Leverage in Death: An Eve Dallas Novel (In Death #47)(88)

She cut herself off mid rant when Whitney stepped in.

“Sir.”

“Lieutenant, Captain. I noted you’d reserved the conference room. I’m only here for a short time this morning as Anna and I are attending Derrick Pearson’s memorial.” He walked to the board as he spoke. “He’s one of eighteen now.”

“It’s a tough one, Commander,” Feeney said.

“Yes.”

They went back, Eve knew. Way back. But it wouldn’t be Jack and Ryan under these circumstances.

“Are these your primary suspects?”

“At this time, yes, sir.”

“From your last report, you’ve found no direct link to either Paul Rogan or Wayne Denby.”

“Not to them or to any of the victims as yet.”

“Not to Derrick,” Whitney murmured. “So if I happen to see one of these faces at the memorial . . .”

“I’d very much appreciate it, should that transpire, if you would bring said individual into Central.”

Whitney smiled, grimly. “You can count on it. I’ll stay for the briefing, or as much as I can. Is that real coffee?”

“Yes, sir.”

She moved to pour him some herself, heard Peabody’s clump, McNab’s prance. “Peabody—” Eve’s brows drew together at Peabody’s overbright eyes and wildly patterned scarf. “Before you settle in, go program another pot of coffee from my office.”

“You got it! Good morning, Commander! Hey, Feeney! Be right back!” Exclamation points struck every couple of words before she all but bounced away.

McNab lifted his skinny shoulders in a gesture as sheepish as his smile. “She’s a little buzzed,” he explained to Eve.

“She’s what?”

“Departmentally approved booster,” he said quickly. “She put in a long night because grateful—me, too—about the Oscar thing. Beyond mega thanks on that, Dallas.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m fucking serious.”

“Okay, but see she gets a little hyped on the boost, but more before I caught her, she’d dipped into our emergency stash of espresso. It’s like gold, you know—we bought it for each other at Christmas. Anyway, she took a shot of that, so she’s pretty buzzed out.”

“Keep her under control,” Eve warned.

“Trying.”

Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes. When Baxter and Trueheart walked in, she hoped they’d balance things out.

Then Peabody came in. She’d ditched the scarf and the pink coat. Eve almost preferred them to the screaming red sweater with fussy pink flounces at the cuffs, the shiny, electric-blue jacket and Jesus neon-green pants with frigging pink flowers down the sides.

“Peabody.” Baxter let out a half laugh. “You look like a garden.”

“It’s almost spring! Coffee!”

“None for you,” Eve snapped.

“Aw!”

“Water,” she ordered McNab. “Only water.”

“On it.”

“Sit.” She pulled the pot from Peabody, who she noted with resignation, also smelled like a garden. “I’m going to summarize where we are, then we’ll move on to where we’re going. Before I do: Feeney, anything?”

“Entry to the Rogan and Denby houses by the same methods. We’ve found nothing on either man’s communications or data systems, their house systems, office systems, the devices of family members, that connect them to the bombings. EDD concurs with Homicide these individuals were coerced and not complicit.

“Banks,” he continued. “The more we look, the shadier he comes off. We got nothing linking him directly with the bombings at this point. If he wasn’t dead, he’d do a nice long stretch for fraud, embezzlement, money laundering, and more petty shit, but he’s dead. He had some gambling debts—nothing big enough for spine-crackers—but there might be a connection there. You got that in the last report.”

“We’ll follow it up,” Eve confirmed.

“McNab’s got some he dug out last night.”

“We’ve got a tag coming in on Banks’s house ’link,” McNab began. “He had one in the pantry deal in the kitchen they missed when they turned the place.”

“A house ’link in the pantry?”

“Yeah,” he told Eve. “A mini I guess he had in there for the droids to use. On the night of his murder, just before midnight he got a tag on it. No message when the ’link went to the answering system. Another tag to Denby’s house ’link two hours earlier. A hang-up when answered from the residence. Another to the Richie apartment minutes before the bombing at The Salon, and one more to Rogan’s house ’link on the night of the home invasion at twenty-two-ten. A hang-up when answered.”

Subtly, he pressed a hand to Peabody’s bouncing knee, kept talking. “All of these tags were made from a cloner. We can’t trace the device, but we’ve been working on tracing the locations of the transmissions. We nailed Richie’s first—he only had the one house ’link, and apparently didn’t really use it. The transmission came from right outside the building.”

“Making sure nobody was in the unit,” Eve concluded. “Maybe Richie had a friend over, a woman in there, whatever. Just making sure the space was clear.”