The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [617]
She turned, walked into the tiny, equally cramped bedroom. “Then he’s got them. She’s got privacy screens, but they’re old and cheap. Right equipment, you could watch her in here. You know when she gets up, how long it takes her to get ready for work, what time she leaves, her route. Bet you keep it all documented. Scientific, that’s what it is. I wonder how many he’s picked, watched, documented, and rejected. How many women are alive because they didn’t quite fit his precise requirements.”
“Creepy.”
“Yeah.” Dipping her hands into her pockets, Eve rocked back on her heels. “Maybe he’s always worked this way, or worked this way before. The prior personal contact, the maneuvering the target to go to him. We’ll go back over the old cases with that angle. And we’ll look at the projected targets in this one with that in mind.”
“Dallas? What are we looking for here? I mean, here in her place.”
“Her. Gia Rossi. He knows the pieces of her, or thinks he does. Let’s see what we find.”
It was what they didn’t find that added weight to Eve’s theory. However cramped and messy the living space, Gia Rossi kept her exercise and music discs meticulously organized.
“Two slots empty in her workout disc tree, three empty in her music disc tree. The way she’s got them alphabetized, I’m guessing cardio and yoga on the fitness end. We’ll check the personal effects Baxter took from her gym locker.”
“She’s got a lot of personal equipment. Hand weights, ankle and wrist weights, mats, medicine balls, running track.” Peabody gestured inside the closet that Rossi had outfitted for equipment storage. “I’m guessing some’s missing. Lightest and heaviest ankle weights, light and heavy resistance ropes.”
“Light for him, heavy for her. Takes some basic equipment, some music, the demo vids. You ever work with a PT?”
“No.” Peabody flexed her butt muscles, wondering if that was the way to reduce the square footage of her ass. “You?”
“No, but I’m betting a good one would outline a program for a client—something specifically created for his body type, age, weight, goals, and so on. If she did it here, EDD can find it. Let’s go.”
Roarke walked into a war room full of chatter of both the human and electronic varieties. Cops on ’links, on headsets, on comps. Cops sitting, pacing, dancing.
But his cop was nowhere to be seen.
He crossed paths with McNab, who was outfitted in silver jeans and a casual Sunday sweatshirt of searing orange. “Is the lieutenant in the house?”
“In the field. Heading in, though. Working some fresh angles. You want?”
“I want.”
Tapping the toes of his silver airboots, McNab swiveled in his chair. “Just covered all public and private transpo with pictures of York and Rossi. Dallas is working the idea that our guy provided transpo.”
“And they just hopped in?”
“Yeah. Need liquid. Walk and talk.”
McNab filled Roarke in as he headed out to Vending, debated his choices, and opted for an orange fizzy—perhaps to match his shirt.
“A home lesson or consultation,” Roarke mused. “Interesting, and it would eliminate the risk of any sort of public abduction. Still, the method has its own risks and problems.”
“Yeah, what if they change their minds, don’t show, decide to bring a pal along. Lots of possibles.” He sucked in fizzy. “But she wants it worked, so we work it. She said if you popped in, you should take a look at your employee list with this angle in mind. Women who fit the parameters who might do a house call on the side.”
“Yes, I can do that.”
“Lots of possibles,” McNab repeated, “considering all the pies you’ve got fingers in. Anything moving on the real estate angle?”
“Nothing that stands out from the crowd, no.”
“Sometimes you’ve got to toss it up, you know. Let it fall in a different pattern. You keep working it, it gets so it’s just data. Maybe I could take that for a while while you work the new