“That’s all the time I have this morning. Detective McNab, good work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Lieutenant, hunt them down.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stopped by Peabody’s chair, glanced at McNab as Peabody beamed, drumming her hands on the seat of her chair in
a quick rhythm. “Departmentally authorized?”
“Yes, sir,” McNab said. “Absolutely, sir. We put in a long night.”
“Make sure she takes a half dose next time.”
“It was the espresso chaser, Commander.”
Whitney shook his head. “That would do it,” he said and strode out.
Peabody let out a giggle, slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled behind her fingers. “Not funny.”
Eve said nothing, decided to handle the screen herself. She ran through each crime scene, the evidence, conclusions, progress.
“We’ve found no evidence linking any of the eighteen victims to any of the crimes under investigation. Our links remain Karson to Banks, Banks to the suspects. Banks to Richie. Richie to Denby. Our focus now will be the names on this board who live in Banks’s building.
“You have the profiles, and I’ve assigned interviewees to each team. We have to consider they’re not done. They have another target, one they’ve already researched and may move on at any time. Look for connections to real estate deals.”
“‘Real estate’?” Baxter repeated.
“It’s an angle. Or we might look for anything connected to some innovation about to launch. New tech, for instance. Something or someone who, if taken out, means profit for the suspects. A deal brewing. Something coming out or up soon. They’re on a hot streak. It’s possible—I think low probability, but possible—this moves out of New York. Don’t discount it. Focus on what’s going on here, but don’t discount that.”
She flicked images on the screen. “Karson leaked to Banks, so look at familial, romantic, spousal connections. Information that could be passed, however casually, to someone with a connection to the suspects. Somebody cheating on a spouse or lover can be pressured into giving out information. Look for that.”
She turned off the screen. “Let’s get to it. McNab, you nail that location, I want it.”
“Kiss bye!” Peabody puckered up. McNab gave her a sappy smile—before remembering himself and sending a pleading look toward Eve.
“Detective Peabody! I will personally dump you in the tank and sweat that booster out of you if you don’t maintain.”
The pucker dropped to a pout.
“With me. Now. No ‘kiss bye,’ goddamn it.”
Peabody trotted behind Eve. “I just feel so good! I can’t stop! My brain’s all full of colors!”
“Your body’s covered in them. It makes my eyes throb. Get your coat and cover up the worst of it, then sit down and be quiet. I need to talk to the rest of the squad because people just keep killing people.”
“That makes me sad.”
“Go be sad and quiet at your desk.”
Since her eyes already throbbed, Eve ran through the current caseload with Jenkinson and his psychotic rainbow tie, Reineke and his kittens on Zeus socks.
She shifted to Carmichael and Santiago, caught them up on the Denby arm of the investigation, segued to their current hot—the bludgeoning of a funky-junkie in Battery Park.
By the time she wrapped it up, she assumed Peabody had lost her sad as her partner chair-danced to some internal beat. Sometime in the last fifteen minutes, she had applied a shiny coat of bright pink lip dye.
“Stop jerking off and get your ass up.”