“Three taken out,” she murmured, still watching the screen. “Organized, skilled, had to plan this out in advance. So three was the goal. No more, no less.”
She stopped the screen, went back to her desk to read the background on the victims yet again.
When Roarke sent her the list of collectors—in New York, all boroughs, and in New Jersey—with registered weapons that could have been used, she started backgrounds on all twenty-eight of them, searched for connections to the three victims, or the rink itself.
With more coffee, she got halfway through the list before Roarke came out.
“A collector’s license for a laser rifle—any make, model, or year—is twenty-five large.”
“I’m aware.”
“Most of the licenses I’ve been through are to rich dudes. A couple so far grandfathered from a relative. The screening’s pretty thorough, but that doesn’t mean your average violent offender doesn’t slip through.”
“A problem in all areas of life.” Bypassing the coffee, Roarke opted for two fingers of whiskey. “I’ve got your buildings.”
“Already?”
“The longest part of the process was designing a program that met the criteria. After that?” He shrugged, sipped.
“You designed a program?” About half the time, she thought, she could barely operate a program without getting pissed off.
“I did. An interesting experiment.”
“E-geeks are handy. You have the list of potential buildings?”
“I am, and I do. But I thought you’d like a visual. When your office is redone, we’ll be able to do this via hologram, but for now . . .” He set down his whiskey and gestured for her to stand, took her place, tapped some keys.
A slice of Manhattan flashed on screen.
“These are the boundaries you gave me, from the crime scene back to the river, with the north and south streets. And here . . .” He tapped another set of keys, and buildings began to fade away.
“Okay, okay, I get it. High-security buildings eliminated. Excellent.”
“And buildings under four stories.”
“Right. So these building remaining are potential nests. I need—”
“There’s more.” Because he was quick, and she was focused on the screen, he had her pulled into his lap before she could object.
“Working, ace.”
“So am I. What you see are buildings with a reasonably clear sight line to the targets. But—” Keeping an arm around her waist, he keyed in some more. Several other buildings faded off. “I eliminated those with mid- to high-level security. You might need to factor those in at some point, as there are always ways around security, but for now, those remaining are zero to low-level. Apartment
s, mid-range hotels, SROs, and flops, your occasional studio for dance or art classes or what have you, a couple of office spaces.”
“With low-level available, why risk high? But yeah, better to have them on tap if nothing else pans out. If I could—”
“Still more.”
With another tap, thin blue and red lines flashed on.
“The blue is your possible—windows or rooftop of these buildings. Red is high probability, again factoring in your theory with Lowenbaum, from the east, low-security building.”
She started to rise to her feet to get a closer look, but got pulled back down. And considering all, relaxed into it.
“The program contains an algorithm, utilizes your crime scene footage, with calculations built in for the wind speed, temperature, probable velocity and angle, and . . . more math and calculations than you want to hear about.”
“You built a program that factors the variables with the known, and gives visual probabilities.”