He went to Talbot, stripped off the man's shorts, nodded in approval as he squeezed as if checking muscle tone.

He wasn't yet fully aroused. He tightened the wire around his neck slightly, using the auto-erotic method to enhance his mood as he stroked himself hard.

Then he knelt between Talbot's legs, leaned over, tapping the battered cheek lightly.

"Are you in there, Jonah? You don't want to miss this. Come on out now. I've got a lovely parting gift for you."

Talbot's bloody eye fluttered open, blind with confusion and pain.

"That's the way. Do you know the movement that's playing? Mozart, from his Symphony Number 31 in D Major. Allegro assai. It's one of my favorites. I'm so pleased we can share it."

"Take what you want," Talbot managed between broken teeth. "Just take what you want."

"Oh, that's very kind of you. I intend to. Up you go." He lifted Talbot's hips in his big hands.

The rape was long and brutal. Eve made herself watch, as she had made herself watch each time, despite her stomach wanting to heave, despite the whimpered pleas that straggled to rise into her own throat.

She watched, and she saw the moment that Yost lost himself, when he threw his big head back so the wire around his throat glinted in the light. He cried out, a roar of triumph that smothered the music, smothered Talbot's helpless weeping.

The orgasm bucked through him. His face gleamed with it, his eyes shone. He shuddered, shuddered, sucked in air. Then braced himself with a hand between Talbot's shoulder blades until he came back to himself.

His eyes were as bright now as the wire he slid from around his own neck and looped around Talbot's. They stayed bright, dark and bright as a bird's as he crossed the ends and pulled. Talbot's body jerked, his fingers scrabbled at the wire, his feet drummed the floor.

But it was quickly done. At least it was quick.

And when it was done, the killer's eyes were as dead as his victim's. He calmly turned Talbot over, examined the body, then with some delicacy removed the tiny body ornament. With it cupped in his palm, he used his foot to shove the body facedown again.

Naked, gleaming with sweat, he turned away, gathered his clothes and briefcase.

He would walk into the first-floor bath where the house cams didn't reach. In precisely eight minutes, he would come out again, scrubbed, neatly dressed, the briefcase in his hand. He would leave the house without looking back.

"End disc." As Eve gave the order and rose, she heard Peabody's sigh, a broken sound that was relief and pity.

"He checked his wrist unit a number of times," Eve began. "He was on a timetable. Since it appears from his movements he knew the house, either from a previous break-in or through blueprints, I believe he knew about Talbot's usual lunch date. According to the time print on the disc, he entered the premises at thirteen hundred, almost on the dot. He left the scene fifty minutes later. Ten minutes before the lunch date and well before anyone expecting the victim would bother to check on him. He left the door unlatched so Talbot could be found quickly. There's no reason for him to wish to postpone the knowledge of the crime. Whoever hired him wants it out as soon as possible."

She walked over to the board used for the investigation, and where stills of Darlene French and now Jonah Talbot held prominence. "More than forty known or suspected hits in his career, but Talbot gives us the first visual of the act. This break-in pattern indicates Yost was unaware the house cams were activated. Even so, he could and should have checked."

"He's getting sloppy," McNab put in. "Sooner or later, they get sloppy."

"Sloppy maybe, but factor in his profile. Arrogance. He didn't bother to check, didn't put it on his to-do list. He isn't worried about us. He pinches us off like fleas before we ever get the first bite. He bought four lengths of wire. Four potential victims. This is the biggest job, done separately, for a single client we can find in Yost's case history. He's flirting with exposure, almost daring it. I say he feels protected. Maybe invulnerable."

"His take from this job would be, at his suspected minimal fee, ten to twelve million." Feeney scratched his chin. "He's moving through them fast, and at this pace would finish the contract in a week or so. That's a hefty paycheck."

"None of his data indicates a previous with this number at this speed," Eve confirmed.

"Maybe he's planning on retiring after this one, or at least taking himself a long vacation. He can get himself a new face and live the high life somewhere."

"A vacation." Eve considered it as she studied Yost's image posted on the board. "He's never hit four in close geographic proximity before, never spread out connected hits in the same area over different dates and locations."

She let it filter through. "He's been at this twenty-five years or more. Thinks of it as a job. Twenty-five, thirty years, then retirement. Could play. Certainly a vacation after a big important job is something a lot of execs go for. The arrangements would have already been made. He's a planner."

"Where would Roarke go?"

Eve turned her head to frown at Peabody. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the profile indicates he sees himself as a highly successful businessman, one of impeccable taste. He likes fine things, and he can afford the best. The only person I know who falls in that slot is Roarke. So if he were going to take a break after a big job, where would he go?"

"That's good thinking." Eve nodded, tried to focus on her husband's pattern. "He owns places all over hell and back. It would depend on whether he wanted to be alone, solitude and a couple house droids. Not a city, because he wants relaxation at first, not stimulation. From the profile and pattern, Yost is more of a loner than Roarke. He's booked or bought himself an estate somewhere, with a good wine cellar and all the trimmings. Finding that on the data we have would be like looking for a ripple in a pool."

Then her scowl began to turn into a slow smile. "But I think that's a damn good lead to feed the feds. One for us is music. He knew the Mozart thing playing. Called it by name, hummed along with it. Peabody, I want you to start checking out the high-dollar season tickets to the symphony, the ballet, the opera, all the highbrow stuff. Single ticket holders. He'd go alone. McNab, you concentrate on purchases, cash purchases of recorded discs for the same kind of music. He's a collector."

She paced the room as she spoke because the steps and the thoughts were lining up for her now. "We need the lab results. I'll hound Dickhead there. I want to see what the sweepers got out of the bathroom drain. He took a shower, but the guest soap was dry. Our fastidious sociopath probably carries his own soap, shampoo, and so on in his briefcase when he's on a job like this one. It won't be an ordinary brand, so we could have another line to tug there. Feeney, can you go back to following the wire, talk to those cousins, while I kick at Dickhead?"

"Can do." Even as he agreed, his communicator beeped. "Hold on." He rose, pulling it out, and stepped away as he answered.

"Lieutenant?" McNab called for her attention. "I was thinking about the… can't be delicate about this. I was thinking how Yost used the wire to help him get off during the rape. So even if the guy goes for Mozart and fine wine, he's got some experience with porn or licensed companions who'll skirt the sexually deviant line. If he's a loner, it's most likely he gets into it at home with VR or video or holo. You gotta have programs or discs. You can get some through legitimate sources, and the darker versions – right down to snuff porn, which it strikes me he'd go for – through the black market."

"You sure seem to know a lot about it," Peabody commented.