“Well, hot shit!”
“I can take it to the lab, Dallas,” McNab offered. “And straight to Harvo.”
“I’ve got a car coming,” Roarke added. “I can give you a lift there.”
“Bonus round!”
“Appreciated, both counts.” Eve looked out at the quiet street. “There’s a crack now. I can feel it.”
“I’ve got some direction from my cousin on pigments from way back when.”
“Good. You can fill me in there after I fill you in on the victim. We’ve got maybe fifteen hours before he hits again. Let’s not waste any of it.”
She put the sealed tube in a small evidence bag, sealed and labeled that. “Talk to Dickhead first. He can get bitchy otherwise.”
McNab grinned. “He likes me.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anyone say that before in reference to Dickhead. Let Harvo know we’ll be in later this morning.”
“Here’s our ride,” Roarke told him as a sleek limo pulled up.
“Oh doggies, fancy time.” He did the finger-twiddle thing with Peabody. “I’m off styling.”
“Thanks for the help.” Eve gave Roarke a look that warned against any and all public displays of affection.
And made him smile. “I’m at your disposal, Lieutenant. I’ll let you know if I have luck with the costumes. Good hunting to both of you.”
Since she had the scent now, Eve counted on just that.
Chapter Fifteen
“The victim’s Janette Whithers, age thirty-one. She went by Chablis. Street level. She’s got family in Kansas. We’ll notify later this morning.”
“What’s the painting?”
“It’s one of the self-deals.Self-Portrait in a Straw Hat, which she was wearing. A French artist, eighteenth century. But sitting instead of standing like in the original.”
“The second victim had to be a bitch to carry on that board.”
“She had props glued and wired. Paintbrushes, a palette with blobs of dried paint on it. Lab needs to identify the kind of paint. The brushes looked new to me, and exactly the same as in the painting. I’m betting the palette’s real wood, because that’s what the artist would have used back then. We’ve got more to tie in.”
“Plus, the fabric trace. I can feel the crack, too.”
“Meanwhile Roarke’s doing the Roarke thing with the costume vendors.He got enough out of one in Paris already to cross them off from the first two costumes.”
“We got a French artist now, and since a self-portrait, a French model.”
“That’s why the Paris place is back on the list. We’ll have this family gallery to hit, the husband to talk to. Someone there rejected this bastard.”
“And Yancy’s working with the other gallery manager. The crack could widen enough to get us a face. I’ve got the fabric vendors lined up to knock down. I actually eliminated one before Dispatch contacted.”
Peabody added a smug smile. “While sitting on my side of our new partner’s desk in my pajamas. It felt really good.”
“You can pick that up again when we get to Central.”
Seconds after a beater pulled out of it, Eve shoved into a street slot between a mini with four flats and a coupe with a broken windshield.
Peabody studied the graffiti-laced prefab and counted twelve floors.
