Outside, Peabody slid into the pa.s.senger's seat. "He's not going to like you calling him an a.s.shole, if he was listening."

"Oh, he was listening, and he expected the a.s.shole, or some similar insult. He played for it. Dudley goes slick, this one goes sharp."

"You think that was an act."

"At least some of it." She tapped her fingers on the wheel as she drove. "I f they're in this, and if they're in it together, what's the point? What's the purpose? I tell you this, they're too clever for their own good. Each of them alibied tight for one night, home alone on the other. Switch-off. But why?

What's the root?"

"What if Houston driving that night was rigged. I t looks random, but what if the killer knew, or maybe played the odds it would be Houston?""I t doesn't feel that way, but okay." Flip of the coin, Eve thought, but then again fifty-fifty odds weren't bad. "Keep going."

"One of these guys has some connection to Houston. Could be way back when the vic was getting in fights, in trouble. Could be more recent.

Houston sees something he's not supposed to see, hears something he's not supposed to hear. He's a driver, an overheard conversation, an exchange of money for illegal goods. Whatever. With the LC, it could've been jealousy, unrequited pa.s.sion."

"Neither of them are in her book."

"Well, we know they-if it's they-can diddle with ID. Maybe one or both of them used her services with a false ID. And okay, it's all reaching way out," Peabody admitted, "but why do a couple of really, really rich guys without any priors hook up to kill a couple of complete strangers?"

d.a.m.n good question, Eve thought. "Maybe they're bored."

"Jeez, Dallas."

Eve glanced over at the dismay in Peabody's voice, saw it reflected on her partner's face. "You've been a cop for a while now, and in Homicide for a couple years. And you still don't get people are just f.u.c.ked up?"

"Boredom as motive is more than f.u.c.ked up. I 'll buy maybe for the thrill, in part, but it just seems there has to be something under that. Jealousy, revenge, profit."

"Then look into it. Seriously," she added when Peabody frowned at her. "Maybe you're right, and there's some concrete motive here, some connection between killer or killers and victims we haven't found. Find it. I f you do, it opens things up. I f you don't, it narrows the focus. Either way it's progress."

"My own fork in the investigative road?"

"Whatever. Work on it, at Central, or take what you need and work at home. Carve out some downtime before your brain goes to mush."

"Is that what you're going to do?"

"I 'm going to try to grab Mira, run some things by her, then I need to take what we have to Whitney. After that, yeah, I 'm thinking I 'll work at home."

They separated at Central, with Eve heading toward Mira's office as she contacted the commander's with a request for a report meeting. She geared herself up to confront Mira's fierce gatekeeping admin but found a young, perky woman in the dragon's place.

"Who are you?" Eve demanded.

"I 'm Macy. Doctor Mira's administrative a.s.sistant is out today. What can I do for you?"

"You can give me five minutes with Doctor Mira."

"Let me see what I can do. Who should I say would like to speak with her?"

"Dallas, Lieutenant Eve."

"Oh!" She bounced a little in her chair, and actually clapped her hands as if one of them had won a prize. "I know who you are! I read Nadine Furst's book. I t's all just amazing."

Eve started to dismiss it, rethought. "Thanks. Being able to consult with Mira made a huge difference in the Icove case. I 'm working on a pretty hot one now. I could really use that five."

"Give me one minute!" She all but sang it as she turned to her com. "Doctor Mira, Lieutenant Dallas would like five minutes with you if you're available. Of course, yes, ma'am." Macy beamed at Eve. "You can go right in."

"Thanks. Ah, how long are you on the desk?"

"Oh, just for a couple days. I wish it was longer. I t's fun!"

"Yeah."

Mira started to rise from her desk when Eve came in. "No, don't get up. Five minutes tops. Could there be two?"

"I 'm sorry?"

"No, my sorry. I 'm thinking ahead of myself. Two murders, two killers. My cases."

Mira frowned. "With the pattern, the repeat of element types, I have to conclude these murders are connected."

"Connected, yeah, but two killers, working in tandem, working a set pattern."

"Interesting. Again, the elements, the executions are so very similar, even the tone."

"Yeah, and that could be deliberate. Involve number one through an employee, but you're alibied because number two's on that one. Then repeat, switching off."

"A partnership."

"Maybe even a business deal. I don't know, not yet, but both Dudley and Moriarity ring my bell. They're different types." Despite telling Mira to stay seated, Eve paced the pretty office. "At least they projected different types when we interviewed them. But under it, they're not that different. Rich, privileged, inherited wealth, inherited positions in major, long-standing corporations. And they're friends."

"Are they?" Mira queried.

"Yeah. Dudley confirmed that. Friends, but neither of them mentioned discussing this very similar situation they find themselves in with the other.

That's bogus. Both are alibied tight for the night of the murder connected to their company, and home alone on the other."

"Mirrors then." Mira pursed her lips, nodded. "And perhaps reflecting too close, which raised your instincts to suspect."

"Even the alibis rang the same. Out with friends, multiple, covering the entire evening. Smarter if one of them had a woman over, or a business meeting, some wider variation. But they've stuck with the same pattern throughout. And they're smug. I don't like smug." She shrugged it off. "I 'm about to report to Whitney. I wanted your take before I did."

"What you're theorizing is certainly possible. I would have to conclude that, if this is the case, the two men have a deep and strong level of trust or mutual need. I f either one of them had failed or changed his mind, or otherwise impacted the partnership, the other would suffer the consequences as well."

"Okay. I 'll look into that. Thanks."

"Eve, if you're right, they could be finished. Each has done their part."

"No." She thought of the sparkle in Dudley's eyes, the hard, superior gleam in Moriarity's. "No, they're not finished. They think they've done their parts too well to be finished."

Organizing her thoughts, Eve made her way to Commander Whitney's office. She recognized the low throb behind her eyes as caffeine buzz warring with fatigue. Peabody wasn't the only one who could use a little downtime.

She stepped off the glide, turned to switch to the next, barely registering the weeping behind her. Crying, cursing, whining, shouting were all ambient noise in a cop shop. But she caught the move, the man directly in front of her drawing a hand from his pocket. She saw the eyes, the baring of teeth, the hot rage.

She laid a hand on her weapon, shifted to block him.

The knife was out of his pocket before she could clear her weapon, and slicing out at her. She felt the sting of the tip across her forearm. Heardthe weeping turn to high, terrified screams.

She said, "G.o.dd.a.m.n it," and kicked the a.s.sailant hard in the b.a.l.l.s even as she yanked her weapon clear. "You son of a f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h."

Since he was curled on the floor, retching, he didn't respond.

"Lieutenant. Jesus, Lieutenant, he cut you."

"I know he cut me. I 'm the one bleeding. Why is she screaming?" Eve demanded as she lowered, put a knee in the small of the retching man's back, then restrained him. "Let me repeat: I 'm the one bleeding."

"He was going for her when you got in the way. Way it looks. Detective Manson," he said, "Special Victims. The a.s.shole on the floor is her ex, who paid her a visit last night, beat the c.r.a.p out of her, raped her, and told her he'd cut her heart out if she left. He went out for brew, she left. He must've trailed her here or something. We'll find out."

"How the h.e.l.l did he get a knife through?" As she asked, Manson used a pair of tweezers to pick it up off the floor.

"Christ, it's one of those plastic deals from the Eatery. He sharpened it with something. I 'd say he was waiting out here to go at her. In G.o.dd.a.m.n Cop Central. Crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Get him the h.e.l.l in a cage. Make sure you charge him with a.s.sault with a deadly on a police officer." She crouched down to push her face close to the knifer's. "You can get life for that, a.s.shole. Put in the other charges, and you're done. You cost me a pretty nice jacket."

"You need to go to the infirmary, sir."

Eve looked down at the ripped sleeve, the blood. "c.r.a.p."

Instead, she slipped into a restroom, ripped the sleeve off the jacket, and fashioned a quick field dressing. Then, with some regret as it had been a nice, serviceable jacket-shoved what was left of it in the recycler.

The steady pulse of pain from her arm joined the head throb. Home, she thought, as soon as she gave Whitney her report, she was going home, cleaning up, shutting down. Two hours' sleep would do the trick.

At home.

At his desk when she walked in, Whitney held up a finger for silence as he finished reading a report. Eve stood where she was while behind his window a blimp lumbered through the sky with its flashing ad, a couple of shuttles zipped in a crisscrossing path, and a tram carried a payload of tourists.

Whitney tapped the index finger of his big hand on the screen, then shifted his eyes, dark, intense, to her.

"How were you injured?" he asked her.

"I t's just a scratch."

"I asked how."

"Sir. Some mope on the tenth level, east, lying in wait for his ex, who'd come in to SVU after he beat and raped her. He'd copped a plastic knife from the Eatery, sharpened it up. I got in the way. A Detective Manson has him in custody."

"That's not a proper dressing."

"I 'll get one. I was on my way to give you my report, so-"

Again, he held up a finger, turned to his com to tag his admin. "Send a medic in here for the lieutenant. She has an injury, left forearm. Knife wound."

"Sir, I really don't need-"

"Report."

"Sir." d.a.m.n it.

She reviewed the facts, the steps taken, the various avenues of investigation addressed.

"You've yet to find any connection between the victims."

"No, sir, we've found nothing that intersects them other than the killer."

"And you believe both victims were killed by the same individual."

"Detective Peabody and I have just completed first interviews with Winston Dudley and Sylvester Moriarity. I believe the result of those interviews opened another avenue of investigation. I consulted with Doctor Mira on the-"

She broke off at the knock on the door.

"Come," Whitney ordered.

Eve eyed the medic with instinctive distrust. "Commander, if I could conclude before-"

"Sit down. You can give me the rest while he works on you."

"Carver, sir," the medic said cheerfully. "Let's have a look-see."

She didn't care for the idea of a medic named Carver, but under direct orders sat.

"Good field dressing," Carver told her as he removed it. "Nasty little slice. We'll fix it up."

Several sarcastic remarks came to mind, and she swallowed them as Carver began to clean the wound she'd already d.a.m.n well cleaned in the bathroom.

"There's a connection between Dudley and Moriarity," she began. "They're friends, of the same social strata, and both head large corporations that came down to them through birth. Each has a-s.h.i.t."

She jerked a little, and aimed a hard glare at Carver as he replaced the pressure syringe in his kit.

"Always a little sting, but it's better than an infection."

"Each," Eve said through her teeth, "has a strong alibi for the night his employee's ID was used to lure the victim. And each has no alibi for the alternate night and time."

"You think they're working together? For what reason?"

"Motive may come to light as we shift angles, take a closer look at the vics with the alternate company, company head, both personally and professionally. Or it may be exactly what it appears to be on the surface. Thrill kills."

She did her best to ignore the faint buzz of the suture wand, the vague and persistent discomfort of her skin drawing back together.