Page 25 of Portrait in Death (In Death 16)

Roarke never missed a nuance.

“Someone she knew, and trusted,” he said.

“Almost has to be. She didn’t put up a fight.”

; “Someone who blends at the college,” he added, grabbing a towel. “So if he or she was seen loitering, nothing would be thought of it.”

“He—or she—is careful.” Out of habit, she stepped into the drying tube and let the warm air swirl. “Methodical,” she added, raising her voice. “Tidy. A planner. Mira’s going to tell me, when she profiles, that the killer probably holds a job, pays bills in a timely fashion, doesn’t make trouble. Has a knack with imaging, so I’m betting it’s either a serious hobby or a profession.”

“There’s something you haven’t said,” he added as Eve stepped out of the tube. “You haven’t said he’s already looking for his second.”

“Because he’s not.” She scooped a hand through her hair as she walked into the bedroom. “He’s already picked number two. He’s already got the first images locked.”

She chose ancient gray pants and a sleeveless tank. “The data club might be a trolling spot. I’ll see what I find on the security discs and the employee files.” She glanced over her shoulders. “You don’t happen to own Make The Scene.”

“Doesn’t ring,” he said easily as he put on a fresh shirt. “I’ve a few data clubs around the city, but most of mine are close to schools or on campus. More traffic, i.e., more profit.”

“Hmm. Did you ever go to college?”

“No. School and I had a poor relationship.”

“Neither did I. I can’t relate. It’s like another planet. I’m worried I’ll miss something there, if there’s anything there, because I can’t relate. I mean, take this professor. Why is she teaching Imaging classes? She doesn’t need the money, and if she wants to work in Imaging, why not just do that?”

“Those who can’t, teach. Isn’t there some saying along those lines?”

She gave him a blank look. “If you can’t do something, how the hell can you teach somebody else to do it?”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea. It may be she enjoys teaching. People do.”

“God knows why. People asking questions all the time, looking at you for the answers, for approval, whatever. Dealing with fuck-ups and smartasses and pompous jerks. And all so they can go off and get jobs that pay more than you make to teach them how to get the jobs in the first place.”

“Some might say very similar things about cops.” He gave the dent in her chin a quick flick with his fingertip. “If you’re still at it when I’m done, I’ll give you a hand.”

She fixed a smirk on her face. “If you’re still at it when I’m done, I’ll give you a hand.”

“That’s a very nasty threat.”

In her office, Eve headed straight to the kitchen and the AutoChef to order up coffee. At her desk, she loaded the discs from the data club, then absently picked up the statue of the goddess Peabody’s mother had given her.

Maybe it would bring her luck, she thought, and setting it down again, ordered the disc images on screen.

She spent the first hour threading her way though the disc, studying the crowd, the movement. The lighting was poor, dim in corners, harsh and jerky on the dance floor. If she needed to ID anyone specifically, she’d probably need the EDD magicians to clean it up. But for now what she saw was a young crowd, mixing, mingling, cruising.

As advertised Steve Audrey was at the bar until nine when the light show burst into being and the music went from merely loud to eardrum damage. He did his job competently enough, spending a lot of time chatting with the customers, but managing to fill their orders without delays.

Most of the cruisers, male or female, traveled in pairs or packs, she noted. There weren’t many solos. The killer, Eve figured, would be alone. He didn’t troll with a friend.

She plucked out the few singles she noted, marked the section of the disc.

And there, zeroing in, was Diego. She’d bet the bank on it. Swaggering little guy, slicked up in a red silk shirt and pegged trousers. Heeled boots. Oh yeah, thinks he’s a god.

She watched him scan the crowd, pick his marks for the night’s hustle.

“Computer, freeze image. Magnify section twenty-five through thirty.” She pursed her lips as she studied the face. Dark, handsome, if you went for the macho-slick, pretty-boy type. “Computer, run standard ID program on this image. Get me a full name,” she murmured.

It would take time, so she shifted to other work.