Creation in Death (In Death 25) - Page 27
“Right. Move on it, Feeney.” She clicked off. “Goddamn media.”
“You have to tell him, Dallas. You’ve got to tell Roarke about this.”
“I know, I know. I’ve got to get through this media crap first, and think. I have to think. Roarke will deal. He’ll have to deal with it.”
She’d think about that part later. At the moment, she could only think that it might be too late for Gia Rossi. She could only wonder what might have been done to her already.
He cleansed her to Falstaff. It always put him in a happy mood—this music, this little chore. His partner needed to be absolutely clean before the work began. He particularly enjoyed washing her hair—all that lovely brown hair.
He enjoyed the scents, of course—that hint of citrus, the feminine fragrance mixed with the smell of her fear.
She wept as he washed her, blubbered a bit, which concerned him just a little. He preferred the screams, the curses, the prayers, the pleas, to incoherent weeping.
But it was early days yet, he thought.
The water he hosed her off with was icy, which turned the weeping to harsh gasps and small shrieks. That was better.
“Well now, that was refreshing, wasn’t it? Bracing. You have excellent muscle tone, I must say. A strong, healthy body makes such a difference.”
She was shivering now, violently, her teeth chattering, her lips pale blue. It might be interesting, he decided, to follow up the cold with heat.
“Please,” she choked out when he turned away to study his tools. “What do you want? What do you want?”
“Everything you can give me,” he replied. He chose his smallest torch, flicked on the flame, then narrowed it to the point of a pin.
When he turned, when her eyes wheeled toward that flame, she rewarded him with those wild, wild screams.
“Let’s get started, shall we?”
He moved to the base of the table, smiled in delight at the high, elegant arch of her feet.
5
SHE HATED MEDIA CONFERENCES, BUT NEARLY always hated the media liaison more. It was suggested, by same, that Eve might prep for fifteen minutes with the media coach, and make use of the provided enhancements in order to present a more pleasant image on screen.
“Murder isn’t pleasant,” Eve snapped back as she strode toward the main doors of Cop Central.
“No, of course not.” The liaison jogged to keep up. “But we’re going to avoid words like murder. The prepared statement—”
“Isn’t going to be tasty when I stuff it down your throat. I’m not your mouthpiece, and this isn’t a political spin.”
“No, but there are ways to be informative and tactful.”
“Tact’s just bullshit with spit polish over it.”
Eve pushed through the doors. Tibble had opted for the steps of Central not only to show the sturdy symbol of the building, but, Eve guessed, to insure the briefing would remain short.
The March wind wasn’t being tactful.
She stepped up to the podium, and waited for the noise level to drop off. She picked Nadine out immediately. The bright red coat stood out like a beacon.
“I have a statement, then I’ll take a few brief questions. The body of a twenty-eight-year-old woman identified as Sarifina York was found early this morning in East River Park. It has been determined that Ms. York was most likely abducted last Monday evening, held against her will for several days. The method in which she was murdered and the evidence gathered so far indicates Ms. York was killed by the same individual who took the lives of four women in a fifteen-day period in this city, nine years ago.”
That caused an eruption, and she ignored it. She stood still and silent while questions and demands were hurled out. Stood still and silent until they ceased.
“The NYPSD has authorized and formed a task force. Its soul purpose will be to investigate this crime, and to apprehend and incarcerate the perpetrator. We will use every resource, every man-hour, and all the experience at our disposal to do so. Questions.”
They flew like missiles. But the fact that there were so many allowed her to cherry pick.
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