She rolled her eyes, but ate it as they went downstairs. She contacted Baxter, set that in motion.
When she stepped outside, she realized spring had definitely broken winter’s back. She felt the change in the air, a softness to it.
She got in the car—hers this time, not the slick one—waited while Roarke programmed the address.
“I had this dream.”
“Yes. I was about to bring you out of it when your comm signaled. You didn’t seem upset so much as … pissed.”
“I was pissed.”
She told him about it as he drove.
“I get the dumb-ass subconscious symbolism. The whole black-and-white thing. I think in black-and-white.”
“Not at all,” he disagreed. “Your scope of gray may be limited—from my view—but you have a scope. It’s your killer who sees in black-and-white.”
“Huh. I guess I like that better. She also sees men, as a sex, as a species, as just evil. I felt that before, but it feels more right now. She may have started with a list, from the support group, but she’d never stop there. She’s a serial killer now,” Eve stated. “And she wants to rack up as many as she can.”
“One who wants to be seen as a hero,” Roarke added. “And that’s something you obviously believe matters or you wouldn’t have dreamed of it.”
“I do think it matters. How she sees herself, and how she wants others to see her.”
Not yet dawn, too early for ad blimps or the smoking carts, for the angry snarls and snags of traffic, New York seemed almost peaceful.
“I forgot to ask you. Mavis said you were meeting with Jake on something yesterday.”
“I was, yes. He’s volunteered to teach now and again at An Didean. To teach music, songwriting—and so would his bandmates.”
“That’s … That’s seriously good of him, them.”
“It is. But then, he’s a good man and one who appears to be geared toward giving back. I took him up on the offer right quick.”
Roarke pulled up behind the barricades where early-rising gawkers gathered. It was never too early, Eve thought, or too late to take some time to view someone else’s tragedy.
She hooked on her badge, turned on her recorder, and ignored the crowd as she strode through the barricade.
Eve spotted the officers on scene, moved to them.
“Officers.”
“Keller and Andrew, Lieutenant.”
“We’re here with Brigg Cohen,” Keller put in, tapping the burly, balding man between them. “Brigg used to be on the job. He call
ed it in.”
“Cashed in my twenty ten years ago,” Cohen told her. “Had this beat before these greenies moved in. Lived right here.” He gestured to the building behind them. “Sixteen years.”
“Why don’t you run it through for me?”
“I work night security, eight to four for Lisbon Corp. Clocked out, had some breakfast at my usual place, walked home. The DB’s laid out just like you see him. That would be four-fifty-eight.”
He may have cashed out, but he still reported like a cop. Advantage us, Eve thought.
“I still pay attention to what’s what,” he continued, “so I see he’s gone like the two other DBs I heard about. Naked, beat to shit, missing his works. Got that message on him. Nobody reported, like, a poem, but I figure you held that back. I know the greenies here had to be close by, probably scratching their butts, so I called it in, stood by until they meandered along.”
Andrew rolled her eyes; Keller just grinned.