“How some writers use readers to beta test a story. She doesn’t. I figured if she did, we’d want to look there, but it goes straight from her to her agent and editor. Nobody, not even her mom or her kids—and they’re tight—see any of it. And some writers use researchers to dig up especially obscure or highly detailed information. She doesn’t, so no go on that, either. She’s a little superstitious about the process, like, if she lets too much of what she’s working on or thinking up out there, it, like, diffuses or something. But she has talked to our own Morris a few times, and she sometimes asks Detective Olivia Diaz—retired—some procedural questions. That’s one of the detectives she went to when her ex tuned her up. She was out of the eight-three in Brooklyn. They keep in touch.”
“Diaz still in Brooklyn?”
“She moved to Cape May about three years ago when she put in her papers. I did a quick run on her on the way back up. She looks solid.”
“Reach out, talk to her while I’m with Mira. You’ve avoided unexpected death.”
“Always a good day.”
“The day’s not over,” Eve commented, and walked out.
6
Eve grabbed a glide, then wove her way through people who obviously weren’t in any damn hurry. She quick-walked the rest of the way to Mira’s outer office, where the dragon admin guarded the gates.
She said, “You’re late, Lieutenant.”
Damn it. Deliberately, Eve looked at her wrist unit. Two fricking minutes. Two. “Sorry. I was detained by a little something we call murder.”
The admin simply smiled her thin, humorless smile and tapped her earpiece. “Dr. Mira, Lieutenant Dallas is here. Of course. You can go right in,” she told Eve.
Eve breezed by the dragon’s lair and opened the door to Mira’s sanctum.
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.”
“Exactly,” Mira agreed. “Because he’s smarter—than the character and the creator. The victims are simply characters. They aren’t real, they have no personal connection to him. They’re avatars, until he makes them real.”
“Clearly, he’s read the books. More, he must have studied them. So an obsessed reader?”
“Would fit, yes. The books become real, and the need to re-create grows. That need may come from an obsessed reader or a frustrated writer. A killer with both qualities is a very high probability. He puts himself in the story, writes it from his own point of view. He admires and resents DeLano, professionally. Another reason I think the ex-husband falls outside the profile.”
“He didn’t start with her first book.”
“That’s interesting, isn’t it?” Mira considered as she enjoyed her tea. “The Hightower books launched her career.”
“Another reason the ex-asshole is low on the list.”
“Yes. As I said, I haven’t read the Dark series, but I did read the one where she turned in her badge, separated from Hightower—as official partners. I need to reread that now. It may be that the separation plays a part in the killer’s mind-set. The fact that the female detective struck out on her own, rebelled against the badge and the limits of it.”
“Which would bump the ex up the list,” Eve commented.
“Yes, it’s a factor. The Dark series, from what Dennis told me, is centered on a strong, somewhat reckless woman. Female empowerment. She chose another path, even if parallel. She stills seeks justice, but often breaks rules to find it.
“Your killer is, obviously, a reader, one who enjoys police procedurals, detective novels, murder mysteries. Entirely too much. They become a world he inhabits. Very likely he believes he has the talent and intellect to create those worlds, and better than DeLano. He—or again she—is mature, controlled, patient enough to select the victim that fits the needs of the story he stars in. To study and plan. A risk taker—it’s worth it, the risk. Nothing great is achieved without risk.”
“With Rylan, a lot of easier ways to kill. But if he needed to follow a script … It’s not Rylan so much as the re-creation.”
“I’d agree at this point. I wouldn’t profile him as less than thirty. If he’s male, sex isn’t of great import. Male or female, the killer likely lives alone or in a situation where he or she has considerable time alone, or privacy. He lives in books. He may work with them. Selling them, or at a low-level position in publishing. Nothing with any power. His power’s inside the books, and now manifesting with the actions he takes.”
“Eventually, he’ll run out of books. I’ll damn well bag him before he gets to eight, but he’s a planner, so he has a plan for when he finishes the last book in the series.”
“I agree. When the series is done, the only thing left is the creator.”
“Yeah.” Eve had thought of it while listening to DeLano. “He writes that one. Maybe he already has, right?”
“It would certainly be a work-in-progress.”
“Got it.” Eve pushed to her feet. “The third vic’s already selected, studied, and marked.”
“Who?”
“It’ll be a half-assed celebrity, self-made badass who used to bang a rock star—I don’t know if it has to be trash rock like in the book. Poison this time, dropped into her fruity martini. Crowded dance club.”
“Another female victim.”
“Yeah. Huh. Yeah, that’s three for three.”