Calculated in Death (In Death #36)(39)

“Yes, but—”

“Just a precaution. Are your children with you?”

“Yes. My sister’s coming over later this morning. We have to . . . start making arrangements.”

“Just sit tight.”

She grabbed her coat from the newel post, dragging it on as she rushed out the door.

Her car sat out front. She had to give Summerset points for putting it back, since she knew he always garaged it in the evening. Jumping in, she contacted Dispatch, arranged for the detail, then tagged Peabody.

“I need you and McNab at the vic’s office. They had a break-in. I want a geek going over her office unit. We don’t need the warrant for that now. Have him contact Feeney so he knows I’ve grabbed one of his e-men.”

“You got it. We’re on our way.”

She zipped through the gates and punched it.

Somebody’d been doing some calmer thinking, she decided, and had concluded sooner or later—most likely sooner—another accountant would be assigned to the audit. It didn’t pay to keep killing accountants. Better to get rid of the files. Then generate new ones at some point. Doctored ones, maybe. Or you’d insist the audit be conducted when the accountant in your pocket was back in business.

Or . . . Outrage. You’re taking your business elsewhere, or you’re going to court to demand another firm handle your audit.

The key word? Stall.

Pushing through traffic, she contacted Mira’s office, wheedled a short meeting out of Mira’s ferocious admin. Wheedling wasn’t easy, but she’d finished the job as she pulled up to Gibbons’s office building. She double-parked—screw it—and flipped on her On Duty light.

She badged her way through the door and dealt with the same security man she’d met the day before.

“I know Mr. Gibbons thinks he’s had some trouble up there. But I’ve got no record of anybody coming in or out of the building after hours.”

“Cleaning crew?”

“Yeah, sure, but they logged in.”

“I’m going to need copies of the discs.”

“I’ll have them for you.”

“I’ve got an e-man on the way. Show him your security.”

“No problem.”

With a nod, she stepped onto an elevator. And stepped off to a hand-wringing Sylvestor Gibbons.

“This is terrible. Someone stole those files, Lieutenant. They were on Marta’s computer. She worked on them on the day—on that day. Her unit’s secured, passcoded. That data is highly sensitive and confidential. We’re responsible.”

“I get it.” She moved into the office with him. “Why were you on her unit?”

“I wanted to copy her work. It has to be reassigned. There are deadlines. We’ll get extensions, obviously. But the work needs to be done. And if you get the warrant and confiscate her files, I wanted another set of copies.”

“You said it was passcoded.”

“Yes, but I have a master code. As supervisor I have to be able to access any data necessary. I contacted Mr. Brewer personally, discussed it with him, and he agreed.”

“When did you contact him?”

“This morning. Early. I didn’t sleep well, and I was up. I thought about this, and knew I had to discuss it with Mr. Brewer.”

“Okay.” Which probably put Brewer in the clear. The timing didn’t work. “Let’s have a look at her office.”

“It was secured,” he told her as he unlocked the door. “There was nothing out of place, nothing I can see. I bypassed her passcode, began the copies, and I saw files missing.”

“How many accounts or clients?”

“I counted eight before I contacted security, then you. I was afraid to do anymore. That I’d compromise the evidence? The scene? I’m very upset.”

“But you checked for the backups?”

“Right away.”

“Where do you keep them?”

“Oh, sorry. I’ll show you. I have a safe in my office. All copies of sensitive material stay secured.”

“Who has the combination?”

“Besides me? The bosses and the head of security would have it on file.”

“No one else in the office?”

“No. No one.”

“How often do you change it?” she asked as she studied the compact safe inside a small closet.

“I . . . I’ve never actually changed it. It’s the factory default, and we’ve never had any trouble. There never seemed to be any reason to reprogram.”

“I bet sometimes when you’re securing sensitive material in this safe, someone might be in here. Your assistant, one of your accountants, one of their assistants.”

“I . . . Yes.” He dropped down in a chair, dropped his head into his hands. “This is a nightmare. The parties involved will have to be notified their data may be compromised. The work done, if not complete and already copied to clients or courts will have to be regenerated. And our reputation . . . I’m responsible.”

“The person who killed Marta Dickenson and compromised her data is responsible.”

“You think it’s the same person.”

Eve just looked at him. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think.”