Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(104)

Next to Quilla’s dull and simple uniform, he looked like the opening act of the circus.

Next to anything, Eve corrected.

They continued down; Quilla Bat-ears glanced up. And yeah, Eve concluded, she had that dewy, dopey, love-struck look in her eyes.

“McNab said I could watch.”

“McNab’s not in charge. If you get caught meddling in a police search, you’ll end up doing time in the Quiet Room.”

Though Quilla only shrugged, McNab caught Eve’s eye, nodded. “Hey, Quill, this is thirsty work. Any chance of getting a fizzy around here?”

“Zippo. Not allowed in the house.”

“Sad.”

“Totally sad. But I can ask if I can get some at the market. It’s right next door.”

“Ask,” Eve said, then dug in her pocket for the price of fizzies. “If it’s cleared, get a variety pack, and a tube of Pepsi.”

“Completely.” She took the money, rushed back to the kitchen area.

“That’ll keep her busy.”

“She’s cute and funny,” McNab commented. “Smart, too. What’s she doing in here?”

“The same as a lot of them. Shit for parents, kicked around, picked up repeatedly for truancy, shoplifting and so on. She’s better off here, which doesn’t say much for the shit parents. What have you got for me?”

“Not much. I went over the suspect’s e-stuff first. I’m taking it in to give it a deeper look, but honest, Dallas, it’s mostly for form. Nothing pops. It’s all work, work, work. Some correspondence, but nothing funny. Some pictures in files—some personal of him, his family, with some going back a ways. Pictures of some of the kids, but nothing perv-oriented. Some interoffice stuff, kinda jokey with his sister now and again, but mostly just straightforward.”

“No searches for transportation, tickets, accommodations?”

“No, not in the last ten weeks. Some of that prior, a booking for some deal in northern PA. He’s got all that in a file, too, with some speech he wrote for it, and some notes about a workshop.”

“A retreat.”

“I guess.” He flipped the notebook he had on the desk. “Yeah, the Reaching Inward Retreat. The list I got from the sister says he has the office comp, and they each have a mini upstairs. He has a PPC, a pocket ’link, a memo book. The office comp’s all that’s in the office.”

“He left the ’link.”

“I got it.” Peabody handed over the ’link, sealed in an evidence bag.

“I took a look, and there’s nothing overt,” Eve began. “But it looked to me like a couple of contacts had been recently deleted. And your new girlfriend tells me he bought a new disposable in the last couple days.”

“She’s my little playmate. I’ve only got one girlfriend.” He reached over, wiggled his fingers against Peabody’s. “I’ll check out the ’link. No PPC on site?”

“Not found. He must have taken it and the memo book with him. I scanned through the minis, didn’t see anything, but take them with you, too.”

“Will do.” McNab dug some gum out of one of the many and copious pockets of his purple baggies, offered it. With no takers he popped one of the little green squares into his mouth. “So the sister’s is the same, but she’s got budgetary stuff on there, revenue, expenses, a list of benefactors. Admin stuff. Some of that’s on here, too. And files for each kid, circumstances and date of admission and/or release. Progress reports, infractions, problem areas, positive areas, like that. It’s all coming off pretty clean and pretty blah.”

“He’s got personal stuff somewhere, and he was in a hurry to get gone. We’ll find something.”

• • •

Two hours later, Eve admitted defeat.

“Either he’s a lot more devious than he comes off and McNab will find something back in the lab, or everything here’s clean, aboveboard and as boring as ginger-flavored rice cakes.”

“They’re not so bad,” Peabody commented. “Especially if you drizzle just a little chocolate-flavored syrup on them, which negates the purpose, but still. Rice cakes. I think I’m punchy.”

“We’re lucky our brains aren’t leaking out of our ears when we spend half a day combing through this place and the most interesting thing we found was a single smashed joint of zoner inside an air vent that looked like it had been there for months. Maybe years.”

She stayed out of the way while McNab and the uniforms hauled out what few electronics seemed worth a second pass.

Shivitz literally wrung her hands. “Our records.”

“You were instructed to make copies of anything needed for daily operation.”

“What if I forgot something?”

“You never do,” Philadelphia assured her.

She’d gone pale again as the effects of the soother wore off. The strain tightened around her eyes, her mouth, but she had her voice under control.

Still, she bit her lip when Uniform Carmichael carried out boxes of archived discs, labeled by year.

“We keep careful records, Lieutenant. We have inspections. We have—”

“I don’t expect to find any problem with your operation. Some of this is just procedure.”