Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(36)

She whirled around, yanked open a cabinet, and pulled out a large pouch. “Here. These are copies. We gave the PA the originals. Look at him, with his hands all over her.”

Eve tapped out the contents, frowned. They were decent shots. The man was very clearly J. Clarence Branson. In one, he sat on what looked like a park bench with a young blonde in a short skirt. His hand was resting high on her thigh. In the next, they were kissing with apparent passion, and the hand was under her skirt.

The others looked to be taken in a privacy room at a club. They were grainy, which fit if they’d been duped from disc. A club could lose its sex license if the management was caught running video of privacy rooms.

But grainy or not, they clearly showed J. C. and the blonde in various and energetic sexual acts.

“When did you receive these?”

“I’ve given all that information to the PA’s office.”

“Give it to me,” Eve said shortly. And she was damn well going to find out why the PA hadn’t bothered to pass these tidbits on to the primary investigator.

“They were in my mail slot when I got home from work. I opened them, I looked at them. I went directly to J. C. to confront him. He denied it. He actually stood there and denied it, told me he didn’t know what I was talking about. It was infuriating, insulting. I lost my temper. I was blind with rage. I grabbed the drill and…”

She trailed off, remembering herself and her lawyer’s instructions. “I must have lost my mind, I can’t remember what I was thinking, what I was doing. Then I called the police.”

“Do you know this woman?”

“I’ve never seen her before. Young, isn’t she?” Lisbeth’s lips trembled before she firmed them. “Very young and very… agile.”

Eve slid the photos and discs back in the pouch. “Why are you keeping these?”

“To remind me that everything we had together was a lie.” Lisbeth took the bag back, placed it in the cabinet again. “And to remind me to enjoy every cent of the money he left me.”

She picked up her water glass again, lifted it as if in a toast. “Every goddamn cent.”

Eve got back in her car, slammed the door. And brooded. “It might have happened just the way she said. Hell.” She rapped a fist on the wheel. “I hate that.”

“We can run the photo of the woman, try to get an ID. Something may pop.”

“Yeah, shuffle it in when you have time. And when we have the goddamn photos.” Disgusted, Eve pulled away from the curb. “No way to prove she knew about the will or that was her motive. And damn it, after seeing her in action up there, I tend to believe her story.”

“I thought she was going to try to rip your face off.”

“She wanted to.” Then Eve sighed. “Anger control therapy,” she muttered. “What next?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Snag on system,” Eve muttered as she pushed away from her desk-link. “The PA’s office said we didn’t get the photos and discs on the Branson case because there was an SOS. My ass.” She rose to pace. “SOS also stands for sack of shit.”

She heard the snicker, turned to glare at Peabody. “What are you grinning at?”

“It’s your way with words, sir. I do so admire your way with words.”

Eve dropped into her chair again, leaned back. “Peabody, we’ve been working together long enough for me to know when you’re gassing me.”

“Oh. Is that also long enough for you to appreciate our personal rapport?”

“No.”

To help put the Branson matter out of her mind for the moment, Eve squeezed the heels of her hands on either side of her head. “Okay, back to priorities. Run the vans while I see how much McNab’s shaken loose on Fixer’s military record. And why don’t I have any coffee?”

“I was just wondering the same thing.” To avoid another snarl, Peabody hurried into the kitchen.

“McNab,” Eve said the minute she had him onscreen. “Gimme.”

“Just got the basic front stuff for now. I’m weaving through.” He recognized the view out the window behind her and pouted. “Hey, you working at home today? How come I’m not there, too?”

“Because, thank God, you don’t live here. Now, let’s have it.”

“I’ll shoot it to your home unit, but the quick rundown is as follows. Bassi, Colonel Howard. Retired. Enlisted in 1997, enrolled officer’s training. Top scores. As a first lieutenant, he worked with STF — Special Training Forces. Elite, real hush-hush stuff. I’m working on that, but at this point, I’m just getting commendations — he had a hat full — and remarks about his expertise with electronics and explosives. He made captain in 2006, then worked his way right up the ranks until he was given a field promotion to full colonel during the Urban Wars.”

“Where was he stationed? New York?”

“Yeah, then he was transferred to East Washington in… wait, I’ve got it. 2021. Had to put in for a special family transfer package because most military weren’t allowed to take their families along during that period.”

“Family?” She held up a hand. “What family?”

“Ah… military records have him down for a wife Nancy, civilian, and two kids, one of each. He got the transfer because his spouse was a civilian liaison between army and media. Like, you know, public relations.”