In Death 31 - Indulgence in Death

verified on his own outgoings—and assumed she was still not speaking to him. They’ve never found her. That was seven months ago.”
    “It’s a big ocean,” Eve commented.
    “It is, yes. Your suspects stayed on Dudley’s yacht or in Moriarity’s villa during that period. Both of them, along with several others from their sailing club, joined in the initial search.”
    “More of a thrill. Another woman,” she considered, “on the young side. Could’ve started that way figuring women are easier game—two men, one woman. Most women wouldn’t stand much of a chance.”
    “The police cleared the boyfriend, but he was their focus for the first seventy-two hours. They’re looking at it as an abduction. She had friends, family, stability, no major troubles, a good job, and so on.”
    “Two months between. Peabody tossed out they might have practiced on people no one would miss, but I think no. It’s a bigger rush if there’s an alarm, a search, media reports. Ricci might be their second. Two months gives them time to congratulate each other on getting away with murder, ride on the juice, lose the juice. Want that again.”
    “Time to plan,” Roarke agreed. “Working together requires deciding who’s responsible for what, coordinating schedules.”
    “Time to talk it through, work it out, pump it up. Away from their base again,” Eve noted. “And they either figure out they don’t want to be involved with another dead body or decide to switch it up, so they can use the location to dump it where it won’t likely be found, at least not while they’re in the area. Maybe they trolled awhile, and they got themselves a pissed-off, little-bit-drunk woman.”
    “A very pretty one,” Roarke added and put the image on-screen.
    “Yeah, that might’ve been part of it at first. Use her, share her, kill her. But they didn’t need the sex. It was the kill that got them both off. They’d need to do it again, maybe mix it up a little, see what happens.”
    “Was it already a game, do you think? Already a competition between them?”
    “It’s intimacy. It’s . . .” She shifted to look over at him, to meet his eye. “It’s what we’re doing here, looking for the missing and the dead. It’s you and your aunt saying a few words—words that matter—in Irish. It’s Charles making omelets for Louise when she’s pulled the night shift.”
    She stopped, hesitated. “That sounds lame. I don’t know how—”
    “No, it’s perfectly clear. It’s more than teamwork, shared interests, partnership. You see it as a terrible kind of love.”
    “I guess I do. If I was going to pull a Mira, I’d say they found each other, recognized each other. Maybe if they hadn’t . . .” She shrugged. “But they did. And in that terrible way, they complete each other.”
    “Yes, I see. There might have been others, Eve. Before Africa. Others, who as Peabody theorized, wouldn’t have been noticed.”
    “Easing into it,” she considered even as her stomach tightened at the idea. “Perfecting that teamwork before they tried someone who’d show, who could even be connected to them.” She raked a hand through her hair. “Let’s work from here, sticking with victims who show. Let’s start with six to eight from Italy. These kinds of killers generally start to escalate. They need their fix.”
    She ordered the computer to factor in her suspects’ whereabouts for that time frame, and refined the search.
    “Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. I knew it! Data on-screen, goddamn bastards. Look at that,” she snapped at Roarke. “Seven weeks almost to the damn day after the woman in Italy. Quick gambling trip, Vegas. Closer to home now. They don’t travel together, but meet up there. Dudley arrives a day ahead. Big baccarat tourney, which is a stupid game.”
    “Actually, it’s—”
    “Don’t interrupt.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Smart-ass,” she muttered. “Twenty-nine-year-old female, found dead in her own car on the side of the road in the desert north of Vegas. Stun marks on her chest. Beaten to death with a tire iron left at the scene. No defensive wounds, no sexual assault. Put her out first, then killed her. No bag, no jewelry. Played at making it look like robbery. Smashed her car up, too. Cops look at that, think illegals. Some chemi-heads, drifters with bad attitudes, along those lines. Get her to pull over, stun her and the rest.
    “But here’s the kicker. Our vic, Linette Jones, tended bar at the