Shadows in Death (In Death #51) - J.D. Robb Page 0,71
Reineke, Jenkinson, start with high-end men’s stores that offer quick alterations, top-of-the-line sportswear.”
“Going to need underwear,” Jenkinson added. “Private residence, no laundry service.”
“Might have a droid on-site for that, but yeah.”
Despite the throb it put behind her eyes, she studied Jenkinson’s tie—an explosion of multicolored stars on a neon-blue sky. “Maybe you can find a tie that doesn’t cause temporary blindness.”
He just gave her a toothy grin.
“He made a mistake with the cat. He made a mistake with the LC. He made a mistake letting Roarke see him. He’s going to keep making mistakes. We won’t. Lock it in.”
Before she could turn to her office, write it all up, Trueheart signaled again.
“Ah, Lieutenant. I think I found the cat.”
“Are you fucking with me, Detective?”
He flushed to his ears. “No, sir! I’ve got a year-old female, orange tabby, adopted yesterday. They do that, leave their pictures and stories up for a while.”
“Up on-screen,” she snapped.
When he did she studied the photos—a kind of progression from a scabby, and yeah, mangy skin-and-bones cat dated four and a half weeks prior, to the gradual and substantial improvements, to the image of a healthy, fluffy-coated cat with clear amber eyes.
Each picture had a short description.
“See, it says she was found five weeks ago,” Trueheart said. “Taken into foster care, taken to the vet for exam, treatment, shots, topical meds, antibiotics, then a couple weeks later when she was well enough, taken in to be spayed.”
“It fits. It fits. And adopted, with love goddamn it, yesterday. Caring Hearts Pet Rescue, in Soho. Pin it down, Trueheart, shoot me the name and address of the foster. Peabody, let’s roll.”
Eve was already at the glides, heading down, when Peabody caught up.
“That could be a big break.”
“It’s going to be.”
“I’m sick about that poor cat. I shouldn’t have looked at the crime scene shots. It’s just so cruel.”
“He’ll pay for it. He’s going to pay for all of it.”
“He wanted you to think it was Galahad.”
“For half a second, I did. He’ll pay for that, too.” She yanked out her comm. “Who and where?”
“Tara Undall, 21 Worth.”
“Good work.”
“That’s close,” Peabody said as she tried to keep up with Eve on the glides.
“His safe house is going to be close, too. Why haul a cat uptown or across town? Plenty of those rescue places, Trueheart said. So you find one convenient.”
“The hair thing. Do you really think he’d go to a salon in New York?”
“You need the pro treatment every three months. It’s going to depend on how long ago he had one. We need to add Brussels to the list there. He came in from Brussels.”
“It’s hard to keep up with the data coming in.”
“We’re going to have more. We don’t need the vet, so tell Carmichael and Santiago to interview the shuttle pilots, the transpo station. Anything hot comes in, Baxter and Trueheart catch it.”
Peabody relayed the orders as they crossed the garage.
“We’re supposed to meet with Inspector Abernathy at ten,” Peabody reminded her.
“We’re going to give him a lot to chew on.”
Tara Undall lived in a white duplex with a blue door. The door opened even as Eve and Peabody approached.
She stepped out, a woman of about forty-five with a bouncy tail of red hair, glittery sunshades, and a fit body in running tights and a flowy T-shirt.
She had two dogs on leashes, one small and spotted, one big and yellow.
“Ms. Undall?”
“Yes? Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just going out to walk the dogs.”
Eve pulled out her badge. “We need to speak to you.”
Undall lifted her sunshades, blinked at the badge. “I have all my inspection certificates and licenses. Can this wait?”
“It’s important.”
As she sighed, a woman came out of the adjoining house—green door—with another dog.
“Dory, can you take Baby and Max? I’ll catch up.”
“Sure.” Dory, short hair under a cap, pink sneakers, walked over. “Problem?”
“I’ll let you know. I hope this can be quick,” Undall added as she walked back to the door.
“Sweet dogs,” Peabody commented. “Are you fostering them?”
Undall thawed a little. “Baby’s mine. Max is a foster. He needs room to run, and he just loves kids. He wants a big family and a big yard.”
She let them into a sun-washed foyer that opened into a sun-washed living area where a trio of cats lounged on different levels of a kind of upholstered tree.
“Are you looking to adopt?”
“One of these days.”
“Well, what can I do for you? I really need to catch up with Dory. Max is a handful.”