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“It went to v-mail. Let me text him. We have a code when it’s urgent.”
“How did he behave when he was contacted by this client?” she asked Whitestone.
“Ah, I don’t know exactly what you mean. Maybe a little annoyed. We’re really trying to get this place up and running within the next two weeks. The crew finished here, and in my apartment. They’ve just got a few things to do, what they call punch out, in a couple of the rental units. We’re ready to move in.”
“If he was meeting a client for coffee in this area, where would it be?”
“We usually use Express. It’s just a block south.”
“He’s not answering,” Newton reported.
“Stay here,” Eve ordered. “If he contacts you, tell him to stay where he is, and let me know. Peabody.”
“Why won’t you tell us what’s going on?” Newton complained. “If there’s something up with Jake, if something’s wrong, we need to know.”
“I’ll let you know when I know,” she said and strode out.
Halfway to the car she stopped, turned, and stared at the door of what would be Whitestone’s apartment.
“Jesus, could they be that arrogant? That goddamn bold?”
Changing direction, she walked down the stairs, glanced back at Peabody, drew her weapon.
“You really think?”
“It’s right here. Pretty damn convenient. He’s sure as hell not meeting a client for coffee.”
With her left hand, she took out her master, slid it slowly, quietly through the slot. She held up three fingers, two, one.
They went through the door together, fast and smooth.
She saw they could be that arrogant. They could be that bold.
Jake Ingersol lay on the newly finished floor, eyes staring up at the freshly painted ceiling, and his brutalized head swimming in a pool of his own blood.
Eve held up a hand. “We clear it first.”
She didn’t believe they’d find the killer hiding in one of the closets or curled into a kitchen cabinet, but they worked through, room by room before she holstered her weapon.
“Get the field kits, Peabody. I’ll call it in.”
“He beat him with a hammer.” The weapon lay beside the body, covered in blood and gore. “Beat his head to pulp with it. Spatter’s everywhere. Jesus. And look at the blood on the pants. He must’ve kneecapped him with it.”
“Yeah. He put some effort into this one. I’d say he’s starting to enjoy his work.”
WHILE PEABODY WENT OUT FOR FIELD KITS, Eve stood studying the scene, the body, the spatter patterns on the freshly painted walls, the gleaming floor.
She calculated they’d missed the killer by minutes, missed preventing murder by perhaps thirty.
She could see how it happened, the movements, the horror, the brutality—see it before the field kit and the tools and instruments.
The contact via ’link, text only, or with video blocked? She’d have lured her target that way. A simple statement, a flat demand. Mr. Alexander needs to speak with you, right away. He’ll meet you in the apartment of the new building.
If the vic questioned, some cryptic or impatient answer could be given. Alexander said now, that means now.
Odds were the killer made the ’link tag from inside the apartment, gaining access through the hacker’s skills, or because Ingersol had already passed on the new codes.
“Vic comes down after the ’link tag,” Eve said out loud as Peabody walked back in with the kits. “The killer’s already here. That’s how he’d work it. He’s a coward at the core. He’d take him from behind, an ambush. We know he’s got a stunner, so he’d use it. He stuns Ingersol, takes him down, then beats him to death when he’s helpless. That’s his way.”
