Page 154 of Bonded in Death

“He’s pissed. He’s so pissed he missed this afternoon that he goes right out and snags a kid. Grabbed him up.”

She began to pace again. “Still raining some when the alert went out, and that had to take a while. Used the rain for cover. Kid walking home from school alone in the rain. I need the report. Details. Nine—probably not far to walk, lives in the neighborhood. Lower East, that’s pattern.”

When Summerset started to speak again, Roarke held up a warning hand, shook his head.

“He should’ve cooled off, taken a day or two, but he couldn’t. Grabs the kid. Kid that age would put up a stink most likely. Maybe lured, but more probably, knocked him out. Quick jab, toss him in the car, and drive home.”

“That doesn’t—”

Now Roarke held up a hand to Iris. “She’s working it.”

“Drive home, straight into the garage. Haul the kid down to the basement because that’s a fucking basement. Zip-tie him. Prep the room? No, no, already prepped. Grabbing the kid today, impulse, but he already had the room, the gas, the idea. Just for one of you. Now the kid’s bait, and he’s switched to this method.”

“We factor in basement,” Roarke said.

“And that’ll narrow it. Maybe a full basement, a lower-level apartment or whatever. Maybe just below-level storage, but basement. Basement, attached garage. No other way.”

“If I may.” Now Marjorie lifted a hand. “It’s possible, isn’t it, the child’s in a garage. A rented garage.”

“No, floor’s wood—probably fake wood, but wood—and how many rented garages have full soundproofing? He can’t risk holding a screaming kid, and why wouldn’t he scream, unless Potter’s sure he couldn’t be heard?”

“I’m going to agree. For what it’s worth,” Harry said. “He needs the ease of entry. He puts a cam in to watch, sure, but something goes wrong, he’s running off to a rental? No, it’s all in one place. His place.”

“Lieutenant.” Ivan cleared his throat. “If he plans to use gas, as with Giovanni, he would want the space fully sealed. He would then require a mask and a way of dissipating the gas—after. It’s a fairly large space from what we could see, so he’d need more than one canister to be… to be sure.”

“All right. What does that tell you?”

“The house is large enough for his purposes. This basement area, a secure area for his weapons, another area for his, ah, costumes? He learned from me, so may have a small lab to make drugs, such as may have been used on the boy. A living space, of course, and I believe he would keep that main area clear of any of this. On the risk someone might come to the door, or he has a delivery, that sort of thing. I would also try a two- to three-story home, with basement.”

“Okay. Do that. All of you do that. If you need sleep, take it. Two-hour shifts.”

Then she turned to Summerset. “By noon tomorrow, I’ll have him in a box. He made mistakes. The boy’s just the latest one. He has to keep the kid alive for the follow-up at noon. Show him off again, scared and crying. Instead, the kid’ll be home with his family.”

“You can’t be wrong. How would we live with it? How would any of us live with it?”

“I’m not wrong. Go find me a basement.”

Roarke waited until they’d left the room.

“Well done. You gave them exactly what they needed. The straightforward, the matter-of-fact. Confidence.”

“I’m not wrong,” she said again. “Because I can’t be.”

He went to her, laid his hands on her shoulders, met her eyes. “You’re not wrong. But you were before.”

“When? About what?”

“When you said he was a step ahead of you. He’s not. He still thinks he’s anonymous, an unsub, and his pains to conceal his identity are wasted, time-consuming. So he’s fallen behind, and has no idea what’s coming.”

Rubbing her shoulders, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “You won’t do two-hour shifts. You need sleep, but you won’t take it.”

“I’ll take a booster if I need it. But right now? Sending that message? He’s given me a strong second wind. And it’s going to blow him back to hell.”

Her communicator signaled.

“Commander.”

“We have the bus, and the ’link he used, as well as a description from the driver. Male, Caucasian, sixties, red hair and beard. The detectives in charge of the McReedy investigation have a description of a Caucasian male, gray hair, clean-shaven, black raincoat standing in the alleyway where the boy’s mother found his violin case. Between a building, currently vacant, and a black car. ‘Car’ is the best the wit could do.”

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