Shadows in Death (In Death #51) - J.D. Robb Page 0,74
Dublin salon. Still, she needed to move on that.
She took the coffee back to her desk. Before she could start the search her ’link signaled. And her comp signaled an incoming.
She saw Roarke’s name on the display. “Gimme,” she said.
“Style and Substance Salon and Spa. His hair tech is Milo Cummings. Skin, Genita O’Brian. Nails, Breen Casey. I have the rest, in the memo I just sent you. His last visit, for a full round, was five weeks ago.”
She did an internal happy dance. “I didn’t think you could pull it off this fast.”
“I’m wounded.”
“Seriously, Roarke, more gold. How much did it cost you?”
He simply smiled. “Some things are beyond price. Will you call in the locals to interview?”
“Me first. I might not have time before Abernathy to hit them all, but I’ll grill the hair guy first. Real quick, we found the cat—I mean where he got the cat.”
“Someone else works fast.”
“I just sent an updated report. It’s all in there. I’ve gotta go, but we’re building the box. And we’re going to nail the lid on him.”
“I trust we will. I’ll send you the list of potential safe houses shortly. Good hunting, Lieutenant.”
“Back at you.”
She clicked off, brought up his incoming. All there. The man was thorough. She made the first contact.
With five minutes to spare, she strode out to the bullpen, handed Peabody a disc. “More updates. I’ll write it up later, but get this up. And listen up!” she said to the room at large. “Whatever you’re eating, put it away. If you need coffee, get it now. Be prepared to speak on your specific part of the investigation, the progress or lack of same. If somebody gets killed during this meeting, Reineke teams up with Santiago to take it. I want one member of each team in the room at all times.”
“Holy shit, Dallas.” Peabody stopped her updates. “This is fricking mag data.”
“That’s right. That’s damn right. We’re going to show Interpol how the NYPSD catches bad guys.”
“Bet your ass,” Baxter said. “Hey, Dr. Mira.”
Eve turned as Mira came in. “Somebody get Dr. Mira a chair.”
“I’m fine.” Mira waved it away as she moved to study the board. “Fascinating,” she murmured.
Since Eve sincerely couldn’t believe anyone could stand for long on skinny needles topped by sassy bows, she gestured for a chair.
Feeney, McNab, Callendar came in next. Feeney shoved his hands in the saggy pockets of his shit-brown suit and joined Mira at the board.
Eve considered logistics, admitted a conference room would suit better. But the hell with that. Her house, her turf, and she’d use it.
Peabody, board complete, walked over to give Eve a laser pointer. “You might want it.”
“Right.” She slid it into her jacket pocket.
Whitney came in, a contrast with a slim, almost slight man in his late forties. He’d hit about five-nine, Eve thought, maybe carried about a hundred and forty. Mixed race with deep brown skin, sharp cheekbones, and enormous eyes. Amber, like the dead cat’s.
He wore a buff-colored suit, perfectly pressed, with a crisp shirt of minute checks that crossed quiet blue and a rose nearly the same color as Mira’s sassy bows. The carefully knotted tie went for the rose. His pocket square matched it.
He carried a black briefcase.
“Lieutenant Dallas,” Whitney began. “Inspector Abernathy of Interpol.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Lieutenant.”
He had one of those rich, somehow fruity voices of the British upper class.
“Welcome to New York, Inspector,” Eve said as they shook hands. “My partner, Detective Peabody.” Very deliberately she named every detective in the room. “Our uniform support, with Officer Carmichael as senior.”
She continued, introducing Mira, then the EDD team.
“I’m very much looking forward to working with you. I hope to expand on the hard and the speculative data in the files we’ve amassed on Lorcan Cobbe. I will say it would break his long-term pattern to remain in New York more than another twenty-four hours. Our window is quite small.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Eve said flatly. “He has a longer-term goal. Eliminating Roarke.”
“I understand he appears to hold a grudge against Roarke, and eliminating him would be satisfying for someone of Cobbe’s predilections and nature, but Cobbe knows accomplishing that goal would take careful planning, considerable research. Our analysis is, he’ll take the next day, or a portion of it, to continue on-site research, then continue same at another location.”
“Your analysis is wrong. It’s not a grudge. It’s a mission. Dr. Mira.”
“Yes.” Crossing the room, Mira gave a thumbnail sketch of her profile.