Visions In Death

I think you can draw your own conclusions." Do you believe he'll kill again? Can you describe the murder weapon in more detail? Do you have any suspects? Do you expect to make an arrest soon? Will you close more parks? Was the mutilation sexual in nature? "I wonder." Her eyes had been flat and cold, but now hints of temper glinted in them. Eve interrupted the barrage of questions, and this time there was an edge in her voice. "I sincerely wonder which part of "we will not disclose or discuss specifics" you fail, as a group, to comprehend. I wonder why you insist on wasting your breath and our time asking questions we ca

The moment she was back in, a handful of cops, drones, and civilian liaisons broke into applause.

"Shit" was all Eve said, and that was under her breath.

"I thought you were brilliant," Peabody said from behind her. "Sincerely." "Doesn't do any good to get pissed off, or to preach." "I think you're wrong. I think Maplewood's and Napier's friends and families will appreciate what you said, and how you said it. Aside from that, I think it sends a message to the killer. Loud and clear. We're hunting him, and we're not going to stop." "Yeah. Well, there's that." "And since I enjoy watching you tear a small strip off the more assholey reporters, I can forgive you for tossing me into the deep end of the pool, without so much as a "Hold your breath."

"You did fine." "I did," Peabody agreed. Then closed her mouth quickly when Tibbie and Whitney entered.

"Lieutenant, Detective." Tibbie nodded to both of them.

"You had considerable to say this afternoon, Lieutenant. Not your usual taciturn self." "No, sir." "Well said. Commander?" Whitney paused as Tibbie strode off. "Mayor's closing it down. A moment of silence for the victims." Whitney glanced toward the doors, cynicism in every pore. "An inspired touch and a good visual for the evening reports. Chill down a little," he suggested, "and get back to work." Tm as chilly as I'm going to get," Eve decided after he'd moved off to join Tibbie. She checked the time. "It's early for anyone who was on Napier's shift, but let's take a shot at O'Hara's." Her pocket "link signaled. "Hell," she muttered when the readout warned her it was Nadine.

"I've made my statement, answered the questions. I'm done, Nadine." Tm not calling as a reporter. Give me five minutes." She'd sneak, Eve thought, she'd prevaricate, but she wouldn't lie.

"Heading down to the garage. Can you get in there?" The smirk twisted her lips. "Please." "Level One, Section Three. I don't have time to wait for you." She didn't have to wait. Nadine was already there, and the fact that she was idly buffing her fingernails told Eve she wanted to rub it in a little.

"I know this is your slot," Nadine began. "But since when is this your ride?" Eve skimmed a hand over the fender of the shiny blue vehicle. Soon, when she was absolutely sure of privacy, she might just kiss it.

"Since my devious partner used the right bribe on the right person." "Go, Peabody." "It was nothing. A couple vids of Dallas naked in the shower, and we're cruising." "Very fu

"You have information?" "I don't know that I do. I've very carefully asked some questions," she added before Eve could speak. "I know how to ask questions, and I comprehend all ma

And immediately contacted Feeney.

"I've got a tip." The, too. Let a smile be your umbrella and you're go

We can pick through the images, try to find echoes of previous images. Lot of luck involved there, but we might find him." She noticed tried not to, but couldn't avoid it that today's shirt was the color of lime juice. "I can ask Whitney for the extra manpower and OF you need." "I can do my own begging, thanks. I'll send a couple of boys down to get started. Got the train route in the file." "Keep me in the loop." "McNab's eyes are going to bleed," Peabody commented when Eve ended transmission. "That's what he gets for being an e-man." "We get a visual of this guy, we nail that visual, we nail the box." It was going to take time, Eve thought. Not just hours, but days. And more than luck, it was going to require a small miracle.

O'Hara's was as advertised: a small, reasonably clean Irish-style pub. More authentic in that area, Eve noted, than some billed as such in the city that attempted to prove it by slapping up shamrocks everywhere and requiring the staff to speak with fake Irish accents.