Page 66 of Devoted in Death

Eve took a moment, pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Thought: Coffee.

She started to rise when Peabody’s pink boots clomped toward her office.

“I’ve got data on Jansen—our potential first vic.” Her gaze flicked to the board where Eve had already added his photo.

“Based in Columbus, Ohio. He was an efficiency expert. Businesses hired him to come in, give them advice on, well, efficiency. Where to cut expenses, where to add stuff. Age forty-three, divorced, no kids. Nobody had reported him missing for about a week because he worked independently for the most part, and had just finished a job in Fort Smith. He was on his way to Bentonville, and had a few days off in there. He’d rented a pewter Priority sedan in Fort Smith. 2060 model, Shining Silver exterior. That’s apparently in the wind. A lot of traffic bumps, no criminal. Made a good living, had a good rep, spent about thirty-six weeks a year on the road, and apparently liked it. More colleagues and clients than friends—my take—and boxed a little in college. Kept in shape.”

“Put up a fight, more than expected. You see a guy in a nice car, traveling alone. You want the nice car, and don’t figure to have much trouble. He gives you trouble, ends up dead. More colleagues and clients than friends,” Eve mused. “Less likely to stop for a couple or another man. So the woman still leads my theory there. I’m betting she’s got some looks. He got out of the car. If she’d been hitching, or just flagged him down, no need to get out.”

“A breakdown, or she pretends she’s hurt so he gets out to help her.”

“Breakdown leads. They had to get to where they were, and it’s not easy walking distance to anywhere much that I can see. Did anyone know what he might have had on him, with him?”

“Luggage—an efficient packer, as you’d expect. Two good suits, some shirts, ties, underwear, toiletries, workout gear. Two pair dress shoes, two pair running shoes. A tablet, a PPC, two ’links, some cash—he’d withdrawn eight hundred from the autobank in Fort Smith the afternoon of his departure. His immediate supervisor said they all carry a decent amount of cash for tips. Good tips, apparently, lead to more efficient service. Business credit card and two personal. None have been used since he left Fort Smith. He had a good wrist unit. I’ve got the make and model, and started a search. Same for his electronics.”

“Get sizes.”

“Sorry?”

“On the clothes, the shoes. If they didn’t sell them, and likely within a few days along the projected route, then they used them. If they used them, we’d have a body type, a shoe size.”

“Huh. Who’d have thought of that?”

“I thought of that. Get the sizes, see if one of those colleagues or clients can zero in on descriptions of the clothes he’d have packed. If not, try his hotels. He’d have used laundry service somewhere.”

“On it. Ah, Dallas?”

“What? I need to finish updating Whitney.”

“I got a civilian liaison to show Banner around—and told him about The Eatery, such as it is.”

“Okay, great. Go away.”

“Dallas, he doesn’t have anywhere to stay—in New York.”

“There are a zillion places to stay in New York.”

Peabody’s puppy-dog eyes should’ve warned her, but Eve was distracted.

“Yeah, he asked if I could recommend a hotel, maybe close to Central. He’s been going for about thirty hours straight now, and, well, he’s on his own nickel. I get the impression deputies in Silby’s Pond are more underpaid even than detectives in New York.”

“Christ, Peabody.” Realization and twangs of guilt hit at once. “I see where you’re going, and you’re going to want to do a fast U.”

“Just hear me out first, okay?” Peabody waved her hands in the air as if to ward off any boot aimed at her nose. “If you put him up, he’d be right there. Anything breaks anywhere on this, he’d be right there. And I was thinking, McNab and I could bunk over—same reason,” she said quickly. “And we could keep him occupied so you wouldn’t have to, if necessary. Carmichael and Santiago are already on their way west. Something could break tonight.”

“Fuck me.” Eve resisted just dropping her head to the desk, maybe banging it there a few times, because, like DeWinter, Peabody had a point.

“Set it up. You deal with Summerset.” That torture would be spared her, Eve decided. “I don’t want to hear him griping about running a halfway house for cops.”

“I’ll take care of it. Ah, we’re going to have to go home, get some stuff. We could haul Banner with us, but...”

“Oh, for— I’ll take him. When I’m damn good and ready. He can catch some sleep in the crib if he needs it. Go the hell away before you have me taking in half the damn department for the night.”

Eve put her head in her hands a moment. Coffee first, she decided. Then she’d contact Roarke—text him—that’s the way to let him know she was bringing cops home—one of them a complete stranger. Update Whitney, review the run on missings, then—

Her ’link signaled, and, grinding her teeth, she answered DeWinter again.

“What the fuck?”