Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(16)

“Gotcha, you little bastard.” And with the delicacy of a surgeon, he slid the chip into an evidence bag.

“What is it?”

“Hah?” Behind the goggles, his hound dog eyes blinked, then he shoved the goggles up to his forehead and focused on her. “Hey, Dallas. This little darling? It’s basically a counter.” He tapped the bag and smiled a little. “Bank teller with a talent for e-work installed it in her unit at work. Every twenty transfers, a deposit got zipped into an account she’d set up for herself in Stockholm. Pretty slick.”

“You’re slicker.”

“Damn right. What are you doing over here?” He continued to work as he spoke, methodically tagging evidence. “Want to hang out with real cops?”

“Maybe I missed your pretty face.” She eased a hip onto the corner of his desk, grinning when he snorted. “Or maybe I wondered if you had any spare time.”

“For what?”

“You remember The Fixer?”

“Sure. Bad attitude, magic hands. The son of a bitch’s nearly as good as I am. He can take a unit like this XK-6000 here, strip her down, harvest her, and spread her into six other units before she cools down. He’s goddamn good.”

“Now he’s goddamn dead.”

“Fixer?” Genuine regret showed in his eyes. “What happened?”

“He took a last swim.” She filled him in quickly, moving from her meeting with Ratso through her quick tour of the shop.

“Had to be something big and something bad to scare an old warhorse like Fixer,” Feeney mused. “You say they didn’t take him from inside?”

“I’d say that would’ve been next to impossible. He had full security scan. Interior and exterior. A hive of locks. One exit — reinforced — and one window, one-way luminex, barred. Oh, and I checked his supplies. He had enough unperishables and bottled water to last a man used to rations a good month.”

“Sounds like he could’ve held off an invasion.”

“Yeah. So why run?”

“Got me. The Jersey primary cleared you to look into it from this end?”

“Well, he’s got nothing. I haven’t got much more,” she admitted. “The story’s from my weasel, and he tends to spook easy. But Fixer was into something, and they took him out. They didn’t get into his place, so they didn’t get to his equipment. He’s got a fail-safe on his shop unit. I thought you could play with it, see if you can get past it.”

Feeney scratched his ear, reached absently for a handful of the sugared nuts in a bowl on his desk. “Yeah, I can do that. Gotta figure he’d’ve taken his logs with him if he was going under. But he was smart. Might’ve left a copy behind. So I’ll look.”

“Appreciate it.” She straightened. “I’m just juggling this in for now. I haven’t run it by the commander.”

“Let’s see what I find; then we’ll take it to him.”

“Good.” She snatched some of the nuts before she headed for the door. “So how much did she get? The bank teller?”

Feeney glanced down at the micro-timer. “Three million and change. If she’d settled for the three and skipped, she might’ve gotten away with it.”

“They always want more,” Eve said.

She munched on nuts as she headed to her own office. The detective’s bullpen clattered with voices, curses, and whines from suspects, from victims giving statements, the incessant trill of ‘links, and the quick screams and scratches as two women went at each other with teeth and nails over a dead man they both claimed to love.

Eve found the atmosphere oddly soothing after her trip to EDD.

As a professional courtesy, she stepped in and hauled one of the shrieking women up in a headlock while the detective in charge struggled with the other.

“Thanks, Dallas.” Baxter grinned at her.

She only sneered. “You were enjoying that, weren’t you?”

“Hey, nothing like a catfight.” He cuffed his charge to a chair before she could slice at him. “If you’d have waited another minute, clothes might’ve gotten ripped off.”

“You’re so sick, Baxter.” Eve bent close to the woman’s ear. “You hear that?” she murmured, tightening her grip just a little as the woman continued to squirm like a fish. “You go after her again, the guys in the squad are going to get off on it. Is that what you want?”

“No.” She bit the word off, then sniffled. “I just want my Barry back!” she wailed.

The sentiment set the other woman off, so that the room was filled with the wild sobbing of women. Seeing Baxter wince, Eve smiled thinly and pushed the woman to him. “There you go, pal.”

“Thanks a lot, Dallas.”

Satisfied with her part in the little drama, Eve went into her office, shut the door. In the relative peace, she sat down and contacted Suzanna Day, the late J. Clarence Branson’s attorney.

After being passed from reception to assistant, Eve watched Suzanna’s face swim on-screen. She was a sharp-looking woman of perhaps forty. Black hair was cut short and sleek around an attractive face. Her complexion was dark and deep as onyx, her eyes like jet. Her unsmiling mouth was painted a rich crimson that matched the tiny bead pierced through the trailing tip of her left eyebrow.