Shadows in Death (In Death #51) - J.D. Robb Page 0,73

boots, both black. A silk T-shirt, an amber color, and a black leather jacket. Real leather. He had a wrist unit—sport style.”

“Was he driving or walking?”

“I … I’m not sure. He bought a cat carrier—I’d forgotten that. He didn’t have one, and we have them at the offices. He didn’t want a collar, because he said he wanted his girl to pick one out. He took the congratulations basket we give you. So he had that and the carrier.”

“Okay.” Absently, Eve stroked the cat purring in her lap. “You made small talk. He said he was from Ireland. Did you talk about that?”

“Yes. I said I’d always wanted to go, and he said he hoped I would. It was beautiful, and he missed it. I asked what he did for a living—even though I’d run the background—and he said he and his wife had owned and run a small hotel, which jibed, but he’d sold it because after she died his heart wasn’t in it. Now he helped manage his parents’ rentals—businessman rentals.”

“Businessman rentals?”

“Yes, where people traveling who don’t want a hotel can stay in an apartment or townhouse and that sort of thing. His check said hotels and hospitality for employment, and that seemed to match. I went through my litany of how to introduce a new pet to a household, to the people in it, about diet, and how she still needed the topical, just to be sure, for another few days. He listened so attentively. He took her meds—she’s off the antibiotics now, but still needs the special vitamins.

“She took to him, you could see it. She liked him, curled up in his lap like Regal is with you when he sat to fill out the rest of the paperwork. He took all his copies, and the adoption certificate we make. He put it in his little girl’s name, Colleen. Sweetie was to have a follow-up exam in two weeks, and he took all my husband’s information.”

“You have the paperwork he signed?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to need that.”

“I’ll get it off my computer here.” She rose, then looked at Eve with grieving eyes. “Did she suffer?”

“No,” Eve lied. “It was very quick. And she’s in good hands with the doctor who’s in charge. He’s kind.”

“Thank you.”

When she walked out, Peabody looked at Eve. “He worked it perfectly. The dead wife, the little girl’s birthday wish. Played the heart-strings.”

“Yeah, he did.” Eve looked down at the cat in her lap, wondered if she took a spin in the fume tube Galahad wouldn’t smell the invader.

Screw that.

“He’s not stupid,” she continued. “And he knows how to read people. He read me,” she added. “Read the way I panicked for a second, tore open that damn bag at the gates.”

“Galahad’s family.”

True enough, Eve thought. And her family was going to be pretty pissed off when he smelled another cat on her.

After she turned over the paperwork, Undall walked out with them. “I have to tell Dory. And Michael and the rest. I—”

She broke off, breathed through. “I hope you catch him. I hope you lock him away forever. Because he’s a monster.”

“Got that right,” Eve mumbled as she got back in the car. “And he left with a cat in a carrier, the goodie basket, meds, paperwork. Not on foot unless it was a couple of blocks.”

She considered knocking on some doors herself, but she needed that prep time for Abernathy. “Get some uniforms to canvass with Cobbe’s photo,” she told Peabody. “Have them check parking lots and garages. We could get lucky.”

Back at Central she told Peabody to update the squad. She had to get the new data, the new angles organized and on paper before meeting with Interpol.

She assumed Whitney would hold the meeting in his office, then wound that back, and sent her commander a memo.

Sir, with your approval I’d like to meet with Inspector Abernathy in the bullpen to demonstrate our manpower and commitment to this investigation. I believe my officers should be involved and included.

She sent it, then began to organize her notes and data into a report. She’d barely started before Whitney’s response came through.

Agreed. Ten o’clock.

Great. Excellent. Fuck.

“Peabody!” she shouted it, kept working.

The clump of pink boots came on the run. “Sir!”

“Change of venue. Whitney’s bringing Abernathy into the bullpen. Let everyone know. Get the board on-screen—I’ll make updates there.”

“I got it.”

Eve finished the report, shot it off. She got up to get coffee, noting that Roarke’s time wasn’t quite up on nailing down the