The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [697]
Not his kind of place, she decided. Too modern, too ugly, too crowded, and with too much security. A guy couldn’t comfortably drag a terrified or unconscious woman inside without annoying the neighbors.
Still she questioned a few, showed Lowell’s picture.
What if she was off, she wondered, about him working out of the city? Maybe he’d bought a damn house in the suburbs, and used Manhattan for hunting and dumping. How much time would she have wasted looking for the right building among thousands if he was killing women in some ranch in White Plains or Newark?
She got back in the car. She’d go back to the bakery, back to Greenfeld’s apartment. Maybe she’d missed something. Maybe they all had. She’d do another sweep of each victim’s home and place of employment.
Swinging out into traffic, she relayed her intentions back to base. “It’ll keep me out on the street a couple more hours, keep me in the open. And it’ll look like what it is. Like I’m chasing my goddamn tail.”
“I’ve got another possibility,” Roarke told her. “It was a sewing machine factory, regentrified into lofts in NoHo late in the twentieth. I’ve got a bit about it being used for barracks during the Urbans, taking some considerable hits. It was repaired and sold for lofts again in the early thirties.”
“Okay, I’ll check that one. Give me the location.” She pursed her lips when he gave her the address. She’d gone from west to east, and now would cross west again, head north. “Peabody, you copy that?”
“Affirmative.”
“Heading west.”
She made her turn, then answered the signal of her in-dash ’link. “Dallas.”
“Lieutenant Dallas? I’m calling for Mr. Klok. You requested that he contact you when he returned home. He arrived today, and would be happy to speak with you if you still wish it.”
“Yeah, I still wish it.”
“Mr. Klok is able to meet with you at your convenience. However, it would be helpful if you could come to his residence as he’s injured himself in a fall. His doctors prefer he remain at home for the next forty-eight hours.”
“Yeah? What happened?”
“Mr. Klok slipped on some ice on the sidewalk upon his return. He suffered a mild concussion and a wrenched knee. If it’s not convenient for you, Mr. Klok wishes for me to relate to you that he will come to your office as soon as his doctors allow.”
“I can come to him. Actually, I’m in the area now. I can be there in a few minutes.”
“Very well. I’ll inform Mr. Klok.”
Eve ended the transmission, and said, “Hmmm.”
“Got a smell to it,” Feeney commented in her ear.
“Yeah, awfully well timed and convenient. It’s also pretty stupid for our guy to invite me into his home to make his move. No tail on me. As far as he knows I’ve got my partner here.”
She tapped her fingers on the wheel as she thought it through. “Klok ran clean—and no, I’m not discounting that could be another fabrication. Either way, I want to talk to him. And if this actually turns out to be his move on me, he’s giving me free entry.”
“Into a trap,” Roarke pointed out.
“It’s only a trap if I let him spring it. I’ve got three men at my back, I’ve got eyes and ears. I’m going in, and you can dig deeper on his house while I’m in transit. If I see or feel anything off, you’ll know it. Peabody move in, secure the van three blocks from destination.”
“Copy,” Peabody acknowledged. “We’re about ten blocks back now, got a little snag in traffic. We’ll route around it and move in.”
“Go ahead and do another run on Klok. Let’s see if he arrived in New York today as advertised. Search public and private shuttles and transports. If you get those results while I’m in, relay. Otherwise, cut all chatter now. I’m only a couple blocks away.”
Jumpy, Eve thought, rolling her shoulders. Damn chemicals from the energy pills were bouncing around inside her like little springy balls.
“Transmission’s going a little fuzzy on the homer,” Feeney commented, then glanced over at Roarke. “You getting that?”
“I am. A little interference. Could be some stray transmission that bled onto the frequency. Can