“And no sloppy stuff,” she put in. “I’m on duty.”
TWO
The huge cat, Galahad, was draped over the back of Eve’s sleep chair like a drunk over a bar at last call. Since he’d spent several hours the night before attacking boxes, fighting with ribbon, and murdering discarded wrapping paper, she left him where he was so he could sleep it off.
Eve set down her bag and went directly to the AutoChef for coffee. “The guy we’re after is David Palmer.”
“You’ve already identified the killer.”
“Oh, yeah, I know who I’m after. Me and Dave, we’re old pals.”
Roarke took the mug she brought him, watched her through the steam. “The name’s vaguely familiar to me.”
“You’d have heard it. It was all over the media three, three and a half years ago. I need all my case files on that investigation, all data on the trial. You can start by—” She broke off when he laid a hand on her arm.
“David Palmer—serial killer. Torture murders.” It was playing back for him, in bits and pieces. “Fairly young. What—mid-twenties?”
“Twenty-two at time of arrest. A real prodigy, our Dave. He considers himself a scientist, a visionary. His mission is to explore and record the human mind’s tolerance to extreme duress—pain, fear, starvation, dehydration, sensory deprivation. He could talk a good game, too.” She sipped her coffee. “He’d sit there in interview, his pretty face all lit with enthusiasm, and explain that once we knew the mind’s breaking point, we’d be able to enhance it, to strengthen it. He figured since I was a cop, I’d be particularly interested in his work. Cops are under a great deal of stress, often finding ourselves in life-and-death situations where the mind is easily distracted by fear or outside stimuli. The results of his work could be applied to members of the police and security forces, the military, even in business situations.”
“I didn’t realize he was yours.”
“Yeah, he was mine.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I was a little more low profile in those days.”
He might have smiled at that, knowing it was partially her connection to him that had changed that status. But he remembered too much of the Palmer case to find the humor. “I was under the impression that he was safely locked away.”
“Not safely enough. He slipped out. The victim this morning was dumped in a public area—another of Dave’s trademarks. He likes us to know he’s hard at work. The autopsy will have to verify, but the victim was tortured premortem. I’d guess Dave found himself a new hole to work in and had the judge there at least a day before killing him. Death by strangulation occurred on or around midnight. Merry Christmas, Judge Wainger,” she murmured.
“And that would be the judge who tried his case.”
“Yeah.” Absently, she put her mug down, reached into her bag for a copy of the sealed note she’d already sent to the lab. “He left a calling card—another signature. All these names are connected to his case and his sentencing. Part of his work this time around would be, at my guess, letting his intended victims stew about what he has in store for them. They’re being contacted and protected. He’ll have a tough time getting to any of them.”
“And you?” Roarke spoke with studied calm after a glance at the list, and his wife’s name. “Where’s your protection?”
“I’m a cop. I’m the one who does the protecting.”
“He’ll want you most, Eve.”
She turned. However controlled his voice was, she heard the anger under it. “Maybe, but not as much as I want him.”
“You stopped him,” Roarke continued. “Whatever was done after—the tests, the trial, the sentence—was all a result of your work. You’ll matter most.”
“Let’s leave those conclusions to the profiler.” Though she agreed with them. “I’m going to contact Mira as soon as I look through the case files again. You can access those for me while I start my prelim report. I’ll give you the codes for my office unit and the Palmer files.”
Now he lifted a brow, smiled smugly. “Please. I can’t work if you insult me.”
“Sorry.” She picked up her coffee again. “I don’t know why I pretend you need codes to access any damn thing.”
“Neither do I.”
He sat down to retrieve the data she wanted, moving smoothly through the task. It was pitifully simple for him, and his mind was left free to consider. To decide.
She’d said he wasn’t connected to this, and that she expected him to back away when Peabody was on duty again. But she was wrong. Her name on the list meant he was more involved than he’d ever been before. And no power on earth, not even that of the woman he loved, would cause him to back away.
Close by, Eve worked on the auxiliary unit, recording the stark facts into the report. She wanted the autopsy results, the crime scene team and sweeper data. But she had little hope that she would get anything from the spotty holiday staff before the end of the next day.
Struggling not to let her irritation with Christmas resurface, she answered her beeping ’link. “Dallas.”
“Lieutenant, Officer Miller here.”