Page 98 of Random in Death

He smiled, sipped his wine. “And still a wonder.”

“How old were you when you got lucky?”

“You’d ask such a question when I’m trying to help you catch a murderer?”

“Satisfy my curiosity.”

He drank more wine, and she saw what rarely showed on his face. Discomfort.

“Well, I didn’t know my age as an exact thing.”

“Ballpark it.”

“Round about fifteen, I suppose. Give or take.”

“For the tit or the whole bang?”

He smiled again. “Well now, one thing leads to another, doesn’t it now? And if that’s of any use, the type we’re talking of tended, in my experience, to hang together. Feed each other’s resentments. There are all manner of places in life, online, that feed that same resentment and attitude.”

“He wouldn’t join a group. Online, possibly, but I see him as more of a lurker. He doesn’t participate. As much as he wants attention, he’s too smart to go online and brag about what he’s done, is doing.”

She got up to clear. “When we find him, we’ll find his records, logs, a journal. They’ll be meticulous and detailed.”

With the plates in her hands, she paused at the board.

“He didn’t feel wonder when he jammed that needle in these girls.”

“What did he feel?”

“Satisfaction. The kind you feel when you puncture somebody’s tires because they were mean to you. Your teacher trashed your test score because you fucked around. You don’t wait for him to come out and see the tires, you take off. Same thing with this, for him. The motive just as juvenile. It’s the method and execution that takes it over that.”

“But he won’t brag to his mates about paying the teacher back. He has no mates.”

“And,” Eve added, “he’s too smart. He’s so above, in his mind, the others who go on bitching and strutting. And he’s achieved a satisfaction they can only dream of. Twice.”

“It doesn’t last, does it? That satisfaction.”

“No. He’s already planned how and when to feel it again. And he’ll need to use that roofie on its own before much longer. He’ll need that power over the girl. ‘I’ll take what I want from you, what I’m entitled to. Then kill you.’”

She glanced back at him. “You thought of that, too.”

“I did, yes.”

“He’s already planned for that, too. The where, maybe the when. But the where, he’s got that worked out.”

Knowing her, he laid a hand on her shoulder as much in comfort as support. “I’ll take the dishes.”

“Rules are rules. You got the food.”

“I could begin updating your board then.”

“Did you ever think you’d pass the time after a meal updating a murder board?”

“Not in my wildest.”

When she came out—she’d caved as Roarke usually did and given Galahad a handful of cat treats—he was well into the update.

He had her system down, she thought.

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