Obsession in Death (In Death #40)(24)

“All right then. Give me a list, and I’ll entertain myself.”

She nodded, looked down at her wine. Set it aside. “I told Summerset not to open the gates for any deliveries or whatever unless he could confirm ID – and not to open the door period. You might want to add your weight to that.”

“I will, though you should know yours is enough for him. You’re concerned because the two of you like to swipe at each other, someone might… misinterpret your relationship?”

“It would mean the killer has more personal information on me – us – but I’m not taking chances. It wouldn’t hurt for you to beef up your personal security until.”

“Because, at some point, I might be viewed as a rival for your affections.”

She lifted her gaze, held his. “Something like that.”

“I should point out that as it’s most likely you’re the center of this, your personal security is a vital issue.”

“Cop, badge, weapon.”

“Criminal – reformed. But reformation doesn’t negate experience. Why don’t we do as you said? We play this down the line, eliminate. Then we’ll worry about the rest.”

“You’re going to worry about me, more than usual. When you do, remember something else I said before. I don’t think I could live without you.” She got up. “I’ll get you the list, and we’ll get started.”

With Roarke settled in his own office, Galahad sprawled and snoring on her sleep chair, Eve finished setting up her board.

She finished it by adding her own ID photo.

Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, she thought, studying herself. Potential victim, potential witness, potential motive.

She’d been a victim once, and wouldn’t be one again. Witness? That was fine, and she intended to grill herself thoroughly. Motive. That one made her sick, and that had to stop.

Routine, she told herself, could be a cop’s best friend. She was counting on it.

She went into the little kitchen, programmed a pot of strong, black coffee. At her desk, she brought up her incomings, saw communication from Mira, from Nadine, McNab, Feeney, another from Cher Reo.

The tough APA inside the stylish shell hadn’t been on the Barrow or Fitzhugh case, but Eve had no doubt Whitney had talked to the prosecutor’s office about the current situation. Reo wanted to be updated, wanted to discuss. And part of that, Eve knew, would be personal.

Unlike Bastwick, Eve hadn’t been able to block or hold off friendships.

Your true and loyal friend, Eve thought as she looked back at the board, at the copy of the message. What did that mean? Did the killer believe the others who’d become friends in her life were false ones?

I’m the only one you can count on, Eve speculated. Look what I did for you.

Yeah, that’s how it read to her.

Though tempted to pull up Mira’s communications first, she opted for potential evidence.

Feeney. Nothing much new, but he’d sent her a full report, including all probability ratios on height, shoe size. He’d even managed to identify the box. Common recycled material, twenty-four-inch square, sealed with standard strapping tape.

And interesting, she noted, he’d been able to find an angle, enhance, and get a readout on a shipping label.

The vic’s name and address in the same block printing as the wall message. Sender’s listed as the law firm.

She’d check it out, but she’d bet heavy that had been more cover. Somebody asks what you’re doing – even the vic? Why, delivering this package to a Ms. Leanore Bastwick from Bastwick and Stern law offices.

Nothing left to chance, Eve mused. Smart and careful.

She moved on to McNab.

Nothing suspicious on any communications. No arguments, no threats, no one, in fact, asking what she might be doing on the day she was murdered. Nor had she volunteered that information in any of her ’link conversations.

He’d logged several communications with clients, with the prosecutor’s office, with the law firm’s internal investigator of ongoing cases.

Eve read them over, looking for anything that set off a bell, uncovered a hunch. And like McNab, got nothing.

Reams of work on her office comp – much of it redacted. Stern wasn’t being that cooperative, but she hadn’t expected him to be. He repped criminals, or at least those accused of a crime.

And he’d already filed a restraint on her home comp, citing attorney/client privilege.

Okay, we’ll play that way, Eve thought, and tagged Reo.

“Dallas, how’re you doing?”

“I’m beating my head against the wall Stern or Bastwick and Stern put up. We’re restricted from full access on Bastwick’s comps, which impedes our investigation of her murder.”

“I know about that. Dallas, attorney/client privilege isn’t bullshit.”

Eve scowled at the screen, and the image of the pretty APA with her fluffy blond hair and deceptively guileless blue eyes. “Come on, Reo, she’s dead. One of her clients may have killed her.”

“Do you have a suspect? Is one or more of her clients a suspect?”

“All of them are.”

“Dallas, if you want me to fight privilege, I have to have cause. Solid cause. What I can and will do is talk to Stern tomorrow, demand he initiate an internal investigation.”