He also said, “Yo.”
“I’ve got an ID on the whack job—the investigation I had Jamie work on.”
“Boy did all right.”
“More than. I need a van. I’ve got two e-men with me. I want eyes and ears. I’ve got an address, but it doesn’t feel right. We need to cover it.”
“I’ll get you one. Who’s your man?”
“Dawber, Andrew Dawber from the freaking lab.”
“Andy? Are you fucking kidding me? Goddamn it. I’ll meet you with the van in the garage in ten.”
“I’ve got Roarke and McNab. You don’t need to—”
“I know that son of a bitch.”
When her screen went blank after Feeney’s outrage, Eve shrugged. “Okay, we’ve got three e-men. Ten minutes,” she muttered, and contacted Mira.
She said, “Eve, what can I do for you?”
“We’ve got an ID—solid. I’ve got a team heading out to his residence in ten—but it’s an apartment building, and he’s on the fifth floor.”
“Does he have a private entrance, adequate space?”
“Fifth floor, so doubtful, but we’ll check. It’s Andrew Dawber.”
“Why is that name vaguely familiar?”
“Forensic chemist, employed by the NYPSD.”
“Ah, of course, I’ve seen his name on countless reports. Forensic chemist. Precise, focused, while he works with a team, he does his work primarily alone. He’d know how to prepare a body to remove any trace evidence that could lead back to him. I’m just pulling up at home. Do you want me to come back?”
“Not until we have him. I’m hoping that’s tonight. If he slips by us, we’ll take him when he gets to the lab in the morning. I’m hoping tonight.”
“I’ll join that hope, and I’ll be there when you have him. Covino will, undoubtedly, need some counseling. Good luck to you and your team.”
“We’ll take it. Let’s move out,” she said when she clicked off. She looked at Roarke. “You’ll be taking a little detour before I give you that ride home.”
19
She contacted APA Cher Reo on the way to the garage.
“I need warrants, search and arrest.”
“Elder and Hobe?”
“Yeah. We’ve ID’d him, and we’re on our way to his address of record.”
“How solid?”
“It’s a fucking rock. We’ve got more to add to the reports I’ve sent you. He was found, abandoned, at age five some miles from where the mother ended up living the rest of her life. He fits the profile down the line. And we have him on security feed purchasing the nail kit and color with a fake license from a vendor in Brooklyn yesterday. That’s after he gave us incorrect data on said fake nail.”
“What do you mean he gave you the data?”
“He’s a forensic chemist at the lab.”
“Son of a bitch!”
“Phrase of the day,” Eve agreed as she tried to ignore the cops crowding on the elevator. “Andrew Dawber.”
“Dawber? Seriously? We’ve used his testimony more times than I can count—and that’s just since I came on. He’s the perfect expert witness! Jesus, we’re going to have a slew of defense attorneys filing to have his testimony tossed.”
“That’s a problem for later.”
“Oh yeah, it is. I’ll get the damn warrants. Fucking Dawber.”
Eve nodded at her ’link when the screen went blank. “She’s displeased. Crap, I’m going to need to brief Whitney.” She slid a glance toward Peabody, who immediately hiked her shoulders to her ears, aimed puppy dog eyes, and shook her head.
“I’ll do it, I’ll do it.” But Eve blew out a breath first, then took another. Let that one go before she made the contact.
She saw, immediately, he was in some fancy bar. She heard the murmur of other patrons in the background, the laughter around his own table.
He might have appeared relaxed, but he still radiated that force of command.
“Lieutenant. Excuse me,” he said to his companions, and leaned over to kiss his wife’s cheek （she also looked displeased）。 “I’ll only be a minute.”
He rose, began to walk through the bar, a big man with wide shoulders, dark hair cropped close and threaded with silver.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, Commander.”
“I assume you have reason to.”
“Yes, sir.” She waited while he made his way through the bar area of a restaurant where everyone looked elegant, and some guy in a tux opened the door to an outside area where other elegant people sat with sparkling drinks.