Calculated in Death (In Death #36)(75)

She contacted the WIN offices as she drove. “This is Lieutenant Dallas. Is Jake Ingersol in?”

“All three partners are meeting at the new offices this morning, Lieutenant. Do you need the address?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Would you like me to contact Mr. Ingersol and tell him you’re hoping to speak to him?”

“No, don’t bother.”

As she drove back across town yet again, she heard Peabody murmuring condolences to Gibbons, and skillfully, she’d give Peabody the chops there, evading direct answers on the murder.

“Set me up another consult with Mira, will you?” she asked Peabody when her partner ended the conversation. “Her admin’s less likely to try to fry out your eyeballs over the ’link. I need some direction on these ass**les.”

She rubbed at the back of her neck, thinking of Parzarri, strapped down on the gurney, watching his killer’s face as he smothered. Twisting, struggling, helpless.

He’d been dirty, that was clear to her. But not a killer. Or he hadn’t had the opportunity to decide if he could or would take part in the murder of his coworker. He’d never known.

Now, he was dead because she hadn’t anticipated, she hadn’t seen the logic in killing him, in eliminating what must have been a valuable cog in the wheel.

Maybe she should’ve taken Roarke up on that trip to Vegas, confronted him then and there. Or met the damn shuttle instead of going to the hospital.

Hindsight, she thought, was a cold, hard bitch.

“You’ve got a meet with Mira when you can work it in,” Peabody told her.

“That’s it? Just like that?”

“I played nice.”

“Okay, that does it. You’re making all my session appointments with Mira. I freaking surrender to her admin, just like I’m going to freaking surrender—again—to vending machines. It’s not worth the aggravation.”

“It’s not our fault.” Peabody let out a sigh, leaned back. “I’m pretty good at the self-blame game. I can usually win. It’s hard to lose anyway when I’m playing myself. But Parzarri isn’t on us.”

“I miscalculated. He’s dead.”

“Maybe you miscalculated, but how do you calculate this? You were right before when you said killing him was stupid and wasteful. How do you run a mega-million-dollar company when you make stupid, wasteful decisions? He was incommunicado, they knew that. He didn’t know about Dickenson, so he had no reason to betray them even if he’d wanted to. He’s been raking in the dough, and finding ways so they rake it in. As far as they know the files on them are all in their possession, so those numbers can be manipulated before they’re reaudited. Why wouldn’t they keep their same guy on that?”

“I figured they would. I was wrong.”

“No—I mean yes—but they shouldn’t have killed him, not with the scenario that’s in place. If they worried about letting it ride, that you’d keep building a case, keep digging, okay, move him out. He’s in the wind—and in the wind, hell, Dallas, they could’ve laid it all on him somehow. They could’ve planted bogus evidence that made it look like he ordered the hit, or that he’d been working with somebody who ordered it. He’s off doing the mambo in Argentina or wherever, still keeping the books—new name, new face. It’s a good investment. And they pin it on him, maybe even have him fiddle around so it looks like he skimmed from them. Now they’re a victim, too.”

Eve ran it over in her head. “That would’ve been smart. Keep the accountant, aim the light on him, but keep him fat and happy somewhere else. They should’ve thought of that, should have tried it.”

“They’ve got somebody who’s running their numbers, cooking their books, helping them run scams, but they kill him during an audit they need fixed up? It’s dumbass.”

“Impulse again, instant gratification. They could always get rid of Parzarri if he didn’t go along, if he made any of the wrong noises. They didn’t give him a chance, either way. They had an accountant, a money guy, a hacker, and the muscle.”

“Now they’re down an accountant.”

“Yeah.” Impulse, instant gratification, Eve thought. “They may compound the stupid by going after the money guy. But more—think about this—by killing the accountant, it gives us something they didn’t know we had—that connection. Now we know Parzarri was involved. So maybe they hope to shine that line on his corpse, with less time to plan it through, less time to implement. But that’s the impulse, the quick trigger again. And back to greed. Fucking greedy bastard. Why invest in the accountant? You figure you’ll just bribe another, start him out on what’s it—entry level. I bet Alexander thinks that’s smart business. The ultimate layoff.”

“No severance package.”

“If he’s going to try to hang it on the dead guy, he needs the money guy’s cooperation. Or he needs him dead, too.” Considering the pattern, Eve hit the sirens and floored it.

“Here we go again,” Peabody sighed, and grabbed the chicken stick.

Eve swung to the curb in front of the building, slapped On Duty as she double-parked, and ignored the bitter fury of other drivers. She scanned quickly for a dark Exec Lux 5000, saw none as she jogged up the steps to the main entrance.