Born in Death (In Death #23)(34)

“I don’t know how much you’ve got on your plate, but if you’ve got room for more I could sure use you on this.”

“I can probably clear a space. Me, I like a full plate.”

“Thanks. All around.”

With her temper defused, Eve headed back down to the conference room, where she found Peabody and Baxter deep into search mode and a mountainous pile of sandwiches. When she entered, Baxter kept his eyes on his screen, but Peabody risked a glance up. Obviously encouraged by what she saw on her partner’s face, she nodded toward the pile of food.

“Figured some hoagies would keep us going through this.”

“Fine.” Though her pissed level was down, so was her appetite. Eve culled out a pile of discs and took a comp unit. Moments later a mug of coffee appeared beside her elbow.

“Ah, also figured you’d want your own brew while we’re at this.”

“Thanks. I imagine you figured I’d share that brew and loaded the AC on that assumption.”

“Would that be an incorrect assumption?” Peabody smiled winningly.

“My assumption would be you’re already slurping it down.”

“Baxter slurps. I, however, sip delicately.”

Eve took a breath. “Listen. The commander wanted more than an update. He had some concerns—or some jerk has concerns—about Roarke being privy to some of this data, through me. Then using same to outswing competitors.”

“No wonder you were ready to kick the first available ass,” Peabody commented.

“Well.” Baxter paused long enough to scratch his cheek. “I’d guess Whitney said what he had to say, even knowing it was flammable bullshit. Must suck being brass.”

The last of Eve’s temper simply dwindled away. “Must. Let’s dig down into this f**king morass and find some goddamn gold.”

They dug for hours. Natalie Copperfield’s data files were organized and efficient, and gave them nothing.

“McNab said there were deletions.” Eve pushed back. “I’ve got what could be interpreted as lost time, or deletions in files. Little holes, if you look at them that way. You got a serious worker bee here.”

“Makes me feel like a slacker,” Peabody agreed, then pokered up. “Which, of course, I’m not. Being a detective, and a dedicated member of the NYPSD trained by the best in the department.”

“Ass kisser,” Baxter said with a grin.

“I have three gold stars for ass kissing.”

“That’s all really fascinating,” Eve said dryly. “But my point is, Copperfield kept superior records of her work, of her time. And I’m seeing gaps. A pattern of gaps going back about five, six months.”

“I’ve got some of that,” Peabody agreed. “Could be just wedding planning. A little personal business leaked into the workplace. Happens to the best of us.”

“Maybe. And maybe it’s an account that was passed to her at that point. Those gaps start widening ten days before her death. About the time we believe she found something questionable.”

“If her killer deleted those client files altogether,” Baxter began, “he or she had access to her work unit, her data files. Doesn’t strike me that a client would be able to access.”

“Could hack in by remote, or pay someone with the necessary skills to do so,” Eve replied. “Or it could be someone on the inside. Could be both. What we’re not finding in her files is evidence there was something her killer didn’t want found there.”

“Her supervisor would know all her accounts,” Peabody put in.

“Yeah. I’m going to go by, have another talk with her before I take this home. Peabody, I need all this data secured. Baxter, if you want to do a little leg work, you can check with the vic’s sister. See if Copperfield mentioned getting a new account within the last six months. It should be a big one.”

“Got that.”

“Check on Trueheart and your actives. If you need to put in extra time, run it through me. I’ll clear it.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Peabody, if McNab has anything, I want a tag. Whenever, wherever. I’m in the field.”

The ferocity of the traffic reminded Eve of the time. The accounting firm would be closed for the day. She called up Cara Greene’s home address from her memo book, then tried her on the ’link. At the transfer to voice mail, she left a message to be contacted ASAP. On the off chance Greene was putting in some overtime, Eve tried the office ’link, and left the same message.

No point in going by to bang on the door of an empty apartment, she decided. She’d wait for the callback, or hunt Greene down in the morning.

Now she had to figure out the best approach with Roarke.

Keeping her mouth shut just wasn’t an option. Even if she wanted to play that game, he’d sense something. The guy had senses like a frigging hawk. And evading would lead, unquestionably, to lying. Lying would put her in the wrong.

Goddamn if she wanted to take the heat for this.

Straight out was probably the best way, she decided. Let him blow, let him spew, and seethe over the insult. He was entitled.

The problem was he was going to blow, spew, and seethe all over her. So she’d take the high road, she’d be the good wife and take the lumps. Then he’d have to apologize, maybe even grovel a little.