Imitation in Death

“I don’t remember anyone like that coming in recently. Addy?”

“No, at least not by himself. We get men who come in with their wives or girlfriends, and the occasional solo. But nobody like that in the past few weeks. No one Lois helped or talked to while I was working.”

“How about someone who came in, asked about her?”

“There was that man last week, no, the week before. Remember, Myra? He had on a totally mag suit, carried a Mark Cross briefcase.”

“Yes, I remember. He said Lois had helped him the month before on some gifts for his wife, and they were such a big hit he’d stopped by to thank her.”

“What did he look like?”

“Mmm. Late thirties, tall, nicely built, neat little goatee and wavy brown hair on the long side. He wore it tied back. He never took off his sunshades.”

“Pradas, Continental style.” Addy added. “I bought my fiancé a pair for his birthday. They cost a mint. He smelled like money, and had a clipped Yankee accent. Ivy League type, I thought. I tried to steer him to accessories because he looked like he could afford to drop a bundle, and we’ve got some terrific new handbags, but he wasn’t biting. Just said he’d hoped to give his thanks and regards to Mrs. Gregg. I said I was sorry she wasn’t working today, because she’d have appreciated that. If he wanted to stop by again, he should shoot for Tuesday, Wednesday, or Saturday, and gave him her hours. Oh God.”

Her face went sheet-white. “Was that wrong?”

“No. This is just routine. Do you remember anything else?”

“No, he just said he’d try to come by again if he was in the area, and left. I just thought how nice that was, because customers don’t usually bother, and the men sure don’t.”

– -«»--«»--«»--

They followed Leah’s list and found that at every point there was someone who remembered a man, of subtly varied descriptions, who’d made some casual inquiry about Lois Gregg.

“He stalked her,” Eve said. “Gathering data, taking his time. Had a couple of weeks for it anyway. He was going to do Wooton first, and she was easy. All you have to do to pick an LC at her level is wander around and watch the stroll, zero in on one who fits your requirements. You don’t have to worry about getting her alone because that’s her job, but with Lois, it had to be in her place to fit the imitation. She had to be home, she had to be alone, and not expecting anyone.”

“He had to have plenty of time,”Peabody pointed out. “Had to be able to hit the market on Friday, the boutique, the day-care, the fitness center-all on weekdays, all during regular work hours. Doesn’t sound like he’s a nine-to-fiver.”

“No, and if we go back to our own list, anyone on it so far has the flexibility.”

She’d tagged Baxter and Trueheart out to do the neighborhood canvass, and was hoping to get a call any minute telling her they’d found someone who’d seen the killer with his souvenir basket of peaches.

Meanwhile, she had to keep it moving. He’d killed twice, and she was certain he’d already selected his next victim.

She leftPeabody to do the deeper runs on Breen and his wife, and headed out to beg or bribe a short consult with Mira.

She had to wait, and pace the outer office, and ask herself, yet again, who their deadly mimic might imitate next.

So far he’d picked two notorious and deceased killers, and she was willing to bet he’d stick to pattern. No one, she thought, who was still among the living. The Ripper had never been caught, DeSalvo had died in prison. So capture and incarceration were okay. That left the field pretty wide, even excluding anyone who’d destroyed or hidden or consumed their victims.

Her communicator beeped as she was staring holes through Mira’s door and willing it to open.

“Dallas.”

“Baxter. I think we’ve got one for you, Dallas. A witness from the neighboring building who was heading out to church and saw a guy in a city maintenance uniform-or so she believes-walking out of the vic’s building carrying a toolbox and a plastic fruit basket.”

“Time right?”

“It’s dead-on. Our witness knew Gregg. She insists on coming downtown and talking to the primary personally.”

“Bring her on.”

“We’re heading back. I’ll meet you in the break room.”

“My office-”

“Break room,” he insisted. “Some of us haven’t eaten our lunch as yet.”

She opened her mouth to protest, and heard the click of Mira’s door. “Fine. I’m in a meeting. I’ll be there as soon as I’m clear.”

Before Mira’s assistant could repeat the fact that the doctor had only a scant ten minutes free, Mira was stepping out, gesturing Eve inside.

“I’m glad you found the time to come in. I’ve read all the available data.”

“I have more,” Eve told her.

“I need something cold. Cool enough in here,” Mira said as she went to the minifridge. “But just knowing what it’s like outside makes me feel hot. Mind over matter.”

She took out a container of juice, poured two glasses. “I know you live on caffeine, in one form or another, but this is better for you.”

“Thanks. The two vics are distinct types. Very distinct.”

“Yes.” Mira sat.

“The first, a recovering junkie LC, busted down to street level. A lifer, with no friends, family, or support group, though it appears her own choice. He wasn’t concerned about who she was, but what she was. A street whore, working the dingier section of Chinatown. But the second was a who and what.”

“Tell me about the second.”

“A single woman, living alone in a nice neighborhood. A woman who’d raised her family and kept close ties with them. Active in her community, friendly, well-liked by everyone. More well-liked than I think he understood, because he doesn’t get that.”

“He has no strong feelings for anyone, but himself, so he doesn’t relate to those who do. Doesn’t understand the circle.” Mira nodded. “It was her situation-living alone, age, neighborhood, and the fact that she would be found quickly. That’s what drew him to her.”

“But it was a mistake, because she had impact on everyone she was associated with. People liked her, loved her, and they’re not just willing to cooperate with the police, they’re eager to. She isn’t going to be forgotten like Wooton, not ever. Everyone I’ve spoken to had something specific to say about her, something personal and positive. It’s like what I imagine people would say about you when you…” She caught herself, coughed, but it was too late. “Jesus, that sounded creepy. I meant-”

“It didn’t.” Mira cocked her head and quite simply beamed. “What a nice thing to hear. Why do you say it?”

She wished to hell and back she hadn’t, but she was stuck now. “It’s just”-she downed the juice like medicine, in one huge gulp-”I-ah-interviewed Gregg’s daughter-in-law earlier, and it reminded me, that’s all, of the way your daughter talked about you. There was this real bright… co

“You’re right. He’d have expected the event itself to be the big story. Meaning he’d be the story. She, beyond her convenience for him, was incidental. Though the first victim made her living through sex, and the second was sexually brutalized, the killings aren’t a sexual act but a rage against sex. Against women. And this act makes him powerful, and makes them nothing.”

“He stalked Gregg,” Eve said and led Mira through it.

“He’s very careful. Meticulous in his way despite the fact that both killings were messy. His preparation is precise, as his imitations are. Each time he succeeds, he proves not only that he’s more powerful, more important than the women he kills, but more than the men he emulates. He doesn’t have to stick with a pattern-or so he tells himself because, of course, there is a pattern. He believes himself capable of any sort of murder, and the getting away with it. The outwitting you-the female he’s chosen, deliberately chosen, to play against. He beats you, a woman, and proves you’re less than him every time he leaves you a note.”