body in the river, then make a nest in John Doe’s place.”
“Once you ID John Doe —”
“We check out his place. What Morris finds helps determine how we check it out. Could be no more than Doe’s serious bad luck, or it could be the piece we need to take these fuckers down.”
“You think the latter.”
She had the buzz, right down to her fingertips.
“Feels right.” She paced around her board, then strode to Peabody’s station, began a full review. “Feels really right. Do me a favor?”
“Of what sort?”
“Of that sort that gets McNab and Banner out of bed. When Morris gets back to me, we’re going to be ready.”
21
Eve stuffed waffles in her mouth – good choice, Peabody – while she briefed a rumpled-looking McNab and Banner. Less than thirty minutes after Peabody filled her in on John Doe, she had an outline of an op working through her mind.
Maybe John Doe had lived with his wife and three kids in an uptown penthouse apartment, and nobody noticed he’d been gone for a week.
But if her hunch hit, she’d be ready.
“McNab, contact Feeney. I want eyes, ears, heat sensors ready to roll when we get an address. Peabody, you’re on Carmichael and Santiago. They deserve to be in on this if it plays out the way we hope. I want them in body armor under soft clothes. We’ll place them once we have a location.”
She carted her plate, polishing off the waffle as she paced around her board, studied the map on screen.
“Banner, work me some probabilities on location. Factor the van, the John Doe, and the sector I’ve narrowed it to. No one’s approached the van since we found it, so they haven’t needed it. They didn’t hit any of the takeout places last night. Maybe they risked delivery due to weather, or maybe they had enough in stock, but they’ll go out soon.”