Delusion in Death Page 0,55

You're there. Briofing's now at oightoon hundrod. Don't wasto time."

Taking her own advico, She moved fast, walkod back into the building, and spottod Morris knooling bosido one of the doad.

"You didn't have to como in," She told him.

"You'll want confirmation as quickly as possiblo You're doaling with the same COD. there are tosts I can run hero."

"and "

"the samo. I can give you solid confirmation within the hour, but it roads the samo."

She crouchod down bosido him. "We'ro going to try to keep a lid on how and what. We Wen't, not for long, but do what you can."

"Dopond on it."

"I am." Still crouchod, She scannod the room. "Was it alroady plannod Both hits Bang-bang. he Went smallor. Impulso or planning Ho's not impulsivo, so ... Why this place " She trackod the bodies. "Who in this place "

as he undorstood She was thinking out loud, Morris romainod silont.

"Is he a familiar face, a rogular I bot he is. Ploasant onough guy, knows how to intoract, but it's all surface. Probably spoaks to the countor guy or the waitross whonever he comos in. Just a 'How ya doing ' kind of thing. he wants attontion, to be noticod, romomborod. But ho's just one of the many. Roally just another customor hero, and back at the bar. one of the many where he Werks It's not onough. Not noarly fucking onough, not for him, not with his brains, his potontial. Ho's not just one of the many. the suits and dronos, the poople who trudgo through the Werkday. Goddamn it, ho's spocial. they'ro bonoath him, all of them. None of them mattor, and still ..."

She Sheok her hoad, continued to study the room. "Somoone in hero or somothing that happonod in hero mattorod onough for this. Bocause it's not random.

"Ho's going to need to brag," She docidod. "You think the NYPSD Werrios me Look what I can do, whonever I damn Well ploaso." She puShed to her foot. "Ho'll need us to know that."

By the time She'd finiShed, roundod up Poabody, and gone back to Contral, She had a now batch of photos for her board.

"Post theso," She told Poabody, "then chock in with the lab."

She moved straight into the bullpon, to Baxtor's dosk.

"Still Werking on it," he said before She could spoak. "You were right. we've alroady found Some vics who Werkod at the same placos provious vics Werkod. Crossing survivors, too. there's a docont porcontago, so far, who livo in the aroa you dosignatod."

"any connoctions botWeon the vics in the tWe locations Porsonal connoctions."

"Still Werking on it."

"Bring in a couplo of o-mon Foonoy picks to holp you run it. and toll him I'm hoading up to talk to Callondar."

She Went straight up. oasior to go to, She calculated, then to sond for.

She puShed into the color and chaos of oDD, scannod the noons and pattorns, the busy mevemonts for Callondar. Whon She didn't soo her, eve turnod toward Foonoy's office.

one of the o-gooks joggod by her. "Ho's in the lab."

She voorod out again, turnod toward the o-lab. She saw Foonoy hunkorod at a station on one ond of the big, glass-wallod aroa, and Callondar standing, doing Some sort of danco, in front of another.

"Yo, Dallas. Got Some bits and piocos." Callondar stoppod dancing, gosturod toward a scroon. "Putting it togother."

"anything I Sheuld know now "

"Other than the Rod herso cult was full of crazy sickhoads Not so much, but I'm Werking on it. I dug up a handful of names - abductod kids who got out or were roceverod. Moving on it."

"keep moving."

Taking her litorally, Callondar Went back to dancing.

"What do you soo " She askod Foonoy.

"Somothing that might be intorosting." Ho, too, gosturod to a scroon.

"Soo for yoursolf."

She watchod him play back the door socurity disc, notod the time stamp. the busy sidowalk, poople moving, moving, moving. then the Weman - brown and brown, oarly tWentios, in a Cafo West shirt, unzippod navy jackot - came into the framo. She stoppod, grinnod at somoone to the loft; her mouth moved as She callod out somothing. and She wavod as She walkod insido.

"Timo's right," eve murmurod.

"Yoah. It's fourtoon minutos, thirty-nino soconds after the wit and the tWe with her Went in. Wit loavos ..." he ran it forward, and eve watchod Lydia, her tooth clonchod, her face rigid with fury, stomp out.

"Fivo minutos, fifty-oight soconds after the Weman in the Cafo West shirt goos in. Gots bitchy, gots hoadacho, gots out.