Vendetta in Death (In Death 49)

So he had a type.

Rising, she started to program coffee, then changed to water, cold.

She opened her door again, as it would take hours to review the discs.

Checking the memo book she found three Jessicas, a Jessie, and a Jess.

She brought up PP’s files, ran a search on Broadmoore and Jessica.

It turned out Broadmoore, a company specializing in high-end kitchen and bathroom designs and furnishings, with its headquarters on the Upper East Side, had hired Jessica Alden the previous fall, through PP, as a marketing executive.

She was finishing an initial run on Alden when Peabody came back. “Printz is coming in.”

“Good. He has a type. He likes redheads.”

“Quirk’s a brunette.”

“She wasn’t in her ID shot from a year ago. Red. I’ve got a Jessica Alden, redhead, on disc. He takes his time, makes sure they get plenty of camera time. He likes them to beg, and when he’s done, he basically kicks them out. He gave her two doses, as far as I could tell, once he had her in the bedroom, just to keep her going. Bring her in.”

“All right. Listen … I can book a conference room, take some of the discs for review.”

“Do that. Note the name if he uses one, any company or business he might mention, cross-check it to nail it down. Otherwise we’ll use face recognition. Zip through,” Eve added. “There’s no point in watching what he does unless it shifts pattern. We don’t need evidence against him—he’s dead. We just need to ID his victims. Get started.”

She gestured to the box. “He’s got multiples on each disc. We’ll break off when Printz gets here. Then Alden. If this holds, we’re going to be talking to a lot of rape victims as murder suspects, so get ready for that.”

She’d go through a couple more, Eve decided, closed the door again, went back to coffee. Zipping through as she’d advised Peabody, she identified two more, had one marked for facial recognition.

She shut it down at the knock on her door.

Detective Trueheart, fresh of face, stood outside. “Sorry, Lieutenant, but an Oliver Printz is here to see you.”

“Good. Can you put him in an interview room, let Peabody know? I need another minute.”

“Sure. Ah, should I close the door?”

“No, that’s all right.”

She replaced the discs, tagged the one she’d completed, resealed the box, initialed it. Then she put together a file before walking out to the bullpen.

“He’s in Interview B, Lieutenant. Peabody’s on her way.”

“Thanks, Detective.”

Eve detoured to the bathroom, let herself breathe while she splashed cool water on her face. Then stood another moment until the faint nausea faded off.

She met Peabody outside the Interview door. “He’s not a suspect,” Eve began, “but may be complicit in McEnroy’s ugly hobby. If so, we’re going to nail him for it. But what we get out of him, absolutely, is where he took McEnroy last night.”

“Can I go hard? Watching that disc …”

“Take the lead.”

“Really?”

“Jesus, Peabody, it’s an interview, not an ice-cream cone for being a good girl. Take the fricking lead.” She shoved the file at her partner, opened the door.

“Mr. Printz.” Peabody started off with a sober nod. “Thank you for coming in so quickly.”

“Don’t know what it’s about. Can’t remember seeing anything like a crime.”