He’d come to New York to kill, and had stayed for a bonus round.
Well, she wasn’t going to sit there until he gave it a try. She needed to get back in the field, back on the hunt.
As she got to her feet, her ’link signaled.
Jenkinson.
“Dallas. What have you got?”
“A hit here at this fancy shop, Urbane. The fancy clerk guy said Cobbe was in this morning, right after they opened. Went by the name Patrick, and paid cash. Four thousand and change.”
She was already heading for the bullpen. “Peabody, with me. Give me the address,” she told Jenkinson. “I’m coming to you.”
“Reineke’s getting the full list of what he bought,” Jenkinson began.
“I’m coming to you,” Eve repeated.
“Do you want Abernathy?” Peabody trotted to catch up. “He just went in the break room.”
“No.” She hit the elevator as Jenkinson reeled off the address. “Sit tight,” she told him, then clicked off. “We’ll read Interpol in later. We’ve got a wit, sold him clothes this morning.”
“That’s a break, and a good call, Dallas.”
“It’s not a break until it gets us somewhere.” To satisfy a hunch, she used the frustrating ride on the crowded car to check a map. “The shop’s six—no, seven blocks south from where we traced his call to Roarke. We’re canvassing the wrong sector.”
She nodded to herself. “That was smart. Yeah, yeah, that was deliberate. His hole’s going to be closer to the shop than the position we tracked him to. Good to know.”
She burst out of the elevator on the garage level. “We’re going to keep uniforms out of the sector around the shop for now. If he thinks we’re focused in another area, he may take advantage of the nice weather, do some more shopping, go out for something to eat.”
Peabody climbed in the car. “I was thinking he might head back uptown, try to keep an eye on your place.”
“Yeah, that, too. But he’s not going to try to take Roarke at home. He needs to bide his time, lure Roarke out, or wait until—he thinks—Roarke’s guard’s down.”
“Roarke’s guard’s never down.”
“That’s right.” And that single truth kept her sane and steady. “But he doesn’t know Roarke. He knows the kid from the Dublin streets. He knows what he hears, not what is.”
She blew out into traffic with Peabody’s knuckles white on the chicken stick.
“And he sure as hell doesn’t know me.”
“Is Roarke okay?”
“Yeah. No. I don’t know. He’ll be better when we have this son of a bitch in a cage.”
She bulled and bullied her way toward the address. She’d planned to double-park, then spotted a second-level spot, punched vertical.
Peabody gave a short, breathless squeal that ended on a grunt as Eve dropped the car down with a bone-rattle.
Eve jogged halfway down to the street before Peabody managed to open her door.
The display window of Urbane had several—always creepy to Eve’s eye—fake people in snooty poses, in what she supposed were high-fashion clothes.
If some guy wanted to wear a jacket that looked like it had been skinned off a zebra, what did she know?
She pushed in where Reineke waited. Jenkinson stood across the shop at a display of ties. The air smelled like freshly peeled oranges.
“Clerk’s in the back with a customer,” Reineke told her. “He’s cooperating. I’ve got an itemized list of what Cobbe bought this morning. Full description. Two T-shirts—one black, one gray—like they call them noire and slate, but you get it. Two pairs of jeans—both black—and one hooded zip-up jacket, also black.”
“That’s it?” Eve said when Reineke looked up from his list.
“Yeah.”
“Jenkinson said he shelled out four grand.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s insane.”
“You think that’s crazy?” Jenkinson pointed at the ties. “This one here’s got pigs on it—little pink pigs you can’t even see until you’re right on it. And I can buy a freaking hundred ties at my stall for the price of this one.”
Jenkinson shook his head. “I’ll move him back out.”
He strolled into the back.
“Anyway.” Scratching his head, Reineke glanced around the shop. “The clerk’s name’s Bilbo, Trent Bilbo. Also assistant manager, employed here for six years. He was some flustered when we badged him, but it turns out his brother’s had some run-ins, so he thought it was about that. He remembered Cobbe right off.”
Bilbo came out, a skinny guy in tight black pants, tight black tee, and a vibrant purple jacket and tie. He had a sweep of black hair tinted purple at the tips.
And earnest brown eyes despite the heavy application of kohl.
“I’m so sorry. Mr. King is a longtime customer, and my colleague is out on break.”
“It’s fine. I’m Lieutenant Dallas.”
“I know. I know. And Detective Peabody. I read the book. I saw the vid.” He pressed both hands to his mouth as if holding back squeals.
If eyes could squeal, his did.
“I’m thrilled to meet you, even under the circumstances. It seems I waited on a criminal this morning.”
“Tell us about that.”
“Well, as I told Detectives Jenkinson and Reineke, he came in shortly after ten. I had just opened. Marcus wasn’t due in until eleven, so I was alone in the shop. If I’d known he was a criminal, I don’t know what I’d have done!”
His hands went back to his mouth.
If eyes could gasp, his did.
“What did you do?”
“I said good morning, asked if I could assist him. He had the most charming accent—Irish. He said he was from Dublin. In any case, he wanted to see the jacket on display.”
“The zebra jacket?”
“Oh no, though that is so ultra mag, isn’t it? The charcoal distressed leather bomber, the Yang, with the blackout zips and sapphire lining in silk. Gorgeous piece. Unfortunately, we didn’t have his size. The one on display is too small—very broad shoulders he had. And the other we had in stock was too big.”
As he spoke, Eve walked over to the display, studied the jacket.
“It’s a shame because the two Leonardo tees—he dresses you. A genius. Those tees and the Granville urban jeans he did buy? The jacket would have been perfection with them.”
“He paid in cash.”
“Yes. He was very friendly, asked about the neighborhood, restaurants, bars, other shops. He said he had extended business in the city. We even chatted about the weather—just glorious!—while I wrapped his purchases.”
“We got the list of the places Mr. Bilbo mentioned to him,” Reineke put in.
“Okay. Did he say anything else, ask anything else?”
“Not really. I asked, as you do, if he was enjoying New York, and he said he was, and planned to enjoy it even more. Oh, I did tell him I’d be happy to see if I could get the Yang jacket in his size—and we could have our tailor come in and fit it to perfection. If he wanted to leave me a contact number. But he declined. He did say he might check back in a day or two, in case, but was reluctant to leave a contact.”