She let that roll as he pulled up behind a cruiser at the theater. “That’s more of the more.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Inside the brightly lit lobby that smelled of the substance pretending to be butter they squirted on popcorn (it wasn’t all that bad), uniformed officers escorted small groups of civilians from theaters to the exit.

  She recognized one, stopped him. “Where are my detectives, Officer Hurley?”

  “You got Baxter and Trueheart in theater three. Flick in there ended ’round right before the attack in theater one, so it was already emptied out. Peabody’s in one. The e-geek’s up in the security hub.”

  She shot Roarke a look, and he peeled off to find McNab.

  “Do you know who was first on scene?”

  “That’d be Hernadez and Blicker. They’re in with Peabody. Kid still breathing?”

  “She is, and she’s going to stay that way.”

  “Lucky break, all around.”

  She headed to the main theater.

  The lights flooded there, too, and the noise level spiked with nervous laughter, quick shouts all underlined with buzzing conversation.

  “Quiet down!” Eve ordered before she moved to Peabody and a group of three.

  “Okay, you’re free to go. We appreciate your patience and cooperation.”

  “Yeah, right.” One of the three—all male, all about Jamie’s age to Eve’s eye—sneered as he pushed up. “Like we had a choice.”

  “The girl in the hospital sure didn’t have one,” Eve commented.

  “She spoiled things for everybody. Screaming like she got chopped with an axe.”

  “Come on, Jerry.” One of his friends nudged him. And didn’t budge him.

  “Then the cops lock us up in here like criminals. Shit, they hauled the screamer out, didn’t they? But instead of watching the vid we paid for, the one we’ve been waiting a damn year for, we’re stuck in here with nothing.”

  “That’s a sad story. I can feel my heart bleeding.”

  “You know what we paid for these tickets, for the reserved seating?”

  “Management will honor all tickets dated for tonight at another showing,” Peabody reminded him. “Or afford a full refund.”

  “Yeah, like that makes up for it. Cops are assholes.”

  “Are you twenty-one, Jerry?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Well, it appears to me you haven’t reached that legal age as yet, and you’ve spent some of your time in here nipping off whatever’s in the bottle in your coat pocket.”

  Deliberately, Eve took a sniff. “My guess is gin.”

  The flush that rose up his throat and into his face equaled the perfect tell.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I may be an asshole cop, but I know gin when I smell it on some whiny fuckhead’s breath. No alcohol permitted in this theater. Add the underage element, and you and your pals—who’ve wisely stayed quiet—could end up spending some time in the tank.

  “You’ve got two choices,” she continued. “The tank’s one of them, and given the hour, you probably won’t be able to post bail until the morning. You might find spending the night in the tank educational. Second choice is to take a tip from your friends. Say nothing and walk away.”

  She stepped aside so he could. He took the second choice.

  “You know,” Eve observed, “it may not be tonight, but Jerry’s eventually going to have that educational experience.

  “Status.”

  “First, what’s Rosenburg’s status?”

  “She was awake, reasonably lucid, and her doctor says she’ll make a full recovery.”

  “Excellent news.” Peabody eased back in her seat, rubbed at her tired eyes. “Next, I knew he’d been drinking, and he was a fuckwit, but I thought it more practical to just get through the interview and move him along in the interest of time.”

  “Agreed. I, however, enjoy making a little time for fuckwits. Next?”

  “We’ve been through several who state they saw someone run out the emergency exit, the one on this side, and those accounts vary. A male, a female, a kid, an old guy, Black, white, big, small. You know how it goes.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But we may have something from a wit who was working the concession stand. Sharlie Weaver, age twenty-three. She noticed the vic because of the hair. Really long, thick, straight, and really red.”

  “That’s accurate.”

  “She’s been thinking about going red—Sharlie—so she got a good look. And remembers there was someone in a trench just behind her. She assumed with the same group, as he approached the concessions more or less with them, but walked away without ordering anything when they had their snacks.”

  “Did she see his face?”

  “Again, she only noticed him because she was looking at the victim’s hair, but she noticed the trench because—I quote—‘the rest of the group weren’t flakers.’ She said he had his head down when they walked away, and he was wearing shades.”

  “Shades? At ten at night? Inside?”

  “It’s a look, Dallas. But she’s pretty sure she caught a glimpse of his profile. She definitely ID’d him as white and about the same height as the redhead. She thinks his hair was brown, and—again quoting—‘floppy,’ flopping over his face so she didn’t really see it.”

  “It’s a wig.”

  “You think?”

  “His clothes, Peabody. Button shirt, expensive dress shoes—freaking tassel—quality pants. Who’s going to put him in those and let his hair flop around? A wig, longer than his hair, helping to hide his face. Shades do the same. We need her to work with Yancy.”

  “She’s willing, and I sent him a text on it. He can make time tomorrow.”

  “I have another for him. One of the vic’s group noticed the trench. He said it looked out-of-the-box new.”

  “Okay, that plays in. You never want a trench to look new. Makes you a wheeze.”

  “Right. Yancy may be able to tease more out of him. I’ll arrange it. And the vic, when her doctor clears her for it. She got the best look at him.”

  “The sweepers processed the door, and there are a crapload of prints on it. Fingerprints, handprints, partials, shoe scuffs from kicking at the base. But if he sealed up—”

  “Why? You can hit a door like that with your hip, your ass, your shoulder. Unless you’re panicked and running, which he was. So maybe a mistake.”

  She nodded her chin toward the spill of popcorn and fizzy in the center aisle. “That’s where he hit her. And that’s a mistake, too. Why not wait until they moved farther down? They had reserved seats. So they’d have walked six, seven more rows down. He’d have been closer to his escape route. Too eager,” she murmured. “Wired up on it, and maybe a booster with it. Couldn’t wait. Needed to feel it again.”

  “He knocked into people when he ran. So far nobody he bumped or shoved could add anything solid. It was dark, it happened fast.”

  “We only need one. Look, I’ll send Hurley in. He can help with the interviews. I want to check in with Baxter and Trueheart.”

  “Theater three, they took half of mine in there.”

  Eve moved on to three.

  A smaller space, and a smaller group. With two detectives working, they’d processed more, released more.

  She walked to Trueheart. “Excuse me. I need a minute, Detective.”

  “Yes, sir. Just hang one minute,” he said to a group of five as he rose and stepped away with Eve.

  “Sir, the victim?”

  “Full recovery expected.”

  A smile moved over his earnest, all-American face. “That’s good news. I may have more. This group here? The girl three in—Annabelle Joan Pierce, goes by A.J.—states she heard the screaming, started to turn around. She couldn’t really see what was going on because the aisle was still crowded. Then somebody plowed right into her, knocked her into her friend—the girl on her left. And dominoes. A.J. states she tried to catch her balance and ended up in the lap of a guy in the aisle seat.”

  “Can she describe the one who plowed into her?”

  “Darkish hair—she thinks brown, but can’t say light, medium. On the long side, at least in front. Falling over his face.”

  “Shades?”

  “No, sir.”

  WTF eyes, Kiki had said. He’d taken them off when they got into the theater. House lights off.

  “Wearing a trench—gray or tan, not black. Lighter. No facial hair. She thinks a short guy, small build. Short, Caucasian. I’m trying to get more, but I think if she could work with Yancy.”

  “Yeah. He’s going to be busy. Where was she when she got knocked?”

  “She said they were nearly to their seats. They were in row ten.”

  Was it irony, Eve wondered, or some other thing when the best potential witness would have sat in the same row as the target?

  “You’ve got a rapport going with this group?”

  “Yes, sir, I think I do.”

  “Then stick with it. I’ll line up Yancy.”

  She walked down to the front and Baxter.

  “Give me a minute, gang, my boss is here.” He added a grin that served as a wink. “We’re almost done.”

  He rose and walked aside with Eve.

  “The kid?”

  “Got lucky. She’s going to be fine. Got anything?”

  “Plenty who heard the commotion and were pretty pissed about it. I talked to a couple of groups who were already seated and close enough to see the popcorn fly. One close enough the fizzy she dropped splatted over his new airboots. He was pissed at that, then he realized she was screaming somebody stabbed her, and thought the fizzy was her blood. Half passed out.”

  When he scanned the theater, Eve knew he did a head count just as she had on entering.

  “Plenty who saw the trench coat fly by, but—”

  “Descriptions vary.”

  “Oh, they do.” Baxter let out a sigh. “They do.”

  “Trueheart has a good lead.”

  “My boy hit?”

  “He’s got another I’m going to push on Yancy. When you finish this group, move into theater one with Peabody. Trueheart can handle the rest of these. If McNab’s freed up, I’ll toss him in here or there, depending. Once you’re clear, go home. You can write it up in the morning.”

  “Tonight, tomorrow.” He shrugged. “I’ve got the time. I was on a date, about to seal the deal.” He laid a hand on his heart. “The personal sacrifices we make in the pursuit of justice.”

  “Huh. I was told shortly ago that all cops are assholes.”

  “Sometimes you need an asshole to pursue justice.”

  “That’s a good one,” Eve decided, and went to hunt up her e-geeks.

  She found McNab popping out of the elevator.

  “We got some pieces of him, Dallas. Out on line, then in bolting from the emergency exit. Even bolting, he kept his head down. More of his hair though. Medium brown in a boarder’s do.”

  “What is that?”

  “Airboarder’s do. It’s not especially in now. Long in the front, sort of diagonal.” McNab swiped the flat of his hand from his left temple, across his eyes to the bottom of his right ear. “Shorter on the sides. In the back, you can go for a stub tail, but his is loose, just past collar length.”

  “It’s going to be a wig.”

  “Hey, you know, I wondered.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, on the bolt, we did a freeze, and it looked a little—Roarke called it askew.”

  “He ran into some people. That could cause askew. Shades?”

  “Can’t tell you on the flight, but pretty sure affirmative on entry. Light gray trench, and—Roarke again—pristine. The black baggies and Kick Its. Kept his hands in his pockets on line, really worked on looking chill.

  “He’d sidestep every few minutes. A lot do—is it moving yet, how many more in front of me? But he was scoping for his target. The vic and her group were about six feet ahead of him.”

  “Lobby cams?”

  “Plenty of blank spots there, and he stayed inside the pack, the crowd. We can see him moving and maneuvering until he’s directly behind the vic and her group. But there’s no decent angle on him.”

  McNab did a long scan of the lobby and the cameras. “He’s been in here before, knew the layout.”

  “Yeah, he does his homework. Give Trueheart a hand in three. Baxter’s with Peabody. I’ve got two wits, maybe three with one from the first murder. Trueheart has one, Peabody has one who all saw pieces of him again. I’m setting them up with Yancy. It wouldn’t hurt to find a few more.”

  “You got that.”

  “Is Roarke still upstairs?”

  “Yeah, he’s talking to the manager. As far as wits go, she’s out. She was taking a personal call in her office when it went down.”

  “Wait, what about the ticket scanners? If we know approximately what time he moved to a scanner for entry, can we trace from that?”

  “Scanner code doesn’t carry personal data. It’s like a verification, and you could track it to where it generated, but that’s about it.”

  “Where it generated’s more info.”

  “That’s why, being an e-man, I’m having them upload the scans for the time frame. It may not help catch him, but it’s more to pile on in the box, then in court.”

  “Copy me on that. Which you were going to do,” Eve said. “Sorry. I know you’ve got a brain in there.”

  “And we’re working on the third night of basically double shifts. Brains get sizzled. I’ll go talk to some kids.”

  She opted for the stairs, then stopped halfway up as Roarke started down.

  “McNab briefed me. Did you get anything else from the manager?”

  “Not that applies to the investigation. She was in her office and didn’t come down until after the assistant manager—who was in the back, behind concessions, unboxing more candy and such—notified her of the situation. She’s hoping, of course, you’ll clear the building so they can hold tomorrow’s shows.”

  “If I get the clearance from the sweepers, we’ll be done. Jesus, you don’t own this place, do you?”

  “I would have given you that information.”

  “Trying to buy it? Is that why you were talking to the manager?”

  “No. I did persuade her to arrange a private viewing of Return of the Three for Kiki—when she’s well enough—her friends, their families.”

  She said nothing for a moment.

  He would think of that.

  Of course he would think of that.

  She shifted, stood hipshot. “What about the popcorn?”

  “All they can eat.”

  “How much did it cost you?”

  “Not to worry, darling. We can still afford spaghetti and meatballs.”

  She brushed a hand over his. “I’m on duty. But when I’m not … I’m going to give Peabody a hand with the last of the possible witnesses.”

  “Should I try to scare up some coffee?”

  She considered, but she trusted vid theater coffee much less than its popcorn.

  “Better off with the cold stuff.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  * * *

  Sometime after one in the morning, she stepped outside with Roarke and her detectives.

  “Peabody, Yancy says he’ll go to the wits. They’re usually more comfortable in their own environment. Line them up for him, make sure you have parental permission for the minors.”

  “An ocean of wits.” Tired, visibly fading, Peabody rubbed her eyes. “And a piss-trickle who saw enough to follow up.”

  “This time yesterday, we didn’t have that. Or a survivor. Anybody needs a ride, we can pull in a couple cruisers.”

  “I’ve got a car waiting.” Roarke held up a hand and a burly all-terrain slid up along the curb. “The driver can make the rounds for you.”

  “Sweet.” Baxter gave Trueheart a pat on the back. “Let’s get you home, young man.”

  “We’re heading downtown. You’d be the first stop. Pops.”

  “Getting a sassy mouth on him. You hear that?” On a wide smile, Baxter squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest. “Makes me proud. Tomorrow, LT. Thanks for the lift, Roarke.”

  “Come on, She-Body. You’re asleep on your feet.”

  “Pretty much. Thanks. Night.”

  “Appreciate that. Cruisers would’ve got them there, but this gives them a chance to unwind together.”

  “And after a long day for all. Off duty now, are you, Lieutenant?”

  “As much as I ever am.”

  “And after, you said.”

  “Not in front of the crime scene.”

  She walked down the sidewalk with him toward the car.

  “This’ll do.”

  On the sidewalk, just after one in the morning, on a hot, sticky summer night, she wrapped her arms around him. She kissed him long, slow, deep. Pressing in more when she felt his hand fist on the back of her jacket.

  “All that,” he murmured, “for arranging a viewing?”

  “No, all that for thinking of it, for knowing how much it’ll mean, how much it’ll push the ugly of what happened away. Then arranging it.”

  She drew him back, kissed him again.

  “For that.”

  “She looked so fragile, yet under that, so strong.” Bringing Eve’s hands to his lips, he kissed them. “I’ve seen you look the same.”

  “Not tonight.” She got in the car, stretched out her legs. “I’m tired. I’m damn tired, but I’ve got a buzz. Because she lived, he ran, and we’re closer.”

  “Mistakes, as you said before. He made them.”

  “He won’t sleep well tonight. He’ll go over and over it. He’ll watch the media reports hoping he got enough in her.”

  “Wouldn’t he know he didn’t?”

  “Yeah, but he’d hope. Maybe she had a bad reaction to what he did get in her. Maybe the MTs didn’t get there fast enough. Maybe. Hope. Sweat.”

  Settling back, she looked over at him. “He didn’t make a mistake. Impossible. Too smart, too prepared. He got away clean, didn’t he? Sure he did. Nobody got a good look at him. Wig, shades, trench.