She hadn't heard a single report on the recent killing on any of the news and information channels. It didn't make interesting copy, she supposed. It didn't bump ratings.
And she smiled to herself, wondering how Nadine Furst would feel about the offer of a one-on-one exclusive. Munching on a fry, she put a call through to the reporter.
"Furst. Make it fast and make it good. I'm on air in ten."
"Want a one-on-one, Nadine?"
"Dallas." Nadine's foxy face glowed with a smile. "What do I have to do for it?"
"Just your job. I've got a homicide—sidewalk sleeper—"
"Hold it. No good. We did a feature last month on sleepers. They freeze, they get sliced. We do our public interest bit twice a year. It's too soon for another."
"This one got sliced—sliced open, then his heart was removed and taken from the scene."
"Well that's a happy thought. If you're working a cult angle, we did a feature in that area in October for Halloween. My producer's not going to go for another. Not for a sleeper. Now, a feature on you and Roarke, on what it's like inside your marriage, that I could run with."
"Inside my marriage is my business, Nadine. I've got a retired LC who ran ponies. She was sliced open a couple of months back. Somebody took her kidneys."
The slight irritation in Nadine's eyes cleared, and they sharpened. "Connected?"
"Do your job," Eve suggested. "Then call my office and ask me that question again."
She disengaged and shifted the car back to manual.
"That was pretty slick, Dallas."
"She'll dig up more in an hour than six research droids could in a week. Then she'll call and ask me for an official statement and interview. Being a cooperative kind of woman, I'll give it to her."
"You ought to make her jump through a few hoops, just to keep up tradition."
"Yeah, but I'll keep the hoops wide and I'll keep them low. Put us back on log, Peabody. We're going to check out Spindler's place, and I want it on record. If anybody has any doubt the connection's been made, I want them to know it has. I want them to start to sweat."
The crime scene had been cleared weeks before, but Eve wasn't looking for physical evidence. She wanted impressions, the lay of the land, and hopefully, a conversation or two.
Spindler had lived in one of the quick-fix buildings that had been tossed up to replace those that had crumbled or been destroyed around the time of the Urban Wars.
The plan had been for fast, temporary housing to be replaced by more solid and aesthetically pleasing structures within the decade, but several decades later, several of the ugly, sheer-sided metal buildings remained in place.
A street artist had had a marvelous time spray painting naked couples in various stages of copulation over the dull gray surface. Eve decided his style and perspective were excellent, as was his sense of place. This particular building housed the majority of street LCs in that area.
There was no outside security camera, no palm plate. If there had ever been such niceties in place, they had long ago been looted or vandalized.
She walked into a cramped, windowless foyer that held a line of scarred mailboxes and a single elevator that was padlocked.
"She had 4C," Peabody said, anticipating Eve, then looked at the stained stairwell with its swaybacked treads. "I guess we walk up."
"You'll work off your lunch."
Someone had turned their choice of music entertainment up to a scream. The nasty sound of it echoed down the staircase and deafened the ears on the first-floor landing. Still, it was better than the sounds of huffing and puffing they heard through one of the thin doors on the second floor. Some lucky LC was earning her fee, Eve imagined as she headed up.
"I guess we can deduce that soundproofing isn't one of the amenities of this charming little unit," Peabody commented.
"I doubt the tenants give a damn." Eve stopped in front of 4C, knocked. Street hookers worked twenty-four / seven, but usually in shifts. She thought someone would be around, and unemployed.
"I'm not working till sundown," came the response. "So blow off."
In answer, Eve held her badge up to the security peep. "Police. I want to talk to you."