In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

her out of here. House arrest, female guard. She gets one call."
     
     
"Don't you touch me. Don't you dare put your hands on me. I'm not leaving this room until I'm satisfied every one of you has forfeited your badge."
     
     
Eve tucked her thumbs in her pockets, stood with hip thrust out, and hoped. "You go voluntarily with Captain Feeney, or I add resisting and have you forcibly restrained."
     
     
Pamela's hand swung out. It was a girl move, and one Eve could easily have dodged or deflected. But she let it land, and got her wish. "I was so hoping for that. There's resisting and assaulting an officer. You just made my night." In a quick move, Eve had her restraints out. As Pamela blustered, she spun the woman around, jerked her arms back, and cuffed her.
     
     
"Have her transported to Central," Eve told Feeney. "Booked on resisting and assaulting an officer. She can stay in a box until we're through here."
     
     
Pamela kicked, swore with a vehemence and creativity that had Eve's eyebrows lifting. "I like her better that way."
     
     
Rolling her shoulders as Feeney muscled Pamela out, Eve turned to Roarke. "I need to verify that this is unregistered equipment, which gives me another nice ball to add to the weight against Renquist. And I need all data contained within. What are you grinning at, pal?"
     
     
"You baited her so she'd take that swipe at you."
     
     
"So?'
     
     
"So I'm surprised you didn't take her out yourself."
     
     
"She's small change. I'm going to pocket that change before I'm done, but I want him first. I'm going to update the commander." She pulled out her communicator. "Get me that data."
     
     
Within fifteen minutes she had an all-points out on Renquist and was reading over Roarke's shoulder.
     
     
"It's all here," she noted. "Carefully logged. His travel, his trolling, his selection. Every victim, with chosen method. Tools, wardrobe."
     
     
"You'll notice he has quite a file on you, Lieutenant."
     
     
"Yeah, I can read."
     
     
"And," Roarke continued in that same cool tone, "that he intended you to be his crescendo. Using Peter Brent's copkilling method. Long-range laser blaster."
     
     
"Which means he's got one in here. Better find it."
     
     
"And him. I want him now, as much as you."
     
     
She shifted her gaze, met his. "It's not personal." She waited a beat, shrugged. "Okay,-what is it you say to crap like that? Bollocks. It's personal, but it can wait. I'm not next on his list."
     
     
.She looked back to the screen. "Katie Mitchell, West Village. CPA. Twenty-eight, divorced, no kids. Lives alone, works primarily out of her loft. He's got everything on her. Height, weight, habits, routines, even her fucking shopping preferences. Stores, purchases. He's a thorough bastard. He's looking to do a Marsonini on her."
     
     
"Gain initial entrance by posing as a client," Roarke said. "Clone security. Enter again, when the victim is sleeping. Restrain, torture, rape, and mutilate, leaving a single red rose on the pillow beside them."
     
     
"Marsonini got six women with that method between the late winter of 2023 and the spring of 2024. All brunettes, like Mitchell, all home workers, all between the ages of twenty-six and twenty-nine. All bearing a slight resemblance to his older sister who had, reputedly, sexually and physically abused him in childhood."
     
     
She straightened. "We'll get this Katie Mitchell under wraps. If we don't find Renquist within the next forty-eight hours, he's going to find us."
     
     
Chapter 22
     
     
There was no choice but to risk going directly to Katie Mitchell's apartment. If Renquist had it staked, it would spook him, but Eve couldn't risk a life.
     
     
If he bolted, she'd hunt him down.
     
     
With help from EDD, she had a list of residents and a layout of the building where Mitchell had her third-floor loft. She left Feeney in charge of the ongoing search of Renquist's home, and took Roarke along.
     
     
For ballast, she told him.
     
     
"You're too good to me, darling. Really, I'll get spoiled."
     
     
"Fat chance. Anyway, you've got a good touch with women."
     
     
"Now I'm blushing."
     
     
"I'm going to laugh my ass off any minute, then where will I sit? This woman may become hysterical. You're better with hysterical females than I am."
     
     
"Excuse me, did you say something? I was busy thinking about your ass."
     
     
She whipped her vehicle up a ramp and squeezed it into a second-level spot a half block