“He had to have them made somewhere. Goddamn it, Reo, it’s…” Eve caught herself, scrubbed at her face. “I’m not swiping at you. It’s the snooty snot fuckers I’ve been trying to deal with.”
“I get it. And I’m tucking awaysnooty snot fuckersfor my own use at the appropriate time.”
“The costumes, they’re minutely detailed, accurate down to frigging shoe ribbons. Peabody says the work, like the stitching, is expert.”
Lips pursed, Reo nodded. “She’d know.”
“Leonardo concurs, and estimates, if he’d done them, he’d have charged about half a damn million.”
“Are you serious?”
“As serious as the two dead bodies in the morgue. This guy has money to spend on his kills. He’s organized, rich, precise. It’s possible he’s a sewing guy and made them himself. Even so, he’d need the fabrics. But that’s down on my probability list, since he left the bodies—the first at the residence of an art gallery owner, the second at a gallery.
“He’s two for two, Reo. He’ll go for three.”
“I hear you.” Reo sighed, and like Eve, paced as she talked. “Send me the data, and I’ll push on it. But, Dallas, we’re not talking hours to get something like this through, if we do. It’s days.”
“All I need to know is yes or no. Did they take the orders or not? We get that, we can push harder, or I can find a way to use it.”
“Send me the data. I’ll start the wheels turning.”
“Thanks. And, ah, good luck in court.”
“I don’t need luck.” Smile smug, Reo brushed at her hair. “I’ve got the evidence.”
And I don’t, Eve thought as she stuffed the ’link back in her pocket and continued to pace.
She tried the New York venue again, and got an actual human.
She worked her way up the company chain until she managed to snag the person actually in charge of custom costume orders.
“Lieutenant.” One Rodney Triston had an ink-black bush of a mustache, an eyebrow ring, and a thin veneer of disdain. “I certainly understand your dilemma, but we’re bound by client confidentiality. Ourclients insist on and expect absolute secrecy when they commission a costume. The element of surprise when attending a fancy dress event is essential.”
“I’ve got a couple bodies in the morgue that were pretty surprised. And on their behalf, I can get a warrant.”
“Please do so.” He waved a hand so loaded with rings they’d serve as brass knuckles. “But until you do, I’m unable to give you client information.”
“Try this. Check your records for any orders for custom costumes of the two figures I gave you. If you have said orders, you say yes. If you don’t, you say no. That’s not client information. It’s yes or no, which if I approached you for one of these costumes, asked if you’d created them before, you’d answer.”
He took a deep inhale, let out a deep exhale that had the bush over his lip shivering. “Yes, I suppose I could have my assistant look into that. For what period of time?”
“How long would it take to make them, with the level of detail I described?”
“That would be a question for the head of design.”
“Never mind that. Go back a year.”
He gave her a long look that edged toward outright dislike. “It will take some time.”
“Assuming your records are in order, not that much. I’ll wait.”
He slapped her into holding blue.
“You’ll make it take longer than it needs to because you don’t want to do it, you asshole.”
Resigned to that, she programmed more coffee, drank some looking out her skinny window. New York rolled right along.
She wondered what the killer was doing now. Painting? Out scouting for another victim? He already had the third model selected, she was sure of it. Just as he had the third costume waiting.
