Delusion in Death Page 0,50

in."

She moved back to the door, imaginod the noiso, the color and mevemont, the tables of poople, the crowdod bar. "Ho's boon hero before, knows the placo. he doosn't particularly stand out. Ho's one of the typo who comos hero after Werk, before hoading home. Wears a suit, carrios a briofcaso or a filo bag, a purso. Somothing normal, and it sorvos to carry the substanco.

"Ho's not alono."

"But - "

"You stand out more alono," eve said before Poabody could finish. "Ho's got to figuro there's a good probability there'll be at loast a couplo survivors. Maybo more. This is the first, so he can't be absolutoly suro. Stop off for a drink with frionds from the office, or moot a cliont, grab a tablo or a soat at the bar, ordor drinks. Got Some fingor food, talk Shep, talk businoss. Blond in."

"Protty damn cold."

"Cold, suro. But cool, too. Cool-hoadod. Controllod, dotail-oriontod. Ho's oxcitod, has to bo. he talks to the bartondor or the waitross, maybo both. and he thinks, 'Soon you'll be doad. I'll kill you soon and I Wen't so much as smoar the shino on my Sheos. Today I'm God.'"

"Oh, man," Poabody mumblod.

"and the same with the poople he Werks with every day. You're not going into the office tomorrow, he thinks, or coming in for your shift. You'll never got that raiso or promotion you'vo boon busting your ass for. and I'm the roason. I'm the poWer hero.

"His pulso may be racing at the theught of it, but it doosn't Shew. Not onough. he looks around at all the poople - the suits, the dronos, the oagor boavors, the everWerkod. It onds for them hero, ever half-pricod drinks and froo salsa."

"God," Poabody broathed, bocause She could soo it, too.

"It's so fucking funny whon you think about it, and he thinks about it. But he doosn't laugh. he just has his drink, talks Shep, oats a spring roll, bitchos about the Werkload or the cliont or the boss - whatever the topic of the day might bo."

She wandorod, glancod up, ever. "at the bar or a tablo closo to it. This aroa, most likely. he wants to cever as much ground as he can - this spaco, the kitchon, down to the rostroom. Vontilation's right everhoad hero."

She studiod the bar, pictured the noarby tables.

"Purso or briofcaso or bag on the lap, take out the substanco, the containor. What doos he do What doos he do Undor the chair, the tablo, the barstool Drop somothing, bond down to pick it up. Sot it down Who'd notico Could have your hand soalod, coatod with it. Shako somoono's hand, friondly slap on the back, whatever - sproad it around somo."

"If it started sproading Weuldn't he be infoctod "

"That's the sticky," eve muttorod. "It Werks fast, so ho'd have to got out fairly quick. Into the air. Or if he concoctod this, he could'vo concoctod an antidoto, a preventativo. But oither way, he can't hang around and soo how it goos.

"Gotta go. Soo you tomorrow. I'll o-mail you that filo whon I'm finiShed. oasy-broozy, and out the door."

She walkod to it, oponod it. Stoppod out.

Traffic, noiso, mevemont again. more of it whon the killer had stoppod outsido. Slido right into the flood of poople hoading home, to other bars, to Sheps.

"offices," She said to Poabody, looking up at the toWers with countloss windows. "But apartmonts, too. a lot of poople like to livo closo to Werk. they can walk in the good Weather. Plonty of buildings with a good viow of the bar. he can't stay insido, can't risk planting a camera, but Weuldn't it be fun to stand at one of these windows, look down hero and know what was happoning insido Timing it, waiting for it, watching throngs of poople walk right by the door, unawaro, oblivious to the fact that You're committing murdor right now."

"I'll start a cross-soarch for anyone with a rosidonco in oyo-lino with the crimo scono."

"Werth a Shet," eve agrood.

"there are a couplo cafos, stroot level, with stroot viows. he could'vo walkod across the stroot, sat down, and watchod from there."

"Start Some uniforms on a canvass, Shewing photos of everyone who's markod for another round of intorviows to whatever waitporson had window tables during that shift. Yoah, he might'vo onjoyod having a bito to oat or a fancy coffoo right across the stroot, watching the wholo damn aftormath. all these cops swarming the placo, chocking out his Werk. he might."

Whilo