In Death 19 - Visions in Death

be late. If he knows all that, he knows she doesn't have a personal vehicle registered in her name, and that she'll most likely be on foot.
    So he comes here, parks, and just waits. Patient bastard. He just waits until she comes along." "Still risky. This street's well-lighted, and she's less than a half a block from her door. And she's a cop, armed and able. It wasn't smart," Roarke said. "It wasn't like the others." "No, with her me he was pissed. Prove a point, like I said. But at the base of it, he doesn't figure she'll give him trouble. Not like she did. She's just a woman, and he's a big, strong man. Take her down, take her down, toss her in the back of the van, and poof." She crouched down, laid her hand on the stain of her partner's blood. "Where was he going to take her? Same place, same place he took the others, the ones before? The missings and presumeds." "She'll have gotten a good look at him. She'll be able to describe him more thoroughly, even more than Celina."
    Eve glanced up. "If she remembers. Head trauma, she might not remember. But if she does, she'll make him. She's sharp and she notes the details. She'll be the one who takes him down. When she wakes up. If she remembers." Eve pushed to her feet. "Let's see what the witnesses saw.
    We'll take the female first." "Essie Fort. Single, age twenty-seven. Paralegal at Driscoll, Manning, and Fort. Tax lawyers." Eve worked up a smile as they approached the building.
    "You're handy." "We do what we can." He pressed the button for Fort in 3A.
    While they waited, Eve turned, judged the distance between the door and the point of attack. A male voice came through the intercom. "Yeah?" "Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. We'd like to speak with Ms Fort." "I want to see your ... oh, there it is," the voice said when she held her badge up to the security cam. "Come on up." He buzzed them in. And was waiting at the door when they got off on three. "Essie's inside. I'm Mike. Mike Jacobs." "You also witnessed the incident, Mr Jacobs?" "I'll say. Essie, Jib, and I were just coming out, going to head over and pick up Jib's date. And we ... come on in.
    Sorry." He opened the door wider.
    "I stayed here last night. Didn't want to leave Essie alone.
    She was pretty shook up. She's getting dressed." He glanced toward a closed door. "The woman who got beat up was a cop, right? Did she make it?" "She's holding her own." "Glad to hear it. Man, that guy was whaling on her." Mike pushed at his curly mop of blond hair. "Look, I was hunting up some coffee. You want?"
    "No, thanks. Mr Jacobs, I'd like to get statements from both you and Ms Fort, and ask some questions." "No problem. We talked to some cops last night, but everything was messed up. Look, let me get this coffee, okay? We didn't get much sleep last night, and I need the jolt. Sit down or something. I'll try to move Essie along." She didn't want to sit, but she perched on the edge of a chair in bold red. Gave herself a moment to settle by glancing around the room. Lots of strong colors, weird, geometric art on the walls. A bottle of wine and a couple glasses left over from the night before.
    Mike Jacobs was wearing jeans and a shirt he hadn't buttoned. Probably what he'd had on the night before.
    Probably hadn't planned on staying the night.
    New relationship maybe, without the understanding sex would follow an evening out.
    But he'd stayed. And he had, according to McNab, come to Peabody's aid. Maybe he didn't think cops sucked.
    The bedroom door opened. The woman who came out looked fragile and slight. Her hair was a short wedge of glossy, raven-wing black, and her eyes a blue strong enough to fit her decor, though they looked exhausted.
    "I'm sorry. Mike said the police were coming up. I was getting dressed." "I'm Lieutenant Dallas." "Do you know her? The woman who was hurt. I know she's a police officer. I've seen her walking across the street.
    She used to wear a uniform, but now she doesn't." "She's a detective now. She's my partner." "Oh." Those blue eyes filled sympathy, distress, fatigue, Eve didn't know. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Is she going to be all right?" "I. . ." Eve felt her throat close again. It was harder, somehow harder, to take concern from strangers. "I don't know. I need you to tell me exactly what you saw." "I we were going out." She looked over as Mike brought out two thick red mugs. "Thanks. Mike, would you tell it?" "Sure. Come on, let's sit down." He led her to a chair, and sat on the arm of