“Habitually the subject exited the building on Forty-sixth and walked west to Broadway, then north to the Forty-ninth Street subway. We’ll canvass for witnesses in that area. Transit Authority security discs do not show the subject entering that station on Thursday evening, nor has her Metro pass been used since Thursday morning. Witnesses do verify the subject left the building at approximately seventeen-thirty on the night in question. She was wearing a black coat, black sweatpants, a gray sweatshirt with the BodyWorks logo, and a gray watch cap.”
He stepped back, looked at Eve. “Lieutenant.”
“The subject fits the established pattern. Probability runs exceed ninety-six percent that she was taken and is being held by the unsub. Her disappearance and other information gathered today add another element to the pattern. Both York and Rossi were employed by an arm of Roarke Enterprises. Given the breadth of that organization, that factor alone scores low on the probability scale for a connect. However, the soap and shampoo identified by brand by the lab has been determined to be manufactured and sold through subsidiaries of that organization, as was the sheet used with York.”
Roarke felt the eyes on him, and the speculation. Accepted them.
“The probability is high,” Eve continued, “that there’s a connection on some level between the unsub and Roarke Enterprises. To this point, no connection, no central point has ever been determined. Now we have one, and we’re going to use it. The hair and body products are extreme high-end and have limited outlets. He bought them somewhere. McNab, find out where.”
“On it.”
“Callendar, take the sheet, cross-reference purchases with McNab’s data. Roarke.”
“Lieutenant.”
“Employee lists. Find and pull out individuals who fit the pattern and work or live in the city. He takes them from the city. He will, in all likelihood, move on number three within a matter of days. We need names.”
“You’ll have them.”
“Jenkinson, I want a full and detailed report from you and Powell by nineteen hundred. Baxter, the same from you and Trueheart. I’ll be available twenty-four/seven, and expect to be notified immediately should any new data come to light. We’ll brief again at oh-eight-hundred. That’s it.”
She pulled off her headset. “Peabody.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Log and copy, then go home and get some sleep. Feeney, can you look over the e-work to date, send me a basic rundown?”
“Can and will,” Feeney confirmed.
“Roarke, go ahead and log and copy what you’ve got so far, then shoot additionals to my unit here and at home. When you’re done, I need you in my office.”
Eve walked out, contacting Mira’s office on the way. “Put me through to her,” she ordered Mira’s overprotective admin. “Don’t give me any crap.”
“Right away.”
“Eve.” Mira’s face swam on, and instantly her eyes registered concern. “You look exhausted.”
“Second wind blew out, I’m waiting for the third to blow in. I need a sit-down with you.”
“Yes, I know. I’ll clear any time that works for you.”
“I want to say now, but I need that wind before I start digging through the psychology of this. And there’s more data that needs to be factored in from your end. Peabody’s sending you a copy of the update right about now.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
“After the eight-o’clock briefing.”
“I’ll come to you. Get some sleep, Eve.”
“I’m going to factor that in, somewhere.”
She went into her office, programmed more coffee, and considered popping one of the departmentally approved energy pills. But they always made her jittery.
She drank, standing at her narrow office window, looking out at her slice of the city. Commuter trams were crisscrossing the sky, lights beaming against the growing dark.
Time to go home, time to have dinner and kick back, watch a little screen.
Below, the street was thick with traffic, with people thinking just the same as those who chugged along above their heads.