“These are my rain, snow, sleet, cozy toes boots. My boyfriend gave them to me for Christmas.” She batted eyes at McNab. “The soles are Sure Grip, so they’ll handle the ice. You need that today. It’s a skating rink out there.”
“What kind of murder cop wears pink boots with glittery white fuzz?”
“She-body,” McNab said, batting eyes right back.
“Christ.”
No point in bitching, Eve reminded herself, especially since the fuzz-topped boots matched the damn pink coat.
Why had she let Roarke overrule her on the pink?
McNab wore the McNab tartan airboots Roarke had had made for him, so in some weird way, she’d contributed to the madness of both of their wardrobes.
“Rundown,” she began. “What I believe is the first communication from the UNSUB is on screen.”
Pink boots, shiny stars aside, both Peabody and McNab turned toward the screen with the eyes of cops.
By the time they’d finished their breakfast, drunk Eve’s coffee, she’d brought them up to date with her current theory, and sent McNab off to Roarke’s comp lab.
“Kid in a candy store. He’s always juiced about working in Roarke’s lab,” Peabody added. “They’ll find something if something’s there, Dallas.”
“She’s smart, and part of her planned this from the start. Why do you send an e-mail to someone if you don’t leave them a way to respond?”
“Here I am.” Peabody spread her hands. “That’s all. Just here I am, now you know I’m out here, that I’ve got your back. No credit necessary, not between friends.” Peabody lifted her shoulders. “That’s how I read it.”
“That’s a good read.”
“There’s more—to me. You don’t have sisters, so you maybe don’t pick up on the really, really subtle, passive-aggressive bullshit. It buzzed for me a few times, here and there. It’s this: Oh, you’re restrained by the rules, the system, so you can’t really finish things off. And how people disrespect you—it’s implied you take it. Maybe have to take it. Those rules again.”
“Where does she say that?”
“Implied,” Peabody repeated. “Like . . .” She scrolled through the e-mails until she found what she wanted.
I don’t know how you take the way some of these people get in your face, disrespect you so blatantly. I’d never be able to tolerate it.
“You can read that, why do you take that shit? You ought to stand up for yourself, and since you don’t, I guess I have to.”
“Read between the lines,” Eve noted.
“Yeah. She says that sort of thing in different ways. And then there’s how she keeps hammering how much you have in common—and how strong and brave and smart you are. How important you are.”
And reading between the lines, Eve nodded. “Because she wants to feel that way, wants that reflected back on her.” Eve thought of the dream, the blurry reflection, and understood she’d already gotten to that in some part of her brain. “If she’s a cop, she hasn’t climbed the ranks. If she’s periphery, she’s competent, likely considered a solid asset, but doesn’t draw a lot of attention.”
“Or accolades,” Peabody added. “She wants them, don’t you think? But she’s too afraid to push herself out there? Maybe?”
“I need to talk to Mira. Again.” She checked the time. “If she could come by here, or I could go by there before she goes into Central, I think we could add to the profile. Use the auxiliary, Peabody. Start going through the names the rest of the team sent in. For now, just the women.”
“If you’ve zeroed in, they won’t find her in your correspondence.”
“Maybe she slipped up. It would only take once.”
Eve sat down to contact Mira, annoyed when an incoming e-mail interrupted. She started to ignore, then checked the sender’s address in case it applied to the investigation.
dle#[email protected]
She clicked it open, hit copy, reached for the house ’link.
“I’ve got a fresh one, just came in, forwarding to you,” she told Roarke.