In Death 16 - Portrait in Death

to hunt, to observe, then to transmit?
     
     
Both victims had recognized their killer. She was sure of that. Casual acquaintance, good friend, fellow student, teacher. Someone they'd seen before. Yet they hadn't run in the same circles, known the same people.
     
     
Except for Hastings, and the club.
     
     
She did a search for imaging studios within a five-block radius of the data club. Tried a cross match with the registered owners to her lists from Lucia and came up goose egg.
     
     
She'd have Peabody get an employee list, then crosscheck that.
     
     
Rubbing absently at the headache dead center of her forehead, she contacted Peabody in the bull pen. "Get me something from vending, will you? I don't have any credits on me and those damn machines won't take my code anymore."
     
     
"It's because you kick them."
     
     
"Just get me a damn sandwich."
     
     
"Dallas, you're off shift five minutes ago."
     
     
"Don't make me come out there," Eve warned and clicked off.
     
     
She worked through the change of shift, hearing the rise and fall of it through her open door. She ate at her desk, washing the lousy sandwich down with superior coffee.
     
     
She filed her updated report, harassed the lab, left two snippy messages for Morris, then turned to stare at her board again.
     
     
He'd already picked the next, and unless she found the connection, the right connection, some other bright light would be extinguished.
     
     
She gathered her things and prepared to accomplish at least one of the items on her to-do list. She'd go home and kick Roarke's ass.
     
     
The prospect didn't put a spring in her step, but she'd stalled long enough. But as she approached the elevator, she spotted Dr. Mira coming toward her.
     
     
"I thought I'd catch you."
     
     
"Just," Eve said. "We can go back to my office."
     
     
"No, no, you're on your way home, I'd like to do the same. Why don't we walk and talk. Do you mind taking the glides?"
     
     
"That's fine. You're done with Hastings?"
     
     
"Yes. Fascinating man."
     
     
Mira smiled as they stepped on one of the down glides. She managed to look fresh as morning even after a long day. Her suit was cream colored and spotless. Eve couldn't figure out how anyone could wear something that close to white in New York, particularly in or around Central and not have it go gray in an hour. Her hair, the tone and texture of rich sable, was fluffed around her face. She wore pearls.
     
     
One of the top profilers in the country, and she wore pearls to work, Eve thought. And smelled faintly, freshly floral-like the tea she liked to drink.
     
     
She stepped off the first glide in her neat, feminine pumps, then stepped on the next.
     
     
"Irascible," Mira continued. "Contentious, irritable, amusing. And brutally honest."
     
     
"So he's clear?"
     
     
"In my opinion-and I believe in yours before you sent him to me."
     
     
"I figure he might throw somebody off a roof in a tantrum, but he's not the type to sit down and plan cold-bloodedly, or execute in the same fashion."
     
     
"No, he's not. He could use some anger therapy, but it would probably be lost on him. I rather like him."
     
     
"So do I."
     
     
"Your killer has Hastings's arrogance, or its kin, but lacks his confidence, and his spontaneity. And while Hastings is more than content to be alone, the killer is lonely. He needs his images as much for companionship as for art."
     
     
"The people in them become his companions?"
     
     
"In a way. He's absorbing them-their youth and energy, and by the absorption who they are, who they know. Their friends, their families. He's taking their life force."
     
     
"He doesn't abuse them. It's all very neat and tidy. There's no rage. Because they're him or about to become him."
     
     
"Very good."
     
     
"He preserves their image, showing them at their best. Pretties them up for the camera, poses them in some flattering way. Part of that's the art, right-look what I can do, look how talented I am. But part of it's vanity. We're one now, and I want to look good."
     
     
"Interesting. Yes, very possibly. This is a complicated person, and one who sincerely believes he has a right to do what he's doing. Perhaps even an obligation. But he doesn't do it selflessly. It's not a holy mission. He wants credit. He may have been disappointed in his art in the past, feels as though his talent's been overlooked. By Hastings, or someone who preferred Hastings over him. If, as