Eve got back in her car, slammed the door. And brooded. "It might have happened just the way she said. Hell." She rapped a fist on the wheel. "I hate that."
"We can run the photo of the woman, try to get an ID. Something may pop."
"Yeah, shuffle it in when you have time. And when we have the goddamn photos." Disgusted, Eve pulled away from the curb. "No way to prove she knew about the will or that was her motive. And damn it, after seeing her in action up there, I tend to believe her story."
"I thought she was going to try to rip your face off."
"She wanted to." Then Eve sighed. "Anger control therapy," she muttered. "What next?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Snag on system," Eve muttered as she pushed away from her desk-link. "The PA's office said we didn't get the photos and discs on the Branson case because there was an SOS. My ass." She rose to pace. "SOS also stands for sack of shit."
She heard the snicker, turned to glare at Peabody. "What are you grinning at?"
"It's your way with words, sir. I do so admire your way with words."
Eve dropped into her chair again, leaned back. "Peabody, we've been working together long enough for me to know when you're gassing me."
"Oh. Is that also long enough for you to appreciate our personal rapport?"
"No."
To help put the Branson matter out of her mind for the moment, Eve squeezed the heels of her hands on either side of her head. "Okay, back to priorities. Run the vans while I see how much McNab's shaken loose on Fixer's military record. And why don't I have any coffee?"
"I was just wondering the same thing." To avoid another snarl, Peabody hurried into the kitchen.
"McNab," Eve said the minute she had him onscreen. "Gimme."
"Just got the basic front stuff for now. I'm weaving through." He recognized the view out the window behind her and pouted. "Hey, you working at home today? How come I'm not there, too?"
"Because, thank God, you don't live here. Now, let's have it."
"I'll shoot it to your home unit, but the quick rundown is as follows. Bassi, Colonel Howard. Retired. Enlisted in 1997, enrolled officer's training. Top scores. As a first lieutenant, he worked with STF – Special Training Forces. Elite, real hush-hush stuff. I'm working on that, but at this point, I'm just getting commendations – he had a hat full – and remarks about his expertise with electronics and explosives. He made captain in 2006, then worked his way right up the ranks until he was given a field promotion to full colonel during the Urban Wars."
"Where was he stationed? New York?"
"Yeah, then he was transferred to East Washington in… wait, I've got it. 2021. Had to put in for a special family transfer package because most military weren't allowed to take their families along during that period."
"Family?" She held up a hand. "What family?"
"Ah… military records have him down for a wife Nancy, civilian, and two kids, one of each. He got the transfer because his spouse was a civilian liaison between army and media. Like, you know, public relations."
"Hell." Eve rubbed her eyes. "Run the wife and kids, McNab."
"Sure, they're on the list to do."
"No, now. You've got the ID numbers there." She glanced over as Peabody brought in coffee. "Do a quick run on date of death."
"Shit, they're not old," McNab muttered, but he turned away to check the records. "Man, Dallas, they all bought it. Same DOD."
"September 25, 2023, Arlington County, Virginia."
"Yeah." He let out a sigh. "They must have been taken out with the Pentagon. Christ, Dallas, the kids were only six and eight. That bites."
"Yeah, I'm sure Fixer agreed with you. Now we know why he turned."
And, she thought, why he ran. How could he expect to be safe, even in his dirty little fortress, if he was up against the kind of people who could wipe out the most secure military establishment in the country?
"Keep up the search," she ordered. "See if you can find anybody he worked with who's still around and no longer military. Somebody who got transferred with him, in his same unit. If he was STF, he probably had some part in dealing with Apollo."
"I'm on it. Hey, Peabody." He wiggled his brows when she came into view, and sliding his hand under his bright pink shirt mimed a thumping heart.
"Asshole," she muttered and stepped aside.
Scowling, Eve cut him off. "Roarke thinks he's got a thing for you."
"He's got a thing for breasts," Peabody corrected. "I happen to have a pair. I caught him eyeballing Sheila's from Records, and hers aren't as good as mine."
Thoughtfully, Eve glanced down at her own. "He doesn't look at my tits."
"Yes, he does, but he's careful because he fears you nearly as much as he fears Roarke."
"Only nearly? I'm disappointed. Where's my data on the vans?"
"Here." With a smug smile, Peabody tapped a disc into the desk unit. "I used the one in the kitchen to run it. We've got fifty-eight hits, but that's with factory-installed zappers. If we consider that they were installed privately, we more than triple that number."
"We'll start with the big number, check and see if anyone reported their vehicle stolen during the forty-eight hours around the murder. If we don't hit there, eliminate families. I can't see a professional mother running the kids to arena ball practice in the afternoon, then Daddy transporting corpses in it at night. Look for registration to companies and males. We'll run females if we crap out on those.
"Use this unit," Eve told her and rose. "I can make calls on the one in the other room."
She contacted Mira and set up a meeting for the following day. The closest she could get to Feeney was his e-mail announcement that he was on a priority and could only take emergency transmissions.
Deciding to leave him to what he did best, she tagged Anne Malloy in the field.
"Hey, Dallas, your sexy husband just left."
"Oh yeah." Eve could see the rubble and the E and B teams sifting through it.
"He wanted to see what we had going here, which isn't any more than you already know, at this point. We've transported fragments to the lab. We're finding more. Your man took a look at a piece of one of the devices and said it was a chunk of high-impact politex, like they use in space construction. Probably from a remote. He could be right."
He would be right, Eve thought. He was rarely otherwise.
"What does that tell you?"
"A couple of things," Anne said. "One, at least some of the devices were made from space salvage or parts manufactured for that use. And two, your man's got a sharp eye."
"Okay." She scooped a hand through her hair. "If he's right, can you trace it?"
"It narrows the field. I'll be in touch."
Eve sat back, then out of curiosity looked up politex and its manufacturers.
It didn't surprise her to see Roarke Industries as one of the four interplanetary companies that made the product. But it did have her rolling her eyes. She noted Branson Toys and Tools also manufactured it. Smaller scale, she noted. On planet only.
She decided to save time and simply ask Roarke for a rundown on the other two companies, then spent the next hour backtracking, picking through old data, weeding through the fresh data McNab transmitted. She was about to go in and harass Peabody for results on the vehicle search when her 'link beeped.
"Dallas."
"Hey, Dallas!" Mavis Freestone's delighted smile filled the screen. "Catch this."
Beside the table, a column of air shimmered, then, in a blink, the hologram image of Mavis standing in the kitchen on skinny ruby heels with bright pink feathers drifting over her toes. She wore a short robe in eye-watering swirls of the same two tones that drooped off one shoulder to display a tattoo of a silver angel playing a gilt harp.