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And punched it.

“Jesus, Roarke!”

He whipped through, skimming his way around cabs and cars and one-seaters, and nipped through a light a blink before it went to red. “Not bad,” he decided.

“If I bung this thing up the first week, I’ll never live it down.”

“Umm-hmm.” He went vertical, maintaining it until he’d swung around a corner. “Could be a bit more elastic on the turns, but it handles well enough.”

“And if Traffic lights you up, I’m not flashing my badge to kill the violation.”

“Lateral’s fairly smooth,” he decided after testing it out. “So, where are we going?”

She sighed, long and deep, but at least the question allowed her to relay the first name and address to her map system. “You want the route displayed on windshield or the dash monitor?”

“Dash will do.”

“On monitor,” she ordered and couldn’t suppress the smile when it popped on. “I ditched the vocals. It’ll only blab at me if I specifically order it to. Too bad people don’t come with the same accessory.”

She rattled off the route.

“How did Celina’s session go?” Roarke asked her.

“She handled it. We got a few more details, but it’s tough going. Mira won’t approve another session without a twenty-four-hour break.”

“A slow process.”

“Yeah, and he’s not going to move slow. It’s not just women he’s after, but women he sees as having control over him.”

“Symbolically.”

“Maybe I pushed him the wrong way, pushed him when I did the interview with Nadine, then the media conference. He’s escalating.”

“Whether you push or not, he’ll continue to kill until you stop him.”

“Yeah, I’ll be doing that. I’ll damn well be doing that soon.”

Her first stop was named Randall Beam, and he wasn’t happy about having a cop at the door.

“Listen, I got a thing. I’m just about out the door already. What gives?”

“If we can come in, Randall, we’ll tell you what gives, then maybe you can keep your thing.”

“Hell. How come a guy has a coupla assaults on his sheet, cops’re always yanking him?”

“It’s a mystery all right.”

Eve stepped in, scanned the room. It was small, man messy without being revolting. There was the faintest whiff of something in the air that could get Randall a little visit from Illegals, but she’d let it pass unless she had to squeeze him.

There were curtains at the windows, which was a surprise, and a couple of nice-looking pillows tucked into the corners of a sagging couch.

Physically, Beam didn’t fit her profile. He was about six feet tall, a solid and muscular one-eighty. But compared to a size fifteen, his feet were almost dainty. His complexion leaned toward jailhouse white, and he sported a long brown ponytail.

Still, she’d need to take the time with him. He might have a friend, a brother, whatever, who fit her needs more closely.

“Need your whereabouts, Randall.” She gave him the nights of the three murders, waited while he stood looking put-upon and sad.

“How’m I supposed to know?”

“You can’t tell me where you were last night?”

“Last night? One of them’s last night? Last night, after I got off work? I got gainful employment.”

“Good for you.”

“So, after work, me and a couple of the guys stopped in at the Roundhouse. Bar on Fourth? Knocked back a few, grabbed some chow, played some pool. LC works the joint. Name’s Loelle? I was flush, so I took her up to one of the privates—Roundhouse’s got two—for a bang. Had a couple more drinks, got home, I dunno, about two? This here’s my day off.”

“Loelle and your buddies going to confirm all that?”

“Sure. Why not? Loelle’s down there most nights; you can ask her. And you can ask Ike—Ike Steenburg—we work together. He was there last night. What gives?”

“Let’s get through the other two nights.”

He was clueless about his activities on the night of Napier’s murder—but he balked on explaining what he was doing on the night of Maplewood’s.

“I had a thing. Was there till after eleven. Went out with . . . with some people after for, you know, coffee. Got home, I dunno, maybe midnight. I really gotta go now.”

“What’s the thing, Randall?”

He shuffled