In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

Everything. They're-good copies, careful copies. So how do you get so good?"
     
     
Feeney polished off the danish, gulped coffee. "You practice. I'll run that myself, through IRCCA, see if we get a Pop."
     
     
"It won't be exact," she said, grateful. "I've got a hit on the first, and it's not exact. But when I did the run I was only looking for the one style.. Now we've got two styles, and the potential for others. He's- too careful for an exact match-he might do it that way, but, he'd change it after. Wouldn't leave the scene precisely as he intended to leave the ones he'd make public."
     
     
"Doesn't want to show off until he's got it down.to a science," Feeney said with a nod.
     
     
"Yeah. Any that were exact, he'd get rid of the bodies. Bury them, dump them. But he's not a kid. Not twenty. He's mature, and he didn't start killing, with Wooton. He's been at this awhile."
     
     
"I'll work both styles, and whatever else you think he might go for."
     
     
"Everybody on my shortlist, but one I haven't pinned yet," she said, thinking of Breen, "travels. The States, Europe especially. They get around, and they get around well. First-class. If he's on, that shortlist, the world's been his fucking playground."
     
     
"Send me the files."
     
     
"Thanks. I should tell you, there are some sensitive names on my list. We've got a diplomat, a well-known entertainer, a writer making a name for himself, and an asshole entertainment broker who's hooked up with a top-name actress. There've already been complaints of police harassment and blah blah. There'll be more."
     
     
He grinned. "Now this sounds like fun." He pushed to his feet, set his empty cup aside, and rubbed his hands together. "Let's get started."
     
     
Once Feeney left, she organized the files, sent them to his unit in EDD, noted the action in a memo to the commander. She ran another spurt of probabilities, toyed with some simulations, but they were really no more than an exercise to let her mind work.
     
     
By the time she was done, the computer and she agreed on a list of prototypes her killer might emulate next.
     
     
She eliminated any who had worked with a partner or targeted males. Any who concealed or destroyed the bodies. And highlighted any whose notoriety had outlived them.
     
     
She was just beginning to wonder where Peabody was when one of the domestic droids came to her door.
     
     
The droids always spooked her. Roarke rarely used them, and she rarely saw them in the house.
     
     
She would have withstood any manner of hideous torture before admitting she actually preferred the flesh-and-blood Summerset to the automated staff.
     
     
"Excuse me for interrupting, Lieutenant Dallas."
     
     
The raid was female, with a husky voice. The dignified black uniform did nothing to disguise the fact she'd been built to rival a porn star.
     
     
Eve figured she didn't have to be a trained investigator to deduce her amused husband had activated this one purposefully, just so she could compare the big-titted blonde to the bony-assed Summerset.
     
     
She'd have to pay him back for this one, eventually. "What's the problem?"
     
     
"There is a visitor at the gate. A Ms. Pepper Franklin who wishes to speak with you. Are you available?"
     
     
"Sure. She's saving me a trip. Is she alone?"
     
     
"She has arrived in a private car, with driver. But she has no companion."
     
     
Left Fortney at home, Eve thought. "Let her in." "Shall I bring her up?"
     
     
"No, show her into the-what is it-the front parlor."
     
     
"Would you care for refreshments?"
     
     
"I'll let you know."
     
     
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
     
     
When the droid backed out of the room, Eve drummed her fingers for a moment. She glanced at the door that adjoined her home office with Roarke's. Probably just as well he was off doing what he did all day. It would keep the social portion of this visit to a minimum.
     
     
Deliberately, she strapped on her weapon harness, left the jacket where she'd hung it over the back of her chair. A not so-subtle way Eve decided, to let Pepper know she was on the job.
     
     
Then she finished off her coffee, sat and hummed for another couple of minutes.
     
     
When she went down to the parlor, Pepper was waiting.
     
     
The actress was dressed in perfect summer style: a breezy white blouse over a thin blue tank that matched the cropped pants. She'd added heeled sandals that made Eve's arches ache and had bundled her masses of gilt