In Death 29 - Kindred in Death

and when he’s spotted, we close off the exits, box him in. Those positioned at exits remain at their stations while those roving move in. I want him taken fast and clean.”
    “Lieutenant.” One of the uniforms from MacMasters’s squad signaled. “The place is going to be jammed, but the memorial’s going to be jammed with cops. That’s an advantage for us, if we get the suspect’s picture out, put the full blue on it.”
    “Making the picture department-wide gives us more eyes, and no control or focus. I want this tight, and I don’t want the suspect tipped off because a cop gives him the hard eye. He’s been on the grift all his life. He’ll know what to look for. I don’t want it there for him to find. Feeney.”
    “We have an e-team monitoring the security cams. The building has cameras at every entrance, on all elevators, and in their retail areas. Any sighting’ll be relayed.”
    “If and when that happens, everyone is to remain at post,” Eve continued. “We want to lure him in, not scare him off. Now, any questions about the overview?” She waited, scanned the room. “All right, specific assignments.”
    When she’d dismissed the team, Eve continued to study the screen, searching for flaws. “A lot of ins and outs,” she said, echoing Feeney.
    “We’ll have them all covered.” Still Peabody studied the screen as well. “It’s a good point about all the cops that’ll be there, at some time during the two hours. If we broadcast the sketch through the department, it would be like a rabbit walking into the wolf den.”
    “Too many opportunities for leaks and hotheads and mistakes. I thought rabbits hopped.”
    “Well, yeah.”
    “And if we’re going to use that kind of analogy, bringing the department in would be like all those cooks burning the pie or whatever it is.”
    “I think it’s spoiling the broth.”
    “Who eats broth?”
    “Sick people, maybe.”
    “Burning the pie makes more sense, because then nobody can eat it, sick or healthy. A small, tight team,” she continued while Peabody puzzled over pie. “Then when he’s in, we box and close. He’s got no reason to be worried. He thinks we’re chasing our tails.”
    “Yeah, we’re getting hammered by the media. Even knowing it’s for the good of the cause, it’s an ouch.”
    “Suck it up,” Eve ordered. “He can walk right in, go right up to MacMasters, look him in the eye, and see the result of his work. Then that task is complete. Multitasking, that’s what he does. He figures he’ll have the third on his list, the judge’s mother, Friday or Saturday, and the Robins memorial Monday. He’s free to move on to the next.”
    She shut down the comp and screen, gathered the discs.
    “Let’s head over there now. I want to go through the place, top to bottom, before the team assembles.”
     
    Not for the first time Eve wished the MacMasterses had chosen a smaller, less complex venue for their daughter’s memorial. She stood in the large entrance foyer, all but smothered by the scent of lilies, and studied the various escape routes.
    Up, down, in, out, sideways, she thought. The place was a hive, and the staff a swarm of quiet bees in black suits. She crossed the slick marble floor toward the first bank of elevators.
    “Excuse me. Is there any way I might help you?”
    Eve looked at the sober face of the woman who stepped toward her.
    “Security detail for the MacMasters family.” Eve pulled out her badge.
    “Of course.” The woman consulted a mini e-board. “The MacMasters memorial service will be held in Suite two hundred. That’s the second floor. Would you like me to escort you?”
    “I think we can find the second floor.”
    “Of course.” Sarcasm slid off her well-oiled composure, as her eyes, her voice, continued to radiate an oddly efficient sympathy. “Nicholas Cates is managing that program. I’ll notify him of your arrival. Is there anything else I might help you with today?”
    “No.”
    Eve stepped into the elevator, called for the second floor.
    “She was just creepy,” Peabody decided. “I know she’s supposed to be comforting or reassuring, but creepy is what she is with that whispering-in-the-graveyard voice. So’s this whole place creepy. It’s like the upscale death hotel.”
    Considering, Eve pursed her lips. “I was thinking it’s more like an exclusive spa of death. They give corpses manicures in the basement.”
    “Eeww.”
    “Don’t say ‘eeww.’ It’s