In Death 29 - Kindred in Death

snapped.
    “Sorry. I’ve kept the search on Auto on my PPC. But I had some thinking time riding the subway back to Central. School’s sprung, and there were a lot of teens and twenties in the car. I thought about how they were dressed, you know? And that started me thinking. We’re going on the theory he blends, acclimates. I agree. But I started to wonder about that first meet. He had it planned out. The Columbia sweatshirt—it was like a costume for his character, something she’d relate to. And the shoes? She was a runner, so she’d have probably recognized he was wearing high-end running shoes.”
    “Dressed the part,” Eve agreed.
    “Yeah. And he plans, right? Thinks things out in advance. So why wouldn’t he plan out his costume? When I’m buying something important to wear—like, say, for an important event, I want to coordinate, be sure everything goes together. If I can I buy it all—dress, shoes, bag, all that, in one place. If I just can’t, I take one of the pieces I have, or even a picture of it when I’m hunting for the rest.”
    “A picture?” Eve asked, sincerely astonished.
    “Sure. You don’t want your bag to clash with your shoes, or your shoes to look crappy with your dress. You want to look good. And even if you’ve got a squeeze . . .” She sent McNab a flirty look. “Even then, you want to make an impression.”
    McNab sent Peabody a gooey smile. “You always look good to me.”
    “Stop before I’m sick,” Eve ordered.
    “Maybe he bought the shoes, the pants, the running pants together. In the same place, I mean,” Peabody continued, but snuck her hand between the chairs to wiggle fingers with McNab. “An outfit. It was, in a really twisted way, like a first date. First-date wardrobe is major. He wanted her to see him in a certain way, to give off a certain impression.”
    “I get it,” Eve murmured. “Girl gets an A.”
    “Really?” Peabody puffed out. “Because I’ve started another search for venues that sell college gear, running gear, and Anders shoes. There’s a lot, but not as many as just the shoes.”
    “Shades,” Eve said. “He had on shades, and a cap.”
    “I’ll plug it in. The other thing is, if he did buy all this from one vendor, he probably didn’t go with cash. Not if he didn’t want to stand out. It has to be near a grand, or more. He’d use credit or debit. He’d leave a trail.”
    “Why would he worry about that?” Eve nodded. “Nobody’s going to notice, think twice. Push it.”
    “All over it.”
    “Baxter, Trueheart, keep working the files. When and if I have any results from my like-crimes search, we’ll factor it. I’ll give you a pint of my own blood,” she told Feeney, “if you get me something off that hard drive.”
    “Your man contacted, should be in on it later this afternoon. He’s got some tricks.”
    No question about it, Eve thought. “The vic’s memorial is scheduled for Thursday. I want a team—any of you who can be spared, as well as uniforms in soft clothes, any detectives I can get to attend. He’s going to want to be there, want to reap the benefits of his work. Whatever we have re the sketch by that time, every man on the team will have a copy. Let’s go, keep the hammer down.”
    Eve waited, and tried to ignore the quick lip-lock and ass-grab Peabody and McNab exchanged by the door.
    “That was good thinking,” she said, “the buying angle.”
    “Shopping is a vital part of my life, unlike yours. Still, it feels like we’ve got lots of angles but no shape. He’s still a ghost.”
    “Let’s hope Yancy can bring him to life.”

12
    SHE KNEW BETTER THAN TO PUSH YANCY when it came to renderings. But she thought she could try a single, firm nudge. When she didn’t find him at his workstation, she did a quick search of the trio of private conference rooms.
    She interrupted two other police artists, but didn’t find Yancy.
    She tracked him down in the break room.
    He stood, leaning against the short counter, munching on dried fruit from a bag, eyes closed, headset on.
    His mop of hair curled appealingly around his striking face. He wore his sleeves rolled up, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and a pair of well-worn jeans.
    It occurred to her he probably looked more like a college kid than a police detective.
    Could pass for twenty-two or -three, she thought. Younger if he worked at it.
    Then his eyes opened, and she added on another five years. The eyes knew too much for barely two