In Death 19 - Visions in Death

well, think about it, she reminded herself where else did the Arena Ball players, the basketball dudes, and tall or porky rich guys drop their fashion bucks? There were midline and discount and, she discovered, design and tailoring services offered by a couple of the major department stores and a number of boutiques.
    Didn't exactly narrow the field.
    When she altered the search to shoes, it bounced a few out, and tossed a few new sources in.
    He could buy primarily or even exclusively online, she thought as she bit into her burger. A lot of people did. But wouldn't he a man who worked hard to build his body, who was proud of the results want to select his clothes in real life? Check himself out in the mirror, have some fawning clerk tell him how good he looked? A lot of projection, she admitted, out of a scarcity of solid facts.
    But when she did a geographic run, she found a shop called The Colossal Man was two crosstown blocks from Total Crafts.
    "Isn't that interesting?" She nabbed a fry. "Computer, list any gyms currently in this case file located within a six-block parameter of Total Crafts."
    Working . ..
    She ate another fry.
    Health and fitness facilities in that sector include Jim's Gym and Bodybuilders.
    "Display map on wall screen, applicable sector. Highlight locations of retail shops and gyms." She rose, the burger in one hand, to walk closer to the wall screen. Sometimes, she thought, you saw a pattern because you wanted to, and sometimes it was just there.
    He'd walked those streets, she was sure of it. Walked from gym to shop to shop. Because he lived or worked, or both, in that sector. This was his neighborhood. People saw him there, knew him there.
    And so would she.
    She walked into Roarke's office where he sat at his desk enjoying what looked like seafood pasta while he worked.
    His laser fax was humming, and his comp signaled an incoming.
    "You've got stuff coming in." "Project reports I'm expecting," he said without looking up. They can wait. I don't have anything for you yet." "Put that on hold a minute, come take a look at this." He brought his coffee with him, went with her into her office.
    Eve gestured to the wall screen. "What do you see?" "A sector of the West Village. And a pattern." "So do I. I want to start with residences in this sector.
    Before you say anything, no, I can't even guess how many there must be. It's a long shot, a really long shot, but. . ." "He may live there. So you start with residential, get owner and tenant lists, eliminate families, couples, single women, and fine-tune it down to men who live alone." "You should've been a cop." He shifted his gaze from the screen to her face. "Don't I have enough horror in my head with potential midwifery without you heaping more in there?" "Sorry. It'll take a lot of time. He may live a block outside my parameter. Hell, he may live five blocks out and work inside it. Or work one block out. Or he could just do his shopping and bodybuilding there and live in fricking New Jersey." "But you go with the percentages, and the percentages say here." "It'd go quicker if you gave me a hand with the runs." Nodding, he continued to study the screen. "Your place or mine?"
    When Eve crawled into bed just after one in the morning, she knew she was on the scent. And hoped, could only hope, he waited long enough for her to track him down.
    "Two months between Kates, Breen, and Maplewood. If he sticks with that schedule, I'll have him before he kills another one."
    "Shut it down, Lieutenant." Roarke drew her in so her head settled against his shoulder. She rarely had the dreams when he kept her close. "Shut it down, and sleep." "I'm close. I know I'm close," she murmured and drifted off.
    He was waiting for her. She would come. She always walked this way. Briskly, her head down, her steps nearly soundless in her gel-soled shoes. She'd have put them on after her shift, after she'd taken off the whore shoes she wore to serve the men who leered at her over their drinks.
    Whatever she wore, she remained a whore.
    She'd walk by, head down, and the streetlights would shine on her hair. It would look almost gold. Almost.
    People would think: That's a pretty woman, a nice, quiet pretty woman, going about her business. But they didn't know. He knew what was inside the shell. Bitter, black, and dark.
    He could feel it rising in him now as he anticipated her.
    Rage and pleasure, fear and joy. You'll look at me now, you bitch.
    And we'll see how you like it,