Desperation in Death (In Death #55)(90)

Peabody glanced at her notes. “She doesn’t remember seeing anybody visit, but since she felt Williamson didn’t want any friendly neighbor vibe, she didn’t make a point of chatting.

“Down the hall guy said he rode in the elevator with her sometimes when he headed out to meet friends and she was going to work. He asked, and she said she worked nights, then sort of froze him out—according to him.”

“Okay, let’s get that feed. I’m going to check on the e-team. Feeney’s on his way in.”

She went back to the office, saw McNab at the desk unit and Roarke crouched in the closet, with the safe door open.

“We’re in,” McNab told her. “I’m starting on files. She’s one paranoid mother, Dallas. Encrypted up the butt.”

“Feeney’s coming.”

“Couldn’t hurt, but we’re in here, and Roarke melted through the safe in like five seconds.”

Eve crouched beside Roarke as he drew out jewelry cases. “Those are going to be real.”

“I’d say so. Simple and elegant, good settings, good stones.” He opened cases, revealing necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings. “It’s a lovely little collection.”

“How much you figure?”

“At a glance? Maybe a couple hundred thousand. We’ll find they’re insured and pin that down. And look here.” He pulled out another box, opened it. “Nice and green.”

“She had a couple thousand in her panty drawer, this is more.”

“About … half a million. Smart, I suppose, not to bank it all. It’s likely she’s paid more than she should be, and rather than send up any flags, they do some, at least, in cash. Easier to wash that way, on all sides.”

“No way she’s in the wind. You don’t rabbit and leave all this behind. You want the cash—and there’s a passport here, and an unused ’link. Insurance. Gotta run, grab the sparkles, the cash, the passport, the fresh ’link. She didn’t get to run.”

She sat back on her heels. “Nothing in here, nothing I found in her bedroom that touches on the Academy. We need to get into those discs, and her personal files.”

“I’m getting there,” McNab told her.

She pushed to her feet. “Let’s take it all into Central. You’ll have more tools there, and it’ll be quicker. Tag Feeney, tell him to go there, not here. I’ll get a detail to sit on the place in case I’m wrong and she just found a hole to hide in for a few days.”

She looked around. “Take it in. Peabody and I will do another solid sweep through, check the security feeds, then meet you. You don’t—”

Roarke cut her off. “Don’t say it.”

She shrugged. “Knee-jerk. I’ll see you there.”

Eve walked away to order the detail.

But, she thought, she wasn’t wrong. Marlene Williamson had certainly taken a last trip through the tunnels and was never coming back.





19





With Peabody, Eve went through every drawer, closet, cabinet, and cubbyhole in the Williamson apartment. And found nothing that pointed the way to the Academy or those who ran it.

In the security hub, they scanned feeds and confirmed Williamson’s departure at twenty hundred hours on the night of Mina Cabot’s murder.

No return at any time, on any feed.

The thirty-day visitor’s log showed no one signing in for Williamson.

Dead end, Eve concluded. In every way.

“Coffee,” she said the minute they got in the car.

“Oh yes, please.” With a heartfelt sigh, Peabody programmed it. “The probability she’s alive and hiding is subzero. But literally terminating her for having her swipe stolen’s seriously harsh.”

“So’s stealing kids and selling them to pervs.”

“Yeah, it is.” Peabody gulped coffee, yawned, gulped more. “But that’s—for them—business.”

“So was this. Fire or discipline an employee, said employee could get pissy, and being pissy might try to cut a deal with the cops. Why risk it?”

“‘Dead men tell no tales,’” Peabody quoted.

“Sure they do, and dead or alive, Williamson’s telling us plenty. She’ll be telling us more when the e-nerds break her codes. That was a saying, right?”

“Yeah, it’s—”

“Sayings like that are another reason people do the stupid. ‘Okay, dead now, so that’s that.’ And it’s not. Nobody knows it’s not better than a murder cop. Add to it, you know why these assholes didn’t think to wipe her apartment? She was nothing to them. Just another number. Night Matron Williamson, employee number whatever. Disposable. She cost them millions, and profit’s the bottom line here.”

She pulled into the garage at Central.

“She worked there a solid number of years,” Peabody added. “I bet she kept her head down, did the job, didn’t make waves. Who’d think she’d keep files on her—charges, I guess.”

“Prisoners,” Eve corrected as they crossed to the elevator. “According to her data, she was a prison guard, Attica, for ten years before she got into this.”

They stepped into the car, and Eve called for EDD level. “I’m betting they recruit,” she continued. “Prison, juvie facilities. Vet them, do deep background, a psych eval, because you need the type who’d be just fine with all this. You’re going to pay them a hell of a lot more, add some juicy benefits—and give them the chance to jab kids with shock sticks.”