At her desk, perfectly presented in an ice-blue suit, the department’s top profiler and headshrinker raised a finger in a one-minute signal as she finished a conversation on her ’link.
“She just walked in. Yes, I’ll tell her, and yes, it is very interesting. Thanks, Dennis. I’ll see you at home.”
Mira clicked off, brushed an absent hand at her mink-brown wave of hair. “Sorry, have a seat. Dennis thinks he might have some information relevant to your case.”
Eve thought of the dreamy-eyed, absentminded Mr. Mira, a man she had a helpless, harmless crush on. And made the connection.
“He reads Blaine DeLano.”
Mira sat back, eyebrows arching over soft blue eyes. “Wind. Sails.” She flicked her fingers in the air. “Poof. I’m not about to tell you anything you don’t know.”
“She came in. Nadine brought her in. I just finished interviewing her.”
With a nod, Mira rose, walked on ice-blue heels to her office AutoChef. Eve accepted she was in for a dainty cup of flowery tea. “And with the number of mirrored elements, you believe the killer used DeLano’s book as a template.”
“I do. And not for the first time.”
Mira paused in her programming, glanced back. “There are more?”
“One we know of, for now. The book in the same series just prior to this one. The Dark series. You’re not familiar?”
“I’ve read several of the Hightower books, but I haven’t started the other series. I keep meaning to. Dennis devours both, and when he
heard the report, he thought of the book.”
She gestured Eve to one of her pretty scoop chairs, brought over the dainty cups, sat. Crossed her excellent legs while she balanced her own cup with a careless grace that continually baffled Eve.
“He actually pulled the book up on his reader, checked the scene, and made notes on the repeated elements. Before we discuss that: What other murder, other book?”
“Jenkinson and Reineke caught one last month. A new-to-the-life street-level LC: strangled, no sexual activity, left in a time-flop. The killer used a white sash, tied a fancy bow on the left side of the throat.”
“I’m not familiar with the case.”
“They didn’t come to you. They did consult with …” She flipped back through the file in her mind. “Strighter. But with the—for now, anyway—one-shot, no wits, no history, the profile was pretty loose. No like crimes that hit the main notes. The book’s the one DeLano used to—what’s it—spin off the Dark character into another series.”
“Wait, wait.” Mira closed her eyes a moment. “I read that. Years ago, but it’s coming back. It was a serial case, and the Detective Dark character knew this particular victim.”
“In both the book and the case, the vic was tranq’d. An over-the-counter sedative mixed in Chianti. No signs of struggle or other injuries. No clerk on the desk, no security. Both vics are in the same age range, same race, both were new to the life.”
“So repeated elements again,” Mira observed. “In the book, if I’m remembering correctly, it was a female killer, and the victims represented the LCs she learned her husband engaged.”
“Your memory’s on target. I don’t think that’s what we’re dealing with in reality.”
Thinking it through, Mira lifted her tea. “No, given this second killing, it would be the books, the author, as motive.”
“DeLano was up front in the interview.”
Though she’d send Mira a copy of her refined notes, she relayed the salient points now. Mira nodded, sipped her tea.
“You’ll have to look at the ex-husband, of course, but my conclusion, with what you now have, is these killings are too tied to her work, too indirect a strike at her. And too intellectual. You’ve described a spousal abuser who relies heavily on manipulation and intimidation, and only broke into violent rage when crossed, when he felt his authority and status threatened. His wife—whom he’d view as his property—challenged his authority, moreover, usurped that authority and status by reaching a level of success—writing and selling a book—completely on her own terms.
“The killer is detail oriented,” Mira continued, “very controlled. The killing is an act, a reproduction of something he—or she—envies. Or admires. Perhaps both.”
“She can write about it,” Eve suggested, “but I can make it real.”
“Yes.”
“Her killers get caught. I won’t.”