Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(93)
“That’s the door.” Peabody cleared her throat. “Probably McNab.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Don’t take in that bitch’s bullshit, Dallas.”
“Huh? No.” Eve looked up. “I’m not.” To prove it, she closed the book, pulled out another.
But when Peabody left to let in EDD, Eve sat a moment, looking back, seeing the stunning blond in the red dress.
19
When McNab bounced up the stairs, Eve turned the comp over to him. She carted a couple more books over to the sofa, opened a fresh one.
“Broadcasting marks and potentials. Roman numeral fives, her high score, hits a few here. The assistant she screwed with, Phoebe Michaelson, earned one with a star instead of a dollar sign. And I’ve got some guy with three stars she connects to Bellami—to using sex drugs, having access to questionable sex workers.”
“That’ll be who doctored Bellami’s drink for the setup.”
“Yeah.” Eve nodded absently at Peabody. “We’ll be paying him a visit before we’re done. Some more names here, some from Channel Seventy-Five,” she continued as she turned pages. “Here’s Annie Knight—she earns four full pages. Hits the five with dollar signs. Ah, and she had one of Knight’s team on the hook. Ilene Riff, in wardrobe, two stars for information.”
“What did she have on her?” Peabody asked.
“Daughter’s an addict with emotional issues. Eating disorder, a cutter with a taste for punch. Bumps for solicitation without a license, petty theft, assault. Two rounds of rehab, two short stints in a cage. Currently in a halfway house and clean according to the copy of the report Mars got her hands on. Looks like Riff’s working nights waiting tables to pay off the second round of rehab.
“We’ll talk to her,” Eve said as she turned another page. “And here’s Nadine.”
Peabody puffed out a breath. “I guess that’s expected.”
“Low score and, knowing Nadine, she’s going to be pretty pleased with just how much Mars disliked her.”
“I’m in,” McNab announced. “Want me to start pulling things out?”
“I’ll start that.” Eve noticed his gaze shift and lock on the vault. Wistfully. “Have you ever cracked a Podark?”
“No, but I’d sure like to play.”
“Roarke’s on the way.”
Now came a sigh. Wistful. “Better idea.”
“How about checking security, seeing if you can find the last time Mars came in and out? And there’s a domestic droid in the kitchen, disengaged. Mars must have used it for basic cleaning. Whatever you can get.”
“Can do.” He rose. “Hey, Dallas, thanks for Mexico. All of it. Serious gratitude.”
“Let’s close this case so you can get gone.”
“I’m all about it.”
“Peabody, go ahead and give him a hand.” Eve rose to walk back to the desk. As they bounced and clomped away, she opened the comp to a general search.
It didn’t surprise her to find files that mirrored the theme of the books. Screen, Music, Business, Politics, and so on. She’d go through them for comparisons, but first she wanted to study the marks, priority on males.
She’d save the financial files for later.
Helpfully, Mars had her marks listed in alpha order. Eve started on the A’s. She’d barely moved into the B’s when Roarke came in.
“I didn’t hear you knock.”
“I didn’t.” Like McNab’s, his gaze shifted and locked on the vault. Eve could only interpret his expression as a look of love.
“Ah, there she is.” He crossed to it, skimmed his fingers lightly over the polished surface. “Quite the beauty.”
“Should I leave the two of you alone?”
He tossed Eve a grin and set down what looked like a high-class field kit. “I owe you a solid for this, as you’d say,” he told her as he took off his coat. “So I won’t say too much about all the signs you left that you’d picked the lock on the main door.”
“I had a warrant. I wasn’t worried about leaving signs.”
He all but tsked at her as he took off his suit jacket. “Have some pride in your work, darling.”
“I’m in, aren’t I? I could’ve used a battering ram.”
He only smiled, removed his tie, rolled up his sleeves. “It’s an excellent lock, with illegal master blocks. How long did it take you to lift it?”
When she shrugged, he took a leather strip out of his pocket, tied back his hair. “That long then? We’ll get more practice in.”
“If you owe me a solid, why are you pissing me off?”
He walked back to her, bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Then I’ll tell you: An amateur or third-rate thief would have needed a drill or that battering ram.”
She nearly got to mollified, then pulled back, eyes narrowed. “Does that make me second-rate?”
“It makes you an excellent student with considerable, innate skill.”
He picked up his kit, walked back to the vault. “Now, let’s have a good look at you, my lovely.”
So saying, he sat on the floor, began to take various tools—many she didn’t recognize—from the kit.