In Death 25 - Creation in Death

there’s a woman between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-three. She has brown hair, light skin, a medium to slender build, and she’s already been taken. We find him. We get her back.
    “I’m going to give you your individual assignments. If you have any questions, any problems, wait until I’m done. But I’m going to tell you one more thing. We’re going to nail him. We’re going to nail him here, in New York, with a case so tight he’ll feel it choking him every hour of every day of every year he spends in a cage.”
    Not just anger, Roarke noted, but pride. And she was pushing that anger and pride into them so they’d work until they dropped.
    She was magnificent.
    “He doesn’t walk, run, fly, or crawl out of this city,” Eve told them. “He doesn’t slither out in court because one of us gave his lawyer an opening the size of a flea’s ass.
    “He pays, we’re going to make goddamn sure he pays for every one of these twenty-three women.”

4
    AS EVE WRAPPED UP, TIBBLE WALKED TO THE front of the room. Automatically, she stopped, stepped to the side to give him the floor.
    “This team will have the full resources of the NYPSD at its disposal. Any necessary overtime will be cleared. If the primary determines more manpower is needed, and the commander agrees, that manpower will be assigned. All leave, other than hardship and medical, is canceled for this team until this case is closed.”
    He paused, gauging the reactions, and obviously satisfied with them, continued. “I have every confidence that each and every member of this team will work his or her respective ass off until this son of a bitch is identified, apprehended, and locked in a cage for the rest of his unnatural life. You’re not only the ones who’ll stop him, but who’ll build a case that will lock that cage. I don’t want any fuckups here, and trust Lieutenant Dallas to flay you bloody if you come close to fucking up.”
    Since he looked directly at her as he made the statement, Eve simply nodded. “Yes, sir.”
    “The media will pounce like wolves. A Code Blue status has been considered, and rejected. The public requires protection and should be made aware that a specific type of female is being targeted. However, they will be made aware by one voice, and one voice only, which represents this task force, and, in fact, this department. Lieutenant Dallas will be that voice. Understood?” he said, looking directly at her again.
    “Yes, sir,” she said, with considerably less enthusiasm.
    “The rest of you will not comment, will not engage reporters, will not so much as give them the current time and temperature should they ask. You will refer them to the lieutenant. There will be no leaks unless they are departmentally sanctioned leaks. If there are, and the source of that leak is discovered—and it damn well will be—that individual can expect to be transferred to Records in the Bowery.
    “Shut him down. Shut him down hard, clean, and fast. Lieutenant.”
    “Sir. All right, you all know your primary assignments. Let’s get to work.”
    Tibble signaled to Eve as feet and chairs shuffled. “Media conference, noon.” He held up a finger as if anticipating her reaction. “You’ll make a statement—short, to the point. You’ll answer questions for five minutes. No longer. These things are necessary, Lieutenant.”
    “Understood, sir. Chief, we held back the numbers carved into the victims in the previous investigations.”
    “Continue to do so. Copy me on all reports, requests, and requisitions.” He looked over at the boards, at the faces. “What does he see when he looks at them?” Tibble asked.
    “Potential.” Eve spoke without thinking.
    “Potential?” Tibble repeated, shifting his gaze to hers.
    “Yes, sir, that’s what I think he sees. Respectfully, sir, I need to get started.”
    “Yes. Yes. Dismissed.”
    She walked over to Feeney. “This space work okay for the e-end of things?”
    “It’ll do. We’re bringing down the equipment we need. It’ll be set up inside of thirty. He comes back, he comes back here, you gotta wonder does he use the same place he did before? Does he have a place? Maybe even lives here when he’s not working.”
    “Private home, untenanted warehouse. Lots of that in the city, the outlying boroughs,” Eve speculated. “Bastard could be working across the river in Jersey, then using New York as a dump site. But if it is the same place—and he strikes me as a