In Death 10 - Witness in Death

flush spread. "Ah, no, sir. Lieutenant."
    "Then it follows that in my opinion, you didn't botch this assignment. If my opinion was otherwise, you'd be curled on the floor, clutching said balls and begging for mercy, which Officer Peabody has succinctly pointed out I do not have. Are we clear?"
    He hesitated. "Yes, sir?"
    "That's the right answer." She turned away from him, studied the dressing area. The forest of clothes in different styles and sizes; the long, wide counter covered with bottles and tubes and sprays. Cubbyholes loaded with hairpieces, wigs. Drawers ruthlessly organized with other tools of the trade.
    "He can make himself into anyone. I should've factored that in. Tell me who you did see leaving the building between eighteen-thirty and when I arrived on-scene. We'll verify with the security discs from the exits, but be thorough."
    He nodded, and his eyes unfocused with concentration. "A couple, man and woman, white and white, thirty-five to forty. They hailed a Rapid and headed east. A single woman, mixed race, late twenties. She left on foot, in a westerly direction. Two men, black and white, early thirties. They returned within thirty minutes, carrying what appeared to be a twelve-pack of beer and a large pizza. A single man, mixed race, late forties, some facial hair."
    He stopped when Eve held up a hand. She lifted a small bag to show him a few strands of hair she'd already sealed for evidence. "Is this a color match?"
    He opened his mouth, then closed it again to press his lips together. "It's difficult to say with certainty, Lieutenant, as the light was going. But the subject in question appeared to have dark hair very similar in shade to the bagged evidence."
    "Give me details. Height, weight, style of dress, appearance."
    She listened, trying to paint a picture of the transformation from Trueheart's report.
    "Okay, anyone else?"
    He ran through the few people who'd left the building, but no one rang bells like the single mixed-race male.
    "Was he carrying anything? A bag, a box, a parcel?"
    "No, sir. He didn't have anything with him."
    "Okay, then he's likely still running with the same look. Call it in."
    "Sir?"
    "Call in your description, Trueheart. Add it to the all-points."
    His face lit up like a birthday candle. "Yes, sir!"
    It was blind luck that he was spotted. Eve would think about that later, and for a long time after. Blind luck.
    It was a twist of fate that the express running to and from Toronto experienced a malfunction on its way into Grand Central. The delay would make all the difference.
    But when the break came, Eve jammed her communicator back in her pocket. "Grand Central. Let's move."
    She was halfway to the apartment door when she shot a glance over her shoulder. "Trueheart, is there a reason you're not one step behind me?"
    "Sir?"
    "When the officer in command says to move, you get your bony butt in gear and move."
    He blinked rapidly, then appeared to process the information that she wanted him on the team. A goofy smile spread over his face as he rushed to the door. "Yes, sir."
    "Transit cops are blocking exits, spreading to all gates. Backup's on the way." Eve relayed the information as they headed down to street level. "Suspect's bought a one-way express to Toronto."
    "It's cold up there." Peabody flipped up the collar of her coat as they ran down the block to Eve's vehicle. "If I were fleeing the country, I'd head south. I've never been to the Caribbean."
    "You can point that out to him when he's in lockup. Strap in," she suggested when they dived inside. She shot down the parking ramp like a rocket, hit the sirens, and did a screaming two-wheel around the corner.
    Flopping in the backseat, stomach at knee level, Trueheart was in heaven.
    He was in pursuit, not of a scrounging street thief, not of a whiny traffic violation, but of a murder suspect. He gripped the chicken stick to keep his balance as Eve wove fast and nervelessly through traffic. He wanted to imprint every detail on his mind. The wild speed, the flash of lights, the sudden jolt and jerk as his lieutenant -- God, wasn't she amazing? -- shot the vehicle into a fast vertical lift to bypass a jam on Lexington.
    He listened to Peabody's clear, practical voice as she coordinated with the backup on her communicator. To Eve's low, careless cursing as she was forced to swerve sharply to avoid a pair of "fucking brain-dead morons" on a scooter.
    She squealed to a halt on the west side of the transpo center.