“Smart and steady.”
“That would be correct. The kids strike me as the same, and I’d say the smart and steady comes down from Blaine’s mother. They’ll hold it together.”
“What do you know about the ex-husband?”
“More now than I did. I poked around a bit preinterview, but she’s kept a lid on it. And casual friends don’t push that line much in a non-professional arena. My impression there was controlling jerk, but the smacking around? She’s kept that under wraps.”
“But you knew about it.”
Nadine’s lips curved. “It might be that in the act of poking I unearthed some documentation buried under layers of time, privacy, and discretion.”
“You didn’t hit her with it during the interviews?”
“What would be the point?” Nadine jerked a shoulder. “She could’ve ridden that train herself, probably sold more books on that track, but she didn’t—likely to shield her kids. I slap it out on-air, I get that momentary reaction, some buzz after, and I humiliate a couple of kids, and a woman who rebuilt her life. What’s the point?”
“The point is you’ll dig, but you understand and respect the line between petty gossip for ratings and real juice. It’s why she tagged you,” Eve said. “It’s why I’m telling you I have no doubt we’ll be investigating a cyanide poisoning at a dance club in fairly short order if we don’t get lucky first.”
“Why not a bogus hanging suicide? That’s the next murder in the series.”
“The second murder in the second book? First, the killer’s likely done with the second book. And it was bungled. This killer isn’t looking to replicate a bungle.”
“But they all get caught in the end,” Nadine argued. “It’s just as she said. The good guys win.”
“Not in the book the killer’s writing. Now beat it.”
“It was great seeing you, too,” Nadine said dryly as she rose. “Since we’re on books, I’ve got The Red Horse Chronicles about ready to submit. I want you to see it first. And there’s no point in giving me a pained look—the book’s happening. I’d like you to read the manuscript before I send it off. Just like The Icove Agenda, it was your case.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Your enthusiasm and support sings in my writer’s soul. Meanwhile, since I’m getting an early start, I think I’ll visit a couple journalism departments, start dealing with getting myself an intern.”
“I’ve got a candidate for that.”
“So you mentioned before,” Nadine remembered. “Where does he or she go to school?”
“She. I’d call it The School of Hard Knocks. She’s smart, annoying, relentless—relentless and sly. She’s like you, basically.”
“How old is she?”
“I don’t know. About fifteen.”
“I’m looking for a college student.”
Eve just shrugged. “It’s your deal. If you decide to take a look at her, it’s Quilla Magnum. She’s at Harbor House now, but she’ll be transitioning to Roarke’s An Didean when it’s ready in the spring.”
“She’s in a shelter? I’m not looking to take on a troubled youth. I’m after an intern, someone I can mentor.”
“Your deal,” Eve said easily. She gathered up the file, got to her feet.
“Did she know any of the dead girls you found in the building Roarke’s rehabbing?”
“Ask her. I’ve got a fresh dead girl to deal with.” Opening the door, Eve jerked her thumb in a get-out gesture.
Nadine narrowed those feline eyes. “You threw that at me on purpose, but I’m not taking on a teenager.”
“Whatever.”
Satisfied, Eve turned toward Homicide, and went straight to Jenkinson’s desk. She curled a come-ahead finger at Reineke.
“What’s shaking, boss?” Jenkinson shifted in his seat. “You’ve got something fresh on the Kent case?”
“Might. I’ve got the file, and I’ve got a consult coming up, but run it through.”
“Reineke took primary.”
“Yep,” Reineke agreed. “Eighteen-year-old Caucasian female. Rosie Kent. Kid had barely started in the life. Her family didn’t like it—parents divorced, both remarried, had a civil but distant deal going. Kent had one full sib—older sister—two younger half sibs, one from each parent. Older sib, high achiever, going to Florida State on scholarship.”
“Vic’s a little bit of a screwup,” Jenkinson continued. “Got through high school, flunked out of community college the first semester. Started the LC training. She figured it was an easy way to make money, and kind of a middle finger to her family.”
“They couldn’t stop her,” Reineke put in, “so decided to wait it out, figuring she’d get tired of trolling the streets to make a score, get tired of being pawed for a fee, and dealing with all the restrictions, the regular testing, and all that.”
“She didn’t have a chance to get tired of it.” With a head shake, Jenkinson’s chair squeaked when he leaned back. “She was just a couple months in when she bought it.”
“Nobody saw the john. It’s frigging cold, right?” Reineke eased a hip onto his partner’s desk. “It’s dark. She hasn’t been around long enough to make friends with the other LCs, and it comes out she’s standoffish anyhow. Acts superior, so nobody hangs with her. The way it plays is she comes out of the SRO where she’s living and gets picked up straight off. That’s how the timing played. She used one of those flops where the LCs check themselves in if the desk guy isn’t on duty, which he ain’t most of the time. It’s like a time clock, and it auto-charges by the quarter hour. John or Jane pays upfront. LC takes the key to the room on the tab, does the job, tosses the key back after, and the room goes back in rotation.”
“No security?”
“Nada,” Jenkinson confirmed. “As low-rent as low gets. So she ran up three hours before the clerk—who was watching porn in the back room—saw it on his tote board. He went up to haul her out, figuring she was using it to sleep in the warm, found her.”
“No sex, no DNA, no trace.” Reineke lifted empty hands. “Vic had an OTC sedative mixed with cheap wine in her system. No sign of restraints or struggle. She logged in for thirty minutes. TOD came in about ten minutes after the log-in. The murder weapon more of a sash than a scarf. White, tied in a fancy bow.”
Reineke tapped the left side of his throat.
“We ran like crimes, followed a few similar to nowhere.” Jenkinson shrugged. “Nothing special about the sash, the sedative, the wine. The vic didn’t have a regular boyfriend or fuck buddy. You had to figure the killer intended to do what he did, maybe targeted her because she was new at it, and that made her an easier mark.”
“Was she registered for men and women?”
“Yeah, and the ME cited—especially with the vic being unconscious at the time—it didn’t take a lot of strength to strangle her. We looked at the female angle,” Reineke added. “But hit the wall there, too. We’ve been waiting for the next shoe to drop. You know, the bow, a symbol maybe. But so far, nothing.”
“You hate seeing one open this long.” Jenkinson glanced at the case board. “A month goes by, five weeks, it stays this cold, the odds just get longer. Either a break falls in your lap, or you get another one. You got another one, LT?”
“I think she was another one.”
“Nothing popped out of IRCCA with the white sash and bow. We got scarves and bows and sashes,” Reineke said, easing to his feet again. “But not with all the elements.”
“We’ve got all of them, just not in reality. In fiction.”
“Fiction? Is that why that writer was here with Nadine?” Reineke asked. “The one Peabody was all about? Santiago’s a big fan. Talked me into reading one. I don’t much like cop books. They end up pissing me off, but this one was pretty solid. I keep meaning to try another.”
“Never read a cop book that didn’t blow. You want fiction?” Jenkinson said. “Go with science fiction. You know it’s bullshit going in.”
“This one didn’t blow,” Reineke insisted. “You’re saying the Hightower writer wrote about a killing like ours?”
“She says exactly like, and the way she ran it down, she’s right about that. She also wrote one that plays like the one Peabody and I caught yesterday. Too many mirroring elements to be coincidence. Take a fresh look with this in the mix.
“Your victim wasn’t just plucked off the street,” Eve told them. “She was target specific to mimic the victim in the book. The killer had to stalk and research. The motive arrows back to the books, and the books come from the writer.”
“Which book was it?” Reineke demanded. “Santiago’ll have it. It’ll help to take a look at it.”
“Dark Falls. It’s the connected series … Hightower, and launches the Dark series. The second’s my case. The third’s going to be a poisoning in a dance club. Female vic. Anybody gets a dispatch on that, I hear about it. I take it. Spread that word. I’ve got a consult.”
She looked over as Peabody came in.
“Did you get the fangirl out of your system?”
“Born a fangirl, die a fangirl.”
Eve smiled, very, very pleasantly. “You might just, and sooner than you expect.”
“I wasn’t just fangirling.” Peabody kept herself beyond boot-kicking distance when she joined them. “I escorted her out, and fangirled just the proper amount so she wouldn’t freak any over the line of questioning I worked out while you were handling the more personal in interview.”
“What line was that?”