In Death 25 - Creation in Death

was, in actuality, too much? She sent out the description, then keyed it into IRCCA.
    She’d get countless hits with a description that general, and have to take a great deal of time to cull through them. But she couldn’t leave out the step.
    She began to run various probabilities. The suspect lived, worked, had ties to downtown Manhattan. The suspect frequented shops, restaurants, businesses in that sector in order to scout out targets. The suspect used various enhancements to alter his appearance during his meets with potential victims.
    She ran a search of public and private parking lots and garages downtown, then began to contact owners, managers, attendants on duty.
    She fought her way through a search of buildings—still standing or subsequently razed, that had housed bodies or had been used as clinics during the Urbans.
    When it came through she read Newkirk’s report on the first canvass of Greenfeld’s apartment building.
    Zip.
    Still, she had to give Newkirk a nod for being thorough. She had names, addresses, and a detailed rundown of every conversation.
    And thinking he may have come by it naturally, she flipped through her files and came up with Gil Newkirk’s contact number.
    He answered swiftly, on full alert, and with a blocked video that reminded her, abruptly, of the time.
    “Officer Newkirk, Lieutenant Dallas. I apologize for disturbing you so late.”
    “No problem, Lieutenant. One minute.”
    She waited on blue-screen hold for thirty seconds less than that. Video popped on, and she saw a square-jawed, slightly grizzled version of the young cop she’d first met on scene. “What can I do for you?”
    “I’m pursuing a new line, and should tell you beforehand that your son is a solid asset to the task force. You must be proud.”
    “Every day,” he agreed. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
    “I wonder if you can stretch your memory back, over your canvasses during the investigation nine years ago. I’m interested in a specific individual.”
    She related the description.
    “Nine years ago.”
    “I know it’s a stretch. He may be carrying some extra weight now, and we may be looking for darker hair. But I think the white may be consistent. He may have lived or worked or had a business in the area of one or more of the incidents.”
    “Talked to a lot of people back then, Lieutenant. And I wasn’t pulled in until the second murder. But if you’ll give me some time, I can look through my notes.”
    “Your notes are as concise and detailed as your son’s reports?”
    Gil grinned. “Taught him, didn’t I?”
    “Then I’d appreciate any time you can give me on this. I’ll be at Central by oh-seven-hundred. You can reach me there, or any of my ’links, anytime. I’ll give you my contact numbers.”
    He nodded. “Go ahead.” When he had them down, he nodded again. “I’ve been going over some of my notes anyway. Captain Feeney and I have had some conversations about this.”
    “Yeah, I know. Feel free to contact him in lieu of me on this. Sorry to wake you.”
    “Been a cop thirty-three years. Used to it.”
    Another long shot, Eve thought when she ended transmission. But they were starting to pay off.
    When Roarke walked in she had to struggle to focus. Her eyes wanted to give up. “Anything?”
    “Nothing on the competitor search, nothing that fits cleanly.”
    “How about messily?”
    “A handful of men who somewhat fit the description who are, in some way, involved in the upper echelons of competitors. No real hits. And a portion of those are out of the country, or off planet. When I take them through the other locations and times, none of them coordinates. I’ve gone down a few levels—supposing one of the lower-rung employees has a hard-on against me or my organization. I’m not finding anything there. And while I was running that, I realized that’s chasing the wild goose.”
    “You gotta chase it to catch it.”
    “Eve, it’s not my business. It’s not even me that’s the root. It’s you.”
    She blinked twice. “I—”
    “No, I can see it in your face.” Temper whipped out in the words. “You’re too damn tired to pull it off. This is no surprise to you. Goddamn it to bloody hell. You’ve had this in mind for some time now, and you’ve been fobbing me off with busywork.”
    “Whoa. Wait.”
    He simply strode over, lifted her right out of the chair. “You’ve no right. None. You knew or you believe that he’s using me because I’m connected