Page 27 of Devoted in Death

“The most likely now is Kuper caught a cab, went downtown, and they grabbed him. Random choice, wrong place, wrong time. You’re looking for insight from the remaining interviews, and corroboration on the timeline and movements on the night the vic went missing. And if I’m wrong, any sense he was stalked or threatened prior.”

“You’re not going to be wrong. Everything I’ve got here says these two breeze into a town, a community, choose a vic, have their fun and move on. Identified areas so far are usually remote areas or, in more urban areas, an abandoned building. Two or three days, they’re done. They could already be done here, Dallas, and gone. That’s the pattern.”

“We follow through. Look at the route, Peabody. They were aiming for New York. This is where they wanted to be. Let’s find out why.”

In her office, she reviewed Peabody’s notes, and set up a second board. For once as she arranged the data on previous victims, she wished for bigger office space.

It took some doing, but she tracked the cab. Her vic had hailed one on Broadway, and taken it downtown where—at his request—the cab dropped him at the corner of Perry and Seventh—a few blocks shy of the club.

Why? Eve wondered. Nice night?

She did a quick back check on the weather, nodded.

“Nice night,” she murmured. “Take a little walk, stretch your legs, get some air. You know the neighborhood. How’d they mark you?”

She sat again, put her boots on the desk, shut her eyes.

The female, she thought—because she believed the probability of a hetero couple—use the female to lure him.

Excuse me? Try flirty but flustered, just a little helpless. Certainly harmless. Could you help me? I’m lost.

Yeah, maybe, maybe just that simple.

Or the ploy Dahmer used—that classic had proven to do the job in all the decades following.

Lone woman struggling to lift something heavy into the back of a vehicle.

Can I give you a hand?

Oh, golly. Would you mind? I just can’t quite get it up there.

Vic does the good deed, and the male comes up behind, bashes him. They drag him into the back of the vehicle—van or all-terrain—one jumps in with him to restrain, the other gets behind the wheel.

She opened her eyes again, studied the board.

Can’t hold him in the vehicle for two days. Got a hole somewhere, got a place. How’d they get it? Downtown, highest probability. It’s where they took him, it’s where they dumped him.

She ran the route, the drive time from Perry to Mechanics Alley. Highlighted the sector on her map.

Possible kill location, she thought. Somewhere in that sector.

Abandoned building? Nothing stayed empty for long, she thought. Junkies, sidewalk sleepers, squatters, somebody moved in.

She did a search, found six potentials, arranged for uniforms to check them out.

Then she picked up where Peabody had left off, began to reach out to other cops with other victims.

Mid-afternoon, and looking a little hollow-eyed, Peabody came in, dropped a vending bag on Eve’s desk.

“What is that?”

“It a Vegalicious Pocket—it’s new. And, well, I’d call it Vegaterrible, but it fills the hole. Can I get coffee, my post-holiday-workout-daily butt is seriously dragging.”

Eve just wagged a thumb at the AutoChef, and filled Peabody in on the victim’s movements, the notes from other primaries.

“The one in Woodsbury, Ohio, is keeping it front and center. It’s the first murder in his town for over a decade, and he’s taking it personal. He may be a good resource as we progress, and—Jesus Christ.”

Eve managed—barely—to swallow the bite she’d taken out of the vending pocket, then grabbed Peabody’s coffee regular, gulped. “Oh, and nearly as bad. Who deliberately makes anything that tastes like that?”