Imitation in Death

Trying to run the world. Trying to run him.

He took a slow drag of the cigar, letting the Zoner calm him before one of his rages could take over. It wasn’t the time for rage, but for cool, calculating action.

He worried that he’d been too clever. But really, could one be too clever? Some might consider it a mistake to have deliberately put himself forward as a suspect. But it was so much more satisfying, so much more exciting that way. It allowed him to participate on two levels and made it all so intimate.

In a way, he’d already fucked the whore cop. What a thrill it was to watch her scramble around, unable to outthink him, to anticipate him. Being forced to come to him and apologize. He hugged himself as he played that scene over in his head. Oh, that had been a moment.

SelectingEveDallas had been a brilliant stroke, if he did say so himself. And oh, he did.

A man wouldn’t have given him nearly the same buzz. But a woman, a woman who like most of her kind considered herself superior to a man simply because she could trap him between her legs. That added spice to the brew.

He could think about choking her, beating her, raping her, gutting her even as she watched him with those cool, flat eyes.

He would never have known the same level of excitement with a male adversary.

She would be punished, of course, when she failed to stop him. When others were killed, as the accountant bitch would be killed. The lieutenant would be punished and disciplined by her superiors, as it should be.

And she would suffer, never knowing who’d bested her, she would suffer until the laser blast struck her in the back of the head.

If only he could find a way to let her know, to tell her, reveal himself to her an instant before her death. Then it would be perfect.

There was time, of course, to work that out.

Content, he settled into bed, to dream his terrible dreams.

– -«»--«»--«»--

They had obviously been off by a night,Eve thought, as she set up the morning briefing in her home office with a small, tight team. She didn’t want to risk Central, or a larger operation. A leak, even a trickle might send Renquist into the wind. Now they could tighten the trap so he’d never get away.

She used her board, the wall screens, and one of Roarke’s new toys, a portable holo-unit.

“We’ll have units set here, and here.” She highlighted the map on-screen with a laser pointer. “They are for observation only. I want to take Renquist inside the loft where he can be contained and no civilians are at risk. We movedMitchell ’s across-the-hall neighbor out at oh seven hundred on the pretext of a broken water pipe. The cooperation of the building super is ensured and we’ve got him under wraps in case he gets an itch to share any of this with the media. The empty loft will be Observation Post C.”

She highlighted the third floor of the building blueprint on the second screen. “We’re installing cameras. The loft will be under constant observation. It’s unlikely Renquist will use the elevator, but we’ll have cameras there as well. And once he’s inside the loft, the power to the elevator will be shut down, giving him only one exit. A team will move in to block that exit, another will be set on the street below in case he decides to take a header from the windows.”

“Rat in a trap,” Feeney commented.

“That’s the idea. I’ll be inside the loft, as will Officer Peabody, who will be briefed when her examination is finished. Captain Feeney will run electronics from Mitchell’s home office inside the loft, and Detective McNab will head Observation Post C.”

She ordered up the holo and brought a scaled-down version of the Mitchell loft into her office. “Memorize it,” she ordered. “Officer Peabody will be decoy. She and the target are approximately the same size and coloring. She’ll be in the bed here, I’ll be posted in this closet. Getting Renquist in the bedroom is optimum. No windows, no escape route.”

“He’ll be armed,” McNab put in.

She nodded, noting the worry in his eyes. That was the trouble, she thought, when a cop fell for another cop. “So will we. It’s possible he’ll bring his own blades, or that he’ll detour into the kitchen first to avail himself of Mitchell’s kitchen stock. He may have a blaster or another weapon, though he has yet to utilize one. We will go into this assuming he’s armed, as Marsonini habitually carried a blaster or stu

She waited a beat. “We’re working on finding him before tonight. He’s in the city, and as he’s emulating Marsonini, it’s likely he’s settled in somewhere near his target’s home. Marsonini habitually had a good meal, with wine, on the evening before a murder. He dressed well, generally in suits by Italian designers, and carried his tools in an expensive briefcase. He did his work to opera, again Italian. He spoke with an accent, though it was affected as he was born in St. Louis. History, details, and a complete bio of this subject are in your packs.”

She waited again while members of the team shuffled and took out the bio. “Renquist will become Marsonini, attempt and likely succeed in copying his ma

She spent another hour before dismissing her team. Since she’d seen McNab look at his purple-banded wrist unit three times during the briefing, she held him back.

“She’s got another two hours. You’d better chill.”

“Sorry. She was just so wigged this morning. She’s going into the sims now. She keeps choking on the sims.”

“If she chokes, she’s not ready to make the grade. The timing blows on this, McNab, but the fact is we’ve got a lot more at stake here than Peabody getting her detective shield.”

“I know it. She’s so damn worried about letting you down she’s turned her guts inside out.”

“Jesus. It’s not about me.”

He pressed his lips together as if wrestling with a decision, then shrugged. “Yeah, it is. Sure it is. A big part of it. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I figure you gotta know so if she messes up on this, you can handle it. Handle her.”

“She better handle herself. She’s going straight into this op when she’s done, and she won’t have the results. She better handle herself, and do the job.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets and gave Eve a cheeky grin. “See, you know just how to handle her.”

“Get out of here.”

She sat on the corner of the desk for a moment, to clear Peabody out of her head. It was one thing to be responsible for lives, for justice. But it was a hell of a kick in the ass to be told you had somebody’s psyche in your hands.

How the hell had it gotten there?

“Lieutenant?” Roarke stood in the doorway of their adjoining offices, watching her. “A minute of your time.”

“Yeah.” She rose to walk into the simulation of the Mitchell bedroom again, judging distances, angles, moves. “That’s about all I’ve got for you. We could take him on the street,” she said half to herself. “But Marsonini carried a blaster or stu

She looked over, shrugged when she realized she’d walked in and out of the holographic bedroom closet. “Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem. You’re worried because Peabody will be in the bed, in the open.”

“She can take care of herself.”

“So she can. But the fact that you’re worried should help you understand I’ve some concerns of my own. So I’m asking you to let me in on this operation.”