Roarke angled his head as he looked down at the cat now sitting at his feet aiming lethal stares at Eve.
“And what’s all this?”
“There was a cat. It sat on my lap while we interviewed the cat lady. He’s pissed.”
She aimed a lethal stare right back. “He’ll just have to get over it if he remembers where his tuna comes from.”
She jabbed a finger at Roarke. “And don’t say Summerset.”
He only shook his head. “You don’t look nearly as tired as I expected after such a day,” he said as he crossed over to brush his lips to hers, then offer the glass.
He, on the other hand, looked more tired than she’d expected, as he rarely looked tired at all.
“I got some good news.”
“I could use some.”
“There’s lemon meringue pie for dessert.”
His lips curved a little. “Pie is always good news.”
“We’ve ID’d his transpo, make, model, color, tag number. We’ve got an all-points out on it.”
“Well now, that’s better news than pie.”
She knew him. “You’re thinking about the woman he killed last night.”
“If he’d left New York as planned, she’d be alive.” He took her hand before she could speak. “I know it’s nothing I did that caused it. I know there’s nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. And still, a woman’s dead because he’s here, hoping to end me.”
“He doesn’t get to end you. That’s just it. She didn’t deserve what he did to her. The murdered dead hardly ever do.”
She laid a hand on his chest, on his heart.
“And if he’d left New York, yeah, she’d be alive. Somebody else would be dead, if not now, soon. And then another, another. Because we wouldn’t stop him. But he’s here, and we will stop him.”
He leaned in to kiss her again. “I should’ve stayed with you instead of going back to the office. You steady me at a time like this.”
“I was just thinking we do that for each other. Let’s eat something, including pie. And nothing for him until he stops sulking.”
In response, Galahad shot up a leg and began to wash as if he couldn’t care less.
She knew better.
“I’ll see to that—it’ll take my mind off the brooding. Update your board.”
She set her wine aside to do just that.
“We got some other breaks beside his transpo—though that’s a big one.”
“Tell me,” he said from the kitchen.
“Jenkinson and Reineke hit a shop he’d been in, with a cooperative clerk. Way overpriced men’s stuff—which was what I figured he’d go for. Some place called Urbane.”
“Yes, I know it.”
She paused in the work. “You don’t own it, do you?”
“I don’t, just the building itself.”
“Just the building itself,” she muttered. “Anyway. He dropped four large on a couple T-shirts and whatever, and had his eye on a jacket. Not in his size, but the clerk said how he’d try to get it in, so he may return. If we don’t take him down tonight, and he does, the clerk knows what to do. After that we split up the shops and bars, restaurants the clerk had suggested to him, nailed down a couple more places. Then the bar where he picked up his victim.”
She finished the board as he came in with plates, and told herself she could update her book after dinner.
He needed some normal.
Maybe murder wasn’t normal dinner talk for some, but it was for them.
Pasta primavera, she noted. It couldn’t match good old spaghetti and meatballs, but it didn’t suck, either. She retrieved her wine, sat as he opened the doors to the little terrace.
Spring flowed in.
She sampled a bite.
It definitely didn’t suck.
“I went by the school.”
Surprised, he lifted his wine. “Did you? As you didn’t tag me, I didn’t think you’d have time for it.”
“Just a quick run-through because I wanted to see it. I was doing some brooding of my own, and that put a stop to it. Rochelle was still there, and, well, sparkling. She walked me through some of it—a lot of it. Everything’s so …”
She hunted for a word. “Possible,” she decided. “You can see and feel the possible everywhere. They were cooking in the kitchen. I didn’t know you hired a chef on staff.”
“I told you.”
“I thought, you know, you’d have some cooks, not an actual chef guy.”
“They should eat well, and hopefully some will do better than either of us and actually learn to cook a bit.”
“The ones in there looked into it. Nadine was there.”
“Was she?”
“Working with Quilla on a vid Quilla did.”
“Ah yes, I saw a few minutes of the raw footage earlier. It’s very good. Whatever innate talent she had, Nadine’s already begun polishing.”
“Hah. That’s just the word I thought about it. Polishing. She’s a smart kid. She sees the possible, Roarke, it’s all over her. It felt good to see it, to know it. She won’t be the only one who sees it, and uses it.”
Just to check, she slid her gaze over. Galahad sprawled on her sleep chair, tail hanging down and twitching. His eyes slitted and staring.
“I met a boy there today,” Roarke told her. “So young, playing a guitar as if he’d been born with one. Quilla won’t be the only one, no, as he’s another. He made me think of the boy who sang on Grafton Street, with his little dog. I wonder what became of him.”
“You could find out.”
“I don’t remember his name, if I ever knew it. I put so much of that time behind me. Or thought I did. Not brooding,” he assured her as they ate. “Considering. A school such as we’ve done here might be welcome there.”
“That’s big considering.”
“Why go small?” Now he smiled and meant it. “Maybe the next time we go visit the family, we’ll hop over to Dublin and have a look.”
Reaching over, he squeezed her hand. “Now, tell me what you know.”
So they did the normal, talked murder over pasta and wine.
“The shops, the market, the bar,” Roarke mused. “He covered a number of blocks. I think you’d be right that his hole is in that area. Walkable to places he’s frequented—and not where he led us today.”
“He carried bags out, every time he bought something. Could’ve caught a cab, taken the subway, but it makes more sense to shop where you live, more or less. And he’d have no reason, yet, to assume we’d look in that area of the Lower West Side.”
“I can refine the search results somewhat. If I dig any deeper, I’d have to go beyond those I trust to those who know him, fear him, or owe him, and that would, inevitably, lead to one of them, or more, getting back to him on it.”
“Don’t risk it,” Eve said immediately. “We’ve got a good chance of finding him inside the next twenty-four. Let’s leave it at that. We know where he shops, where he trolled for a woman, what he’s driving. Hell, we know what he’s likely wearing. And he wanted that jacket, so there’s that. It adds up. Solid, incremental cop work adds up.”