In Death 19 - Visions in Death

her some health drink just for spite.
    "Hey, you." She signaled to a passing uniform, then dug out credits.
    "Get me a tube of Pepsi." The uniform looked down at the credits Eve dumped in her hand. "Ah, sure, Lieutenant." The credits were plugged in; the machine responded with a cheerful and polite announcement of the selection and its contents. The tube slid quietly out of the slot.
    "Here you go." "Thanks." Satisfied, Eve drank as she walked back toward the bull pen. That's how she'd handle this deal, she decided. She'd have other people screw with the machines whenever possible. She was rank, after all. She was supposed to delegate.
    "Lieutenant?" McNab signaled her, and though she tried not to see it, watched him purse his lips toward Peabody.
    "No kissy faces in Homicide, Detective. Is my unit up and running?" "Good news, bad news. How about the bad first?" He gave her a come-with-me head signal and went back to her office.
    "Bad news. You got a dink system here." "It was working fine before." "Yeah, well, see it's got some internal problems. That's the easiest way to explain it. Some of its guts, we'll say, were designed with planned obsolescence in mind. Only so many operating hours before they start to fail." "Why would anybody build something that's programmed to fail?" "So they can sell new ones?" Because she looked like she needed it, he risked patting her shoulder. "Administration and Requisitions buy cheap most times, I guess." "Bastards." "Absolutely. But the good news is I've got it up for you.
    Replaced some things. It's not going to last more than a few days the way you use it. But I can get my hands on some parts. I've got connections. I can basically rebuild it for you.
    Meanwhile, if you could try not to smack it around, it should hold." "Okay, thanks. I appreciate the quick work." "No prob. I'm a genius. See you tomorrow night, right?" "Tomorrow night?" "Dinner? Louise and Charles?" "Right. Right. Don't blow kisses in my bull pen," she called when he pranced out.
    She sat, drank Pepsi, and stared at the machine. Dared it to give her trouble. Since Peabody was running Manhattan, Eve decided to expand to the Bronx for gyms.
    The machine responded to her search request as if nothing had ever happened between them. It gave her enough confidence to turn her back on it while the search ensued, and study her board.
    "Where'd he see you, Elisa?" she asked aloud. "Where did you come into his radar? He saw you, and something about you clicked in that sick mind of his. So he watched you and studied you and laid in wait for you." A domestic. A single parent. Liked to make things with her hands. Divorced. Abusive husband.
    She didn't need the file to remember the details on Elisa Maplewood.
    Early thirties, slightly less than average height, average build. Light brown hair, long. Pretty face.
    Standard education, lower-middle-class upbringing. Native New Yorker.
    Liked nice clothes in simple styles. Nothing too trendy, nothing too provocative. No current personal partner or romantic entanglement. Minimal social life.
    Where did he see you? The park? Take the kids to the park. Walk the dog. The shops? Buy your craft supplies, window shop.
    She grabbed the hard copy of the report McNab had left on her desk. "Link transmissions to her parents, to Deann's pocket unit, to Luther's office, to the craft store on Third to check on an order. Incomings ran along the same lines.
    Her web activity ran to parenting sites, craft sites, and chat rooms. Downloads of magazines showed crafts again, parenting again, and some home decorating stuff, some online shopping. Downloads of a couple books tagged as current bestsellers.
    Nothing popped from the search of the Vanderleas" equipment.
    Chat room might be worth checking out, she thought, and made a note of it. But it was tough for her to see this big, muscular guy knitting . . . whatever people knit. More than that, Elisa struck her as being too sensible, too savvy to give personal information to anyone in a chat room. He hadn't tracked her through her discussions on making blankets or the like.
    He's done it before.
    She thought of Celina's words. And she agreed with them.
    What he'd done to Elisa had been well planned and well executed under risky conditions. Quick and efficient, and to Eve that meant practice.
    She hadn't hit all the elements with her search for similar crimes. Maybe he'd added or adjusted. Maybe one or more of those hits had been his work.
    Pride. Celina