Creation in Death (In Death 25) - Page 29
“No.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes a moment, then dropped them. “No, I don’t believe so. Were there any of these connects, any of these overlaps in the previous investigation to me or mine?”
“No, not that I know of, and I started a check on the way back. He changed the products with this one. If you’re part of the reason, we need to figure out why. A competitor maybe, a former employee. We need to work that angle.”
“When did he take the second one?”
“She was reported missing yesterday. I don’t have the details yet—Feeney’s on it. I’ve got to go pull another chain now, but we’re going to dig into this. I know this is a kick in the ass, but it’s also a mistake. His mistake. There was nothing connecting the victims in any of the other cases. Now there is.”
“Yes. Now there is.”
“I’m sorry, I have to go do this.”
“Go on. I’ll stick with this for now.”
She didn’t kiss him, though part of her wanted to, just to give comfort. Inst
ead she laid her hand over his, squeezed gently. Then left him.
She started back toward her office and crossed paths with Baxter. “Got nothing,” he told her. “Reinterviewed the sister, went to the club, talked to the vic’s neighbors. Big zero.”
“Ex?”
“Out of town for the weekend. Neighbor said he went snowboarding out in Colorado.”
“Why would anybody deliberately jump and flop around in the snow, on a mountain?” she wondered.
“Beats me. I like summer sports, where the women are very, very scantily clad. Snow and ice? No skin.”
“You’re such a pig, Baxter.”
“And proud of it. Do you want me to run down the ex? The neighbor thought he knew where the guy was staying. He’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“We’ll hit him once he gets back. Check with Jenkinson. See how far he and Powell have gotten going down the list of people interviewed in the other cases. You and Trueheart can help them run through it. Media’s out with this now, which means by tomorrow we’ll be buried in looney leads. We’ll have to follow up on them, so let’s clear this first plate today.”
Nadine was waiting, sitting in the visitor’s chair, legs crossed, examining her nails as she talked on her headset.
“You have to reschedule or cancel,” she said. “No. No. We agreed in writing when I took this that if and when I had something hot, something I felt it was necessary to pursue personally, it would take precedence over everything else. That was the deal.”
She looked over at Eve, rolled her clever green eyes. “That’s what assistants are for, and assistants to assistants. And as far as the piece, the reporter can reschedule. I know. I’m a goddamn reporter.”
She yanked off the headset.
“Heavy is the price of fame,” Eve said.
“Tell me, but I wear it so very well. Can I have coffee?”
Obligingly, Eve moved to the AutoChef. Her own system kept begging to sag. Coffee would put it back on alert. Nadine sat, saying nothing.
She did wear fame well, Eve supposed. The streaky and stylish hair, the sharp features, the camera-ready suit. But Eve knew: Though Nadine might have her own show, though Now’s ratings were reputedly higher than a souped-up chemi-head, the woman was exactly what she’d claimed—a goddamn reporter.
“Who were you talking to during the briefing?”
“Who do you think?” Nadine countered.
Eve turned, offered the coffee. “Your research people to give you the pertinent details of the case from nine years ago.”
Nadine smiled, sipped. “Look who’s wearing her thinking cap today.”
“Some of the details on that investigation leaked.”
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