She considered. “Let’s go down the list before we do another layer. Find me Renquist’s nanny, or whatever they call them over inEngland.”

“RobertaJanetGable,” Roarke announced, then smiled. “I’m multitasking.”

“Usually do,” she replied, then looked up at the image on-screen. “Man.”Eve gave a mock shudder. “Scary.”

“This is current. She’d have been considerably younger when working for Renquist’s mother, but”-having anticipated her, Roarke called up the earlier photo-”still scary.”

“I’ll say.” She studied the split-screen images of a thin face with dark, deep-set eyes and an unsmiling mouth. The hair was brown in the younger, gray in the current, and in both cases pulled severely back. The lines that bracketed the no-nonsense mouth on the earlier image had dug themselves into disapproving grooves on the older woman.

“I bet nobody called herBobbie,”Eve commented. She started to struggle with the math, and could only be grateful Roarke had gotten there before her.

“She took the job when Renquist was two, and held it until he was fourteen. He didn’t board at Stonebridge, but was a day student. Headed off toEton at fourteen, and no longer required the services of a nanny.Roberta, don’t call meBobbie, would have been twenty-eight when she took the position, and forty when she left it to take another position as private child-care provider. She’s now sixty-four and has recently retired. Never married, nor had any offspring of her own.”

“She looks like she pinches,”Eve commented. “One of the providers at the state school was a pincher. She’s got all the credentials, but so did that bitch who decorated my arms with bruises when I was ten. Born inBoston, and went back there when she retired. Yeah, that’s aNew England bedrock face, the kind that says shit like ‘spare the rod, spoil the child.’”

“She could be an unfortunate-looking woman with a heart of gold who keeps sugarplums in her pocket to pass out to rosy-cheeked children.”

“Looks like a pincher,”Eve said again, and sat on the edge of the desk. “Financially solid. I bet she saved her pennies and didn’t squander them on sugarplums. What is a sugarplum, anyway?”

He was thinking ofEve at ten, with bruises on her arms. “I’ll buy you some. You’ll like them.”

“Odds are. I think we’ll chat, and see what she has to say about Renquist’s early childhood training. Let’s see the annoyingMr.Smith.”

“Come sit on my lap.”

She tried a severe look, but couldn’t come close toRobertaGable ’s expression. “There’ll be no hanky or panky during a work session.”

“As there was hanky on the kitchen floor followed by panky in the shower, I think we can shelve that activity. Come sit on my lap.” He sent her a persuasive smile. “I’m lonely.”

She did it, and tried not to soften too much when his lips brushed her hair.

“CarmichaelSmith,” he said, but he was still thinking of the child she’d been, at the mercy of the system she now stood for. And wanted, more than anything, to lavish her with everything she’d done without. Especially love.

“Thirty-one, my ass. I bet he greased some palms to have that stat adjusted. Born inSavannah, but spent part of his childhood inEngland. No sibs, and his mother opted for professional parent status, right up until his eighteenth birthday. Sealed juvie record, here and abroad, which might be worth the hassle of breaking. Not rolling in as much dough as he should be, considering. Must have himself some high expenses or habits.”

“Parents divorced, father remarried and moved permanently toDevon.England, right?”

“The last I checked, yes.”

“No adult criminal, but I bet there’s something. Something paid off or expunged. Looks like he’s done some time in a couple of snazzy rehab facilities. Let’s have a closer look at the mother.”

“SuzanneSmith. Age fifty-two. Young when he was born,” Roarke commented. “And the marriage took place nearly two years later. Attractive woman.”

“Yeah, he looks like her some. Well, lookie here. Mommy had an LC license for a while. Street level. And she’s got herself a sheet.”

Intrigued,Eve started to rise, but Roarke clamped his arms around her waist. “If you can’t see the screen from here, I can put the data on audio.”

“Nothing wrong with my eyes. Looks like she did some grifting, and got caught with illegals, tried a little minor fraud. Pleaded them all down,” she added. “Never served time. Rolled on somebody, I bet. Held on to the license after she applied for PP status, but claimed no income. Just kept it off the books, that’s all. She was still turning. Why pay the fee if you’re not going to turn tricks? So, littleCarmichael ’s sex education was likely early and hands-on.”

She considered, put herself in the scenario. “Let me see his medicals,” she asked. “As far back as you can find.”

“Am I smudging now?”

She hesitated, but her instincts were humming. “Keep it to a minimum.”

He gave her hip a little pat, signaling her up so he could work. While he did, she poured the last of the coffee.

“Standard exams and inoculations as an infant,” Roarke said. “He appeared to become accident-prone at about two.”

“Yeah, I see.” She scanned the various reports, from various doctors, different health centers. Stitches, minor fractures, one fairly serious burn. Dislocated shoulder, a broken finger.

“She knocked him around,”Eve noted. “The abuse continued after the divorce, and right up until he hit the teen years and probably got too big for her to risk it. So it was the mother, the female authority figure. She moved around enough to get away with it. Relocating here and there in the States, doing some time inEngland. And look at her earned income, Roarke, as opposed to her assets.”

“The first is all but nil, while the second is very comfortable.”

“Yeah. I’d say she’s still sucking on her little boy.Guy ’s bound to resent that sort of thing. Maybe enough to kill.”

Chapter13

Evehad very rational reasons for starting her shift in her home office. It was quiet. Of course anything compared to the division at Central-including an Arena Ball match-was quiet.

She needed more thinking time. She wanted to set up a murder board here as well, so she could stare at it and study it whenever she was in the room.

And, the number-one reason for loitering there rather than heading straight downtown was the expected arrival of Summerset. She intended to be well away beforenoon, but she wanted to brood, just a while, over the fact that once she left the house today, he would have reclaimed the field upon her return.

So she set up her board, sat, put her feet up on her desk. And drinking coffee, studied it.

There were crime-scene photos-theChinatown alley, theGregg bedroom. There were maps, and the notes left on-scene. Victim photos, before and after. With them, she pinned copies of the original crime scenes these were based on. Whitechapel andBoston, and two of those victims that most closely matched hers.

He’d studied those, too, she thought. Stared at those old photographs, read those old reports.

He’d be studying others now. Refreshing himself, preparing for the next act.

She had the lab reports, the ME’s, the sweepers’. She had statements from witnesses, next of kin, suspects, neighbors. She had the timelines. She had her own notes, her own reports, and now a mountain of background data on those who remained on her short list.

She would go over them all again, and she would do more legwork, more interviews. She’d dig deeper, wider. But he would beat her to the next. Her gut told her he’d beat her in the short run, and someone else would die before she caught up.

He’d made mistakes. She sipped coffee and stared at the board. The notes were a mistake. That was pride and a kind of glee. He had a need not only to toot his own horn, but to do it with a flourish. Notice me! See how smart I am, see what excellent taste I have.