Page 144 of Random in Death

“If you’d hit, you’d have gotten back sooner.”

“I’m sorry to say that’s true. I’ve got no like crimes for you. On the single one that skirted the outside, the perpetrator—age eighteen now—is in prison.

“I hope you’ve made better progress.”

“We’ve made progress, and I appreciate the assist.” She looked at her board, thought of the next girl. “If we don’t have it solid in a couple of hours, I’d like to read you in.”

“Of course. Good hunting.”

Eve clicked off, and started down the list.

When her ’link signaled again, she snagged it.

Yancy.

“Dallas.”

“I’m sending you the best I’ve got, but you need to know I had to put pieces together from all the wits, so…”

He let it trail off as his vid-star face and head full of dark curls filled her screen.

“You were right, Kiki saw more than she thought, but she saw it in a darkened theater and with a jolt of pain. I hope it’s enough to run face rec.”

It had to be, she thought, as she heard the incoming on her comp.

She brought it up, stared.

And that vital next piece fell into place.

“That’s him. Jesus Christ, Yancy, that’s him. I know it.”

Hadn’t she been sure, dead sure, she’d know the face?

“It’s rougher than I’d like. I’m heading in to see if I can refine it, at least a little. But I knew you’d want the sketch as soon as I finished.”

“I did. I do. You’ve got him here. You’ve got enough of him here for me to know it’s him. Good work. Thanks.”

She cut him off, started to program for face rec, then realized she had a potential shortcut.

If she could figure out how to navigate it.

She had the yearbooks. She just needed to figure out how to run the sketch against the damn yearbooks. If he wasn’t in there—but he was, she knew it—she could run it standard.

“Computer.” Dragging a hand through her hair, she kept it fisted there as she tried to figure out how to voice a command that would tell it to do what she wanted it to do.

Waiting… The computer said, not at all helpfully.

“Ah, copy and bring up files from my home unit and its auxiliary containing—hold, wait.”

She’d need the documents, the names, the codes, the something.

Fuck!

“Having trouble there?”

She never heard him coming—nothing new about that—but she all but leaped up and dragged Roarke into her office.

“Sit there, talk later. I need the yearbooks to run against this sketch.”