“Shit.” But he grinned a little.
“Ever been in juvie?”
“Maybe.”
“If you have, you know it sucks. Food’s lousy and they lecture you every damn day, which is worse. You got a problem at home, or wherever, need some help, you call this number.”
She dragged a card out of her pocket.
“Dufus? What the hell is that?”
“Duchas. It’s a shelter. Hell of a lot better than juvie,” she said when he sneered. “You can tell them Dallas sent you.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Put it in your pocket. Don’t throw it away until you’re out of sight at least. No point in insulting me after I kept your ass out of lockup.”
“You hadn’t caught me, I’d have the wallet.”
Smartass, she thought. God, she had a weakness for a smartass. “Well, you’ve got me there. Scram.”
He bolted, then spun around, grinned at her again. “Hey! You’re not a total asshole, for a cop.”
And that, she figured, was a better thanks than the suit had managed. Feeling marginally better, she hailed a cab of her own.
She gave the driver Reva Ewing’s home address. He turned around, gave her a pained stare.
“You want I should drive you to fricking Queens?”
“Yes. I want you should drive me to fricking Queens.”
“Lady, I gotta make a living here. Whyn’t you take a bus or the subway or an airtram?”
“Because I’m taking a cab.” She yanked out her badge, pressed it to the safety shield that caged in the driver. “And I gotta make a living here, too.”
“Oh jeez, lady, now you’re gonna want the cop rate. Now I’m going to be driving you to fricking Queens at ten percent off. You know how long that’s going to tie me up?”
“I’ll give you the standard fare, but get this bucket of shit moving.” She shoved her badge away. “And don’t call me lady.”
She ruined the driver’s evening when she told him to wait, then recorded his name and license number to ensure he did. He drooped behind the wheel as she got out to unseal and unlock the gates.
“How long am I supposed to wait?”
“Let’s see. Oh yeah. Until I get back.”
EDD had removed the statuary, and it was an improvement. Still, she imagined Reva would sell the place. She wouldn’t want to live where she’d lived with the man who used and betrayed her.
She unsealed and unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
It had the feel of an empty house, an abandoned one. A home that was finished, she supposed, being a home.
She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she wandered the house much as she’d wandered the streets. Just to see what popped out at her.
The sweepers and EDD had both combed the place. The faint, metallic smell of chemicals lingered. To satisfy herself she browsed through Bissel’s closet. Large wardrobe, expensive clothes. She knew how to recognize expensive material and cuts now.
He’d indulged himself in the two-level space with its revolving racks, automatic drawers, computerized menu of contents, and their location.
Jesus, even Roarke didn’t computerize his wardrobe. Of course, his brain was a damn computer so he probably knew just where the specific black shirt he wanted would be, when he’d last worn it, for what occasion, and with what pants and jacket. Shoes. Fricking underwear.
She blew out a breath and scowled at the little wall screen.
Bissel hadn’t fried his closet unit. Because there was nothing on there worth bothering with, or because there was something on there he wanted to retrieve?
Curious, she engaged it. “List last wardrobe selection, and date.”
Working… Last selection on September 16, at twenty-one sixteen, by Bissel, Blair. Contents removed as follows…
She listened to the list, mentally matching it with the contents taken from Bissel’s bags and Kade’s closet after the murders. They seemed to jibe.
“Okay, let’s try this. Last use of this unit by Bissel, Blair, for any purpose.”
Last usage September 23, at oh six hundred twelve hours.
“This morning, the son of a bitch was here this morning? What was the purpose of usage?”
Purpose blocked. Privacy engaged.
“Yeah, screw that.” She keyed in her police code, her badge number, and spent several annoying minutes trying to override the system. The fourth time the computer spat PRIVACY ENGAGED at her, she kicked the wall.
The sound was hollow in the lavish space. “Well, what’s this?” She crouched and began to thump and press on the wall.
She considered, briefly, hunting up a really big knife and just hacking at the wallboard. But cooler heads prevailed. Instead she pulled out her communicator and contacted Feeney.
“I’m in Queens, in Bissel’s closet.”
“What the hell you doing in a closet in Queens?”
“Just listen, he was here. This morning. There’s a comp menu thing in the closet. He used it this morning, but the little bastard won’t tell me why. Privacy block. And there’s something behind the wall here, a hidey-hole or something. How do I get the computer to let me in?”
“You beat on it yet?”
“No.” She perked up a bit. “Can I?”
“Won’t do any good. Can you open her up?”
“I don’t have any tools.”
“You can give me a look at it, and I can try to walk you through, or one of us can come over there and work on it. Probably be faster to deploy one of the team.”
“That’s an insult, and don’t think I don’t know it. It’s a damn closet menu, Feeney, get me in.”
He puffed out his cheeks, made little noises while she scanned the unit so he could see it on his screen. “Okay, key in this code.”
He read it off as she input the numbers manually. “What’s this? A privacy override?”
“Just keep going. Snap your fingers and say, ‘Open Sesame.’”
She started to obey, then set her teeth. “Feeney.”
“Okay, okay, just a little joke. Code’s from the data we’ve been pulling out here. Let’s see if he used it on that unit, too.”
“Computer, what was removed by Blair Bissel at last usage?”
Working… Contents listed as emergency package.
“Emergency package. What was in the emergency package?”
That data is not available.
“Computer, open the compartment from which said emergency package was removed.”
Acknowledged.
The panel slid open, revealing a small safe. “Bingo. Computer, I said to open the compartment.”
Acknowledged. Compartment is open.
“You have to be specific, Dallas,” Feeney told her. “You want the safe open, you tell it you want the safe open. It can’t read your mind.”
“Open the damn safe.”
Acknowledged. Commencing interface.
There was a low hum and some blinking red lights on both the safe and the wall unit as they communicated. When it stopped, Eve wrenched open the safe door.
“Empty,” she said. “Whatever it was, he got it all.”
She asked herself what Blair Bissel would have secreted away for an emergency. Funds, forged ID, codes or passkeys into bolt-holes. But surely he’d have taken all that with him before he killed Kade and his brother.
What else, she thought, would a man who prepared to run require enough to risk breaking into his own house for?
Weapons seemed the most logical.
He hadn’t stored a rocket blaster in that little safe, but he might’ve stored smaller weapons and passkeys.
Stupid to have left them behind in the first place, she thought as the cab drove through the gates of home. Sooner or later the safe would have been discovered, and whatever he’d left behind found.
Then again, it would all have been a kind of mystery, wouldn’t it? His body would have been long since cremated, ensuring he’d stay dead. But people would wonder about the safe, its contents.