“It may take a bit of persuading to get a bite on those lines, but I can be persuasive.”
“Yeah, you can. I’m going to review the feed again, and push on the other angles. He booked a shuttle, a limo, an LC, he got the cat from somewhere. The bad-guy safe house, that’s going to be a single-family residence. Upscale, good neighborhood, high-end security.”
“I have to point out there’s no lack of those in New York.”
“It’s a jump point, and if it’s what I think it is, it has rotating tenants. Upscale, good neighborhood, people notice that. It’s got a cover.”
She started pacing again. “Owner travels extensively for business, uses it as a New York base, renting it out short term to execs, blah blah. Wealthy individual or couple—no kids—friendly enough, but no socialization. Too busy.”
“Alternatively, it may be owned by a dummy corporation, and there’s your cover. It’s a space available to execs again, or clients.”
“Could be even better.” She stewed on it. “Yeah, even better that way. You’d want staff, but you could—and likely would—stick with droids. So we’ll look for single-family residences, and so on, owned by a business.”
“Why don’t I take that while you push your other angles?”
“That’ll work.”
Roarke took her auxiliary while she went back to the security feed. Details, she thought.
Check in—wearing black. Friendly enough, but with a bored look in his eyes. Just another job.
Heading out, the casual wave. Showered off the travel, she thought, casually dressed. Same boots, she noted, he’d come in wearing.
She froze, enhanced, got a closer look at them. Since Roarke insisted on buying her boots every five minutes, she recognized custom. Another angle, and she added it to her notes.
Going to check out the area, maybe get a good meal.
Murder night. Black hoodie—and black running shoes. Freeze, enhance.
“He’s wearing one of your brand of running shoes.”
“Sorry, what?”
“I bet he doesn’t know you own the company that makes the running shoes he’s wearing. Top-of-the-line’s what he knows. Running shoes because he’s going to have to move fast, he may have to run. And they work better with the hoodie. Just some guy out for a jog or a stroll through the park.”
She noted down the brand of the shoes, did a probability on size.
Red jacket. Had to be custom, too. Reversible to black hoodie. Private tailor? No telltale emblem, brand name, no label, she remembered. Long shot didn’t begin to cover it, but she put it in her notes.
Back to checkout. Urban black—not the hoodie, but the same jacket worn at check-in.
“He’s going to want more clothes,” she murmured. “He packed for a couple of days, but he’s extending that now. He’s going to shop. High-end menswear.”
Another ridiculous long shot, but it went into her notes.
She paused her searches to read the preliminary sweeper report on the hotel room.
Nothing.
But within an hour, the next incoming gave her a boost.
“We’ve got the transpo service, the car and driver. And that takes us to his shuttle.” She glanced over at Roarke. “A team’s heading over to interview the driver, another’s heading to the transpo center.”
She rose to update her board. “We’ll get feed again, plus we’ll know where he came in from. The ground service was booked under Patrick R. Blade. He used Blade with Tween. Switched the name for the hotel, but he likely used one of those two names to book the shuttle.”
Roarke sat back. “You can follow him, and I understand every detail matters. But it’s harder to understand how those details help you find him.”
“Track his movements, follow his pattern. He came in for a quick job, packed for a quick job. Private shuttle because that’s how he rolls, and he needed his knives. Now we’ll know where he came in from, we’ll interview the pilot. Did he have a meal on the shuttle, a drink? What did he eat, what did he drink? Private’s going to have an attendant. We interview. Did he work, did he chat, did he sleep?”
She stuck her hands in her pockets, studied the board.
“He adjusted his plans. Now he has to buy some clothes. No time for private tailoring, so high-end but—what do you call it?”
“Off-the-rack. Ready-to-wear.”
“Right. How long’s he had that reversible hoodie? There’s nothing in his file about that one—reverse to red jacket. Maybe it’s a detail missed or left out, but maybe he had it made by a tailor where he flew in from. We track that. Maybe there’s something there that tells us where he’s most likely