Since auto didn’t allow her to exceed speed limits or outrun reds, she switched back, hit the sirens. “I don’t want audio,” she said to Roarke. “I don’t need to hear it all. Just give me the salient.”
“Single, mixed-race male. No spouse, no legal cohabitation partner. No offspring on record. No criminal on record.”
“He’s got something. Juvenile, I’ll bet your ass. And sealed. We’ll worry about that later.”
“Residence listed as Classon Avenue, Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn?” She shook her head as she screamed through traffic. “No, that’s not right. Can’t be.”
“That’s what’s here. Resided that address eight years. Owner, operator, Comptrain, Inc.—same address. Want the details on that?”
“Yeah.” But he didn’t live in Brooklyn. Not now.
“Ah, small data-analysis company. There’s your hacking skills, Lieutenant. He’d do most of the work right out of his home for this. Tech support and the like.”
“Cross with the customer and member lists.”
“Moment. You’ve got him as a member, ten years standing, at Jim’s Gym downtown.”
“And he didn’t pop because of the Brooklyn addy. We’d’ve gotten to him, but he wasn’t in the first layer. He’s not coming to the city from Brooklyn to stalk and kill. I don’t buy it. And they’ve got gyms in Brooklyn, for Christ’s sake.”
She flew into the garage, cut speed seconds before she arrowed into her slot. Roarke, made of sterner stuff than Peabody, never flinched. He was out of the car with her, moving double-time to the elevator.
“A second residence in the city then. One he hasn’t listed, or rents, has bought under another name.”
She jumped off the elevator on the first floor and dashed to a glide, hot-footing it up, elbowing passengers aside on the way.
Ignoring protests, she hopped off, jumped on another. “I’m going to put this op together, fast. Two tactical teams. One to Brooklyn.”
“And the other?”
“I’ve got an idea on that.”
She streamed up the glide at a run, pivoted, and rushed through her bull pen without acknowledging any of the calls or questions.
“Full data up,” she snapped at Feeney.
“Up. What’s with the shades.”
“Hell.” She yanked them off, tossed them on the desk. “Mother. Ineza Blue, age fifty-three. Address listed on Fulton. Bingo, you rat bastard.”
“Ineza Blue,” Roarke said, working rapidly on his PPC. “Retired licensed companion. One child, son.”
“You get me the mother’s image from, say twenty years ago, I bet you get me a white woman with long, light brown hair.” She slapped Feeney on the back.
“Lieutenant?” Roarke held out his palm unit. “She’s a hit on your customer list for Total Crafts.”
“Get me details on her purchases, last six months. Look for the cord.”
She snapped back to Feeney. “Let’s get started,” she said and turned to her ’link to contact the commander.
Fifteen minutes later, she was in a conference room briefing her tactical teams. “Team One takes the target in Brooklyn. Briscoll goes in as delivery to ascertain if the subject is on the premises. Target is to be surrounded at all points. We’re also looking for a black van, now identified as registered to subject’s mother. Last year’s model, Sidewinder. If said van is spotted, lock it down. Baxter, you’re heading this team.
“Team Two will deploy to the Fulton Street residence. The same procedure applies, with Ute taking the delivery position. I head this team. In both locations, we go in fast and we go in hard. Warrants are coming through. If the subject isn’t located, we wait for him. I don’t want this asshole making a cop. He makes any of you, I fry you. We take him down, and we take him today. If there are any screwups on this one, any screwups in procedure, in chain of evidence, if somebody fucking sneezes at the wrong time, I will personally put their neck in a wringer and hit go. Questions?”
“Just one.” This from Baxter. “The subject is a large individual with considerable muscle. It may take some extreme measures to restrain him. Just want to make sure everyone on my team is prepared to take these measures, whatever they may entail.”
Eve angled her head. “I want him conscious for Interview. Other than that . . .” She let it hang. “Don’t let those measures get out of hand. Move out. Feeney, round up Team Two.”