Eve calculated she could spend the next three days interviewing strippers, table dancers, customers, and club crawlers, or she could zero in on Max Ricker.

It wasn't a tough choice, but both areas had to be covered.

She walked into the detectives' squad room, scanned faces. Some cops worked the 'links, others wrote reports or studied data. A team was taking a statement from a civilian who appeared to be more excited than distressed. The scent of bad coffee and aging disinfectant stung the air.

She knew these cops. Some were sharper than others, but all of them did the job. Pulling rank here had never been her style, and she thought she could get what she wanted without resorting to it now.

She waited until the civilian, looking flushed and pleased with himself, left the bullpen.

"Okay, listen up."

A dozen faces turned in her direction. She watched expressions shift. Every one of them knew the case in her hands. No, she thought when 'links were disengaged and screens ignored. She wouldn't have to pull rank.

"I've got over six hundred potential witnesses to either eliminate or interview in the matter of Detective Taj Kohli. I could use some help. Those of you who aren't on priority cases or who can see their way clear to put in a couple of extra hours over the next few days can see either me or Peabody."

Baxter was the first to get to his feet. He was an occasional pain in the ass, Eve thought, but Christ, he was dependable as sunrise.

"I got time. We all got time." He glanced around the room himself as if daring anyone to disagree.

"Good." Eve slipped her hands in her pockets. "To give you an update on the investigation…" And here she had to step carefully. "Detective Kohli was bludgeoned to death while moonlighting in a high-class strip club called Purgatory. The club was closed, and it appears Kohli knew his attacker. I'm looking for someone he knew well enough to be alone with, to turn his back on."

Someone, she thought, who was contacted by him or contacted him on his personal palm-link during his shift. That's why the killer removed it from the scene.

"At this point, it doesn't appear that Kohli was working on a sensitive case or pursuing information regarding one. But it's possible the killer was a weasel or outside informant. Robbery isn't a motive that holds. This was personal," she added, watching faces. "A personal attack on the badge. The One twenty-eight thinks the investigation belongs with them. I say it stays here."

"Damn right it stays here." A detective named Carmichael lifted her coffee mug, scowled into it.

"The media's leaving this alone so far," Eve continued. "It's not a hot story. A bartender doesn't boost ratings, and the fact that he was a cop doesn't make much of a ripple onscreen. He doesn't matter to them."

She waited, scanned faces. "But he matters here. Any of you who want in can let Peabody know how many witnesses you feel you can handle. She'll assign. Copy all statements and reports to me."

"Hey, Dallas, can I have the strippers?" Baxter teased. "Just the well-stacked ones?"

"Sure, Baxter. We all know the only way you're going to see a woman naked is if she's paid for it." There was a chorus of snorts and whoops. "I'll be in the field most of the day. Anyone pulls anything I need to know, tag me."

As she headed toward her office, Peabody hurried after her. "You're going in the field alone."

"I need you here, coordinating the witness assignments."

"Yeah, but-"

"Peabody, up until last year, I did most of my field work solo." As she shoved back her desk chair to sit, she caught the gleam of hurt in Peabody's eyes. Nearly rolled her own. "That doesn't mean you haven't aced the job, Peabody. Get a hold of yourself. I need you here right now, running this and scanning data. You're better at the tech stuff than I am."

That appeared to brighten Peabody again. "Yeah, I am. But I could hook up with you when I'm clear here."

"I'll let you know. Why don't you get started while everyone's in the mood to put in extra time?" In dismissal, Eve turned to her desk unit. "Let's get moving."

"Yes, sir."

Eve waited until Peabody left, then got up to close the door. Back at her desk she called up all known data on Max Ricker.

She didn't want any surprises.

She'd seen his picture before, but she studied it more carefully now. He had a powerful look, a strongly carved face with prominent planes that looked glass sharp. His mouth was hard, with the silver brush of a mustache doing nothing to soften it. His eyes were silver as well, opaque and unreadable.

The vanity Roarke had spoken of showed in the waving mane of dark hair tipped with silver wings, in the single diamond stud he wore in his right ear, and in the smooth polish of his white, white skin that showed neither line nor fold but looked as if it had been stretched taut as bleached silk over those ice-edged bones.

Subject Ricker, Max Edward. Height, six feet, one inch. Weight two hundred two pounds. Caucasian. DOB 3 February 2000. Born Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Parents Lean and Michelle Ricker, deceased. One sibling, deceased.

Educated University of Pennsylvania with degree in business.

No marriages or legal cohabitations. One son, Alex, DOB 26 June 2028. Mother listed as Morandi, Ellen Mary. Deceased.

Current residences include Hartford, Connecticut, Sarasota, Florida, Florence, Italy, London, England, Long Neck Estates on Yost Colony and Nile River Hotel on Vegas II.

Profession listed as entrepreneur with interests and holdings as follows…

Eve sat back now, closed her eyes, and listened to the rundown of Ricker's businesses. There had been another time she'd done a run on a man who had extensive and varied interests, who'd owned strings of companies and organizations. Who'd looked, as Ricker did, dangerous.

That run had changed her life.

She intended for this one to change Ricker's.

"Computer, list criminal record, all arrests and charges."

Working…

She sat up again when the data began to roll, and her eyebrows lifted. There were a number of charges over the years, beginning with petty larceny in 2016, continuing with gun running, illegals distribution, fraud, bribery, and two conspiracies to commit murder. None of it had stuck, he'd slipped and slithered through, but his sheet was long and varied.

"Not as clever as Roarke, are you?" she murmured. "He never got caught. There's the arrogance. You don't mind getting caught, not really." She studied his face again. "Because it gives you a kick to fuck the system. That's a weakness, Ricker. A big one. Computer, copy all data to disc."

She turned to her 'link. It was time to find out just where Ricker was currently cooling his well-shod heels.

– =O=-***-=O=-

She considered it good luck that Ricker was spending some time in his Connecticut compound. She considered it his arrogance that he'd agreed to meet with her without making her dance through a sea of attorneys.

She made the drive in good time and was met at the gate by a trio of hatchet-faced guards who put her through an ID scan for form's sake. She was instructed to leave her vehicle just inside the gates and get into a small, sleek cart.

Its operator was an equally small and sleek female droid who drove her along the winding, tree-lined path to a sprawling three-story house of wood and glass that perched on a rocky slope over a restless sea.

There was a fountain at the entrance where a stone woman draped in a flowing gown gracefully poured pale blue water from a pitcher into a pool teeming with red fish. A gardener worked a plot of flowers at the east side of die house.

He wore baggy gray pants and shirt, a wide-brimmed hat, and a double-scoped distance laser.