Remember When

in."
    Did she try to crawl? Eve wondered. Did she cry out in shock and pain and try to crawl away?
    "To keep her from running," she murmured. "Take the leg out first so she can't run. He doesn't care how much noise she makes. Otherwise, he'd have gone for the head first. It's calculated, calculated to look like rage. But it's not rage. It's cold-blooded. He had to have a place where it wouldn't matter if she screamed. Soundproofed, private. He had to have private transpo to get her to the lot."
    The data center beeped, had them all turning.
    "Hit the match," Baxter murmured, and he and Eve stepped to the data screen together. "That who you're looking for?"
    "Yeah." Eve set her coffee aside and stared into Tina Cobb's smiling face.

21
    "Book us a conference room. I want to coordinate with Baxter and Trueheart when they get back from Essie Cobb's." Eve stepped into the garage-level elevator at Central.
    "Has to be the same killer," Peabody said.
    "Nothing has to be. We'll run probabilities. Let's get all current data together into a report and send it to Mira for a profile."
    "You want a meet with her?"
    When the doors opened, Eve shifted back as cops and civilians piled on. Dr. Charlotte Mira was the best profiler in the city, possibly on the East Coast. But it was early days for a consult. "Not yet."
    The car stopped again, and this time rather than deal with the press of bodies and personal aromas, she elbowed her way off to take the glide. "We'll put what we've got together first, run some standards, conference with Baxter and Trueheart. We need a follow-up with Samantha Gannon and a swing by the club."
    "A lot of on-the-ass work." Peabody could only be grateful. Her shoes were killing her.
    "Get us the room," Eve began as she stepped off the glide. And stopped when she saw Samantha Gannon sitting on a wait bench outside the Homicide division. Beside her, looking camera-ready, and very chatty, was Nadine Furst.
    Eve muttered shit under her breath, but there wasn't much heat in it.
    Nadine fluffed back her streaky blonde hair and aimed one of her feline smiles in Eve's direction.
    "Dallas. Hey, Peabody, look at you! Mag shoes."
    "Thanks." She was going to burn them, first chance.
    "Shouldn't you be in front of a camera somewhere?" Eve asked.
    "There's more to the job than looking pretty on screen. I've just about wrapped an interview with Samantha. A few comments from the primary on the investigation would put a nice cap on the segment."
    "Turn off the recorder, Nadine."
    For form, Nadine sighed before she deactivated her lapel recorder. "She's so strict," she said to Samantha. "I really appreciate the time, and I'm very sorry about your friend."
    "Thank you."
    "Dallas, if I could just have one word?"
    "Peabody, why don't you show Ms. Gannon into the lounge. I'll be right with you."
    Eve waited until they'd moved off, then turned a cool stare toward Nadine.
    "Just doing my job." Nadine lifted her hands, palms out for peace.
    "Me too."
    "Gannon's a hot ticket, Dallas. Her book is this month's cocktail party game. Everybody's playing Where Are the Diamonds? You toss murder in and it's top story, every market. I had vacation plans. Three fun-filled days at the Vineyard, starting tomorrow. I canceled them."
    "You were going to make wine?"
    "No. Though I'd planned to drink quite a bit. Martha's Vineyard, Dallas. I want out of the city, out of this heat. I want a beach and a long cold adult beverage and a parade of tanned and buff male bodies. So I'm hoping you're going to tell me you're wrapping this one up in a hurry."
    "I can't tell you any more than the media liaison would've told you. Pursuing all leads, et cetera and so on. That's it, Nadine. That's really it."
    "Yeah, I was afraid of that. Well, there's always a hologram program. I can set it for the Vineyard and spend an hour in fantasyland. I'll be around," she added as she walked away.
    Gave up too easy, Eve decided.
    She thought about that as she headed off to what the cops called the lounge. It was a room set up for breaks and informal meetings. A scatter of tables, even a skinny, sagging sofa, and several vending machines.
    She plugged in a couple of credits and ordered a large bottle of water.
    You have selected Aquafree, the natural refreshment, in a twelve-ounce bottle. Aquafree is distilled and bottled in the peaceful and pristine mountains of-
    "Jesus, cut the commercial and give me the damn water." She thumped a fist against the machine.
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