In Death 25 - Creation in Death

club gets a cut of the fee, and Sari was religious about keeping good records on that.”
    “No cut if she went to them?”
    “Well, that’s a gray area. Like I said, she liked to do favors. She might go give someone an hour or two, cutting her rate, doing it off the books. On her own time, before or after work, on her day off. What’s the harm?”
    What’s the harm? Eve thought as she clicked off.
    “We figured he grabbed them off the street. But they went to him. These two, at least, my money says they went right to him. How’d they get there?”
    “York’s image has been out since yesterday. Weekend, though,” Peabody added. “If she took a cab, the driver might not have paid any attention, or might not have seen the reports on her yet.”
    “No. No. We have to run it down, but that would be sloppy, and he isn’t sloppy. Why take a chance like that? Leave a record, a possible wit? Cab driver dumps the vic right at his door? Doesn’t play.”
    “Well, the same thing applies to private transpo.”
    “Not if he’s providing it. Personally. We check anyway, we check all the transits. All the pickups in the area the vics were last seen.”
    Man hours, wasted hours, Eve thought. And still it had to be done. “He’s not going to chance something like that. Lures them in, that’s what he does. Nice, harmless guy, nice older gentleman who wants to learn to tango, wants to get fit. There’s a nice, sweet fee for the personal service. Provides transportation for them.”
    “Nobody sees them on the street because they’re not on the street that long.” Peabody nodded as the theory solidified for her. “They come out of work, get into a waiting vehicle. Nobody’s going to notice. But…”
    “But?”
    “How can he be sure they’re not going to tell somebody? What I mean is, neither of these women seems stupid. How could he be sure they’re not going to tell a friend, a coworker, they’ve got this private gig. Here’s where I’m going to be, and with whom.”
    Eve pulled over in front of Gia Rossi’s apartment building, then just sat, tapping her fingers on the wheel. “Good point. We know they didn’t tell anyone, or anyone who’s passed on that information. So the why, the how can he be sure. Gotta play the percentages.” She got out, drawing her master to deal with the door. “First he’s going to give them a bogus name and address. Now, if they’re smart, or concerned in any way, they’re going to check that out, make sure it’s legit. Not hard to pull that off if you’ve got enough money and know-how. But that’s another area for EDD to look into.”
    They stepped inside the three-story walk-up, where Rossi’s apartment was on ground level. “Next, think of his profile. Intelligent, mature, controlled.”
    She used the master again to break the seal Baxter had activated, and uncode the locks. “We know he travels, so we’re looking at someone who’s likely sophisticated, and I’m just going to bet charming. He knows his victims.”
    When they stepped in, Eve paused to look around the cramped living area. Big wall screen, she noted, small couch, a couple of chairs, tables holding decorative bits and pieces. Tossed socks, shoes—mostly of the athletic variety. The electronics had already been taken in.
    “Knows what they like,” she continued, “what appeals to them. Plays that. Gets familiar with them face-to-face, dropping into their respective clubs, chatting them up. But not too much, not so anyone pays particular attention. He blends, and he blends. Mr. Smooth, Mr. Nice Guy, Mr. Harmless.”
    She walked over to the window, studied the street, the sidewalk, the neighboring buildings. “He gains their trust. Maybe he talks about his wife or his daughter, something that paints a picture in their heads. Normality. Takes time, sure, but he likes to take time. Then he brings up the private work—or smarter, he maneuvers them into mentioning it or suggesting it.”
    She turned, walked into the tiny, equally cramped bedroom. “Then he’s got them. She’s got privacy screens, but they’re old and cheap. Right equipment, you could watch her in here. You know when she gets up, how long it takes her to get ready for work, what time she leaves, her route. Bet you keep it all documented. Scientific, that’s what it is. I wonder how many he’s picked, watched, documented, and rejected. How many women are alive because they didn’t quite fit his precise