“No, not really. I’m not especially e-savvy, certainly not on Bart’s level, or the others. But I got the impression something was brewing. He was excited.”
“Were the others on board about the scholarship?”
“Absolutely. As far as I know,” she qualified. “They never did anything without all four agreeing.”
“So he didn’t seem concerned about anything or anyone?”
“On the contrary. He seemed on top of the world.”
On top of the world,” Eve said from the driver’s seat. “Happy-go-lucky. Doesn’t seem like the type who ends up on a slab at the morgue with his head on a tray.”
“He was rich, relatively successful, content, and in a competitive business,” Peabody pointed out. “Fertile ground for jealousy.”
“Yeah, it is.” She pulled out her ’link when it signaled, read a text from Roarke. “We’re splitting off. I want you and McNab to go to East Washington. There’s a mini-con at the Potomac Hotel.”
“Road trip!” Peabody pumped her fists in the air.
“Before you break out the soy chips and go-cups, you’re going as collectors. You’re especially interested in swords.”
“Undercover road trip!” And now executed a quick, happy dance.
“Jesus, Peabody, maintain some dignity.”
“I’ve got to go home and change. I look too much like a cop.” Eve surveyed the breezy summer pants, the cheerfully striped skids. “You do?”
“I’ve got just the thing. Things,” Peabody corrected. “I need a lot more sparkles, more color.”
“Great, go get those, grab McNab, and take the first shuttle.”
“Shuttle. Like one of Roarke’s right?”
“No, like the shuttle regular people, including cops on undercover road trips take.”
Peabody’s acre of grin tumbled into a pouty “Aw.”
“I want buzz on U-Play, any underground data that might’ve leaked on this game, info on the sword, or its type. And I want you to stay out of trouble.”
“It all sounded like fun a minute ago.”
“You want fun? Go to the circus. For now, get McNab, go there. Pick up your con passes at Central Information. They’re under your name. And I don’t want to see any toys or games on your expense chit.”
“What if we have to buy something to maintain our cover?”
“Don’t.”
“Less and less fun all the time. Are we cleared for a hotel if we need to follow up a lead?”
Eve shot her a narrowed stare. “It better be a damn good lead and a cheap hotel or I take the expense out of your hide.”
“If there’s any rumors, innuendoes, or hard data on this sword, a con’s the place to find them. Really.”
“If I didn’t believe that you wouldn’t be going.” She pulled over to the curb in front of Peabody’s apartment. “Go get your geek on. Check in when you get there. Don’t screw up.”
“Your level of confidence brings a tear of joy to my eye.”
“You’ll be bawling tears if you screw this up,” Eve warned, and, dumping Peabody on the sidewalk, swung back into traffic.
At Central she went straight to Homicide. No need to visit EDD as Peabody would’ve tagged McNab seconds after she hit the sidewalk. She’d go up, confer with Feeney after she had time to check in on her own division and read through more thoroughly the files she’d gotten from the lawyer.
She stepped in, stopped short when she saw her commander. “Sir.”
Commander Whitney nodded, gestured toward her office. “A moment of your time, Lieutenant.”
He was a big man who moved well, who still managed to move like a cop despite his years behind a desk. Command lined his dark, wide face and, she thought, had added the gray to his close-cropped hair.
She stepped in behind him, closed the door.
“Can you spare me some of that coffee?”
“Yes, sir.” She programmed it for him. “I have a meeting with Doctor Mira shortly to consult her on the Minnock investigation.”
“So I read in your report. You’ve come from the victim’s lawyer.”
“Yes, sir. Another college friend. She’s been very cooperative. I have the terms of his estate, will, partnership. It seems very straightforward.”
He nodded again, sat in her visitor’s chair. Eve stayed on her feet.
“The circumstances are… bizarre is the word that comes to mind,” he began, and sipped coffee like a man sipping a very fine wine. “And those circumstances are leaking to the media. Too many people knowing too much, and with the circumstances, very juicy fodder.”
She glanced at her ’link, and the rapidly blinking light indicating numerous messages. “I don’t believe we should issue anything but the standard media release at this time. Beyond bizarre there are a number of lines and angles to deal with. We can’t deny the beheading, but I believe it’s necessary to keep as much of the rest as possible under wraps for now.”
“Agreed. If the public gets the idea that this happened as a result of a game, we’d have panic. Every mother’s son and daughter in the city has a gaming system of some sort.”
“I’m concentrating on identifying the weapon, or rather have Peabody and McNab on that. I’m sending them to a games convention in East Washington today.”
“You’ve made two arrests. We’ll use that for now to keep things quiet. I’ve spoken with Captain Feeney. You’ll have as much from EDD as you need-including civilian consultants.” He paused, sipped again.
“Roarke disclosed he knew the victim, and that his own company has a similar game under development.”
“Yes, sir. I conducted a level three on those employees connected to that R &D. I found nothing.”
“Keep it documented, Dallas, and be sure Roarke has clear documentation of when and how this game of his has been developed.”
“Yes, sir.”
He finished his coffee, set it aside. “I’m not here to tell you how to do your job,” he said and rose. “But only to proceed cautiously, and clearly, where the personal overlaps.”
“Understood, Commander. I can ask Roarke to turn over the documentation, so that it’s in our files.”
“He’s already done so, through Feeney.” Now Whitney inclined his head. “He is consulting primarily with EDD, correct, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, that would be proper procedure.”
“I’ll let you get back to work.”
Alone, she stewed for a moment. It might have been proper procedure for Roarke to give Feeney the documentation, but he might have told her he’d done it. Of course, he would have told her if she’d asked. Or he probably assumed she’d known he would, or… screw it.
She couldn’t stand here trying to decipher the workings of Roarke’s brain when on this point she couldn’t quite decipher her own.
She gave it up and walked out to keep her appointment with Mira.
9
There was a certain ritual involved in Eve’s consults with Mira. Mira would offer-and Eve would feel obliged to accept-a fancy cup of flowery tea. They both knew Eve preferred coffee, just as they both knew the tea represented Mira’s calming influence, a break from the pressure. At least for that initial few moments.
As Eve sat in one of Mira’s blue scoop chairs she noted, as usual, the office was efficient and female, like the woman who ruled it. Apparently it didn’t bother Mira in the least to discuss the criminal mind, and the horrors inflicted on victims while photos of her family looked on.
Maybe she chose calming colors in her decor and her wardrobe to counteract those horrors, and scattered those photos around to ground herself to her own reality.
It occurred to her that she herself placed no photographs in her office-not at Central, not at home. Maybe, she considered, they’d be a distraction from the work, or maybe she’d just find it disconcerting to be “watched” while she worked. Or…
Didn’t matter, didn’t apply. Such analyses and suppositions were Mira’s territory. Eve needed the mind of the killer, needed to live inside it awhile-and her own sparse, uncluttered style suited her.
She considered her work outfit, one she’d chosen by simply grabbing what seemed easiest. Summer jacket, sleeveless tank, light-weight pants, boots. Work and weather related, period.