Calculated in Death (In Death #36)(41)

“Mr. Brewer.” He’d saved her time tracking him down, she thought. “I understand Mr. Gibbons contacted you early this morning.”

“Yes. Twice. First about the files, Marta’s files. Neither of us, neither of my partners thought of it yesterday. We were all reeling, and we let that slip between the cracks. It’s unconscionable, and we’re paying for that now. When Sly called back to tell me of the break-in, I realized we’d opened ourselves for it. And this system, as the young man said, is old. I’m also a member of the conglomeration that owns this building. We’ve updated the system regularly, attached the patches—that’s the correct term?”

“Yes, sir,” McNab told him.

“We did that to save money rather than invest in a new, more efficient system. And now . . . do you know if any other offices were compromised?”

“I have a forensic unit on the way, and we’ll have uniforms canvass the building. But I think it’s clear your audit offices were the targets, and Mrs. Dickenson’s files the primary goal.”

“Marta was killed for them, this is what you think. She was young, her life and her children’s lives all ahead of her. And she was killed for information? Information is power and money, a weapon, a defense. I understand that. But I don’t understand murder. You do.”

“The new files she was given the day of her death. Are you personally acquainted with the individuals in those files?”

“No, but I intend to be by the end of today. I started this business sixty years ago with Jacob. Jacob Kyle. Twenty-eight years ago, we brought Sonny on as a full partner. I intended to retire in about six months. I think now I’ll need to put that off. I started this firm, and I won’t leave it until I know I leave it clean.”

• • •

I feel sorry for him,” Peabody said when they walked outside. “For Brewer. I know he’s a suspect, technically, but he looked so tired.”

“Here’s why he’s not a suspect, at this point. He has access to the information that was taken. He’s top dog, and if he wanted the files, he could just take the files. If there was something hinky and he was involved, rather than assign an auditor, he could just say, Hey, I need to get my hand in. I’ll take that/those accounts. The same for the other two—Kyle and Martini. If you’re smart enough to keep a business like this going for half a century or more, you’re smart enough to cover your tracks without killing off an employee.”

Eve’s hands slid into her pockets. Not as cold today, she thought, because the wind was down. But damn cold enough.

“And if you’re not,” she continued, “or if killing the employee seemed more efficient, you sure as hell wouldn’t break into your own offices and take files after the fact.”

“Makes sense. I’m glad because I did feel sorry for him.”

“Right now, we’ll focus on the businesses in the files the vic sent to her home unit. She didn’t give that away, even when they hurt her. She had a reason to send those files home, a reason she wanted to work on them there, and a reason she didn’t tell anyone.”

“She found something,” Peabody ventured as they got into the car.

“Maybe. Or felt something. She had questions, made notations. So, it follows she wanted to dig out the answers. We’ll make the circuit. The closest offices are Young-Biden. Health company—health centers, hospitals, clinics, meds, supplies, and all the junk that goes with it.”

Young-Biden comprised five floors, with the busy hub covered with marble, glass, and bright, hard colors. Five people manned a curved central counter, all of them looking fit, healthy, and youthful.

Wall screens showcased various health centers, labs, rehab centers, and clinics worldwide.

Eve approached the counter, waited until one of the five behind it made actual eye contact.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“I need to speak with Young or Biden.”

The woman arched her eyebrows so dramatically they all but merged with her hairline. Eve heard the distinctive sniff. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I have this.” Eve laid her badge on the counter.

“I see.” She stared at the badge as if Eve had laid a fat, hairy spider on the counter. “Ms. Young is out of the country. Mr. Young-Sachs is in house, but in meetings, as is Mr. Biden. If you’d care to make an appointment . . .”

“Sure, I can do that. I can make an appointment to have Mr. Young-Sachs and Mr. Biden brought down to Cop Central for questioning. When would that be convenient?”

Now the eyebrows lowered to beetle over very annoyed eyes. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Excuse me a moment.”

She swiveled in her chair, presenting her back to Eve, and murmured rapidly on her headset.

When she swiveled back she kept her eyebrows level, her face impassive. “Mr. Young-Sachs will see you shortly. If you’ll go up to the forty-fifth floor, someone will meet you.”

“I’ll do that.” Eve walked over to the elevators, rolled her shoulders. “That felt good.”

“Why do people like that get so pissed off about having the boss talk to a cop?” Peabody wondered. “I mean, really, it’s not their ass in the sling.”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad they do.” Eve stepped into the elevator, ordered forty-five. “It gives me a lift.”