Promises in Death (In Death #28)(79)

“I’m sorry, I’ll grovel later if you want it.” Beyond him she could see several suited figures. Holo-meeting, she realized, and figured the groveling would be major. “I need your help, and I’ve got a ticking clock.”

“Ten minutes,” he said and shut the door in her face.

“Man, am I going to pay for that. Baxter, use the auxiliary to keep on the transpo. We need to start pushing through Sandy’s friends, relatives, contacts, acquaintances, girlfriends, boyfriends, his f**king tailor. This guy’s not a loner. He’s tagged someone, somewhere.”

“I can help.” Morris stood in the center of the room. “Let me help.”

She gave him a quick study. He looked rested, and that was a plus. Summerset must have dug up a shirt and pants for him—somewhere. “Morris, I’m going to have to bring my murder board back in here. Can you handle that? Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have to fill you in as we go. For now, go in there.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “Program a whole buncha coffee. It’s not just scut work. It’s necessary.”

“I don’t mind scut work.”

She went to her desk as he walked to the kitchen. “Computer, all known data on Rod Sandy, on screen one. Priority run authorized, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”

Acknowledged. Working . . .

“He gets worried,” she began as the data began to scroll. “It sets off a little tingle when Alex tells him he’s going to meet with Roarke. He’s supportive, sure, that’s his job. But he worries about it. He chews on it. Pumps the driver because he’s not sure—not a hundred percent—that something in that conversation didn’t set off a bell that rings too close to him. Can’t pry too deep with Alex, and have that bell ringing any louder. The driver’s not too bright. Loyal, but not too bright, and hey, it’s Mr. Sandy and he’s got some prime brew.”

She paced, studying the data as she worked it through.

“He gets enough from the driver to turn the worry up to some serious concern. What does he do next? He needs somebody to tell him what to do. Does he contact Ricker? No, no, he’s a drone. He’s a peg. There’s a food chain. Drones don’t go straight to the top. He contacts his keeper. Whoever worked with him on Coltraine. That’s what he does.”

She angled her head. “Computer stop scroll. Look at this, how about that? Never takes the lead. Tenth in his graduating class, and there’s Alex in first. Cocaptains on the football team senior year, but look who gets MVP. Not our boy Rod, but Alex. And who has to take the VP spot to Alex’s class president? Yeah, old runner-up Rod Sandy again. Never grabs the ring, always second place. I bet he creamed his pants when Max Ricker offered him a chance to turn on his good pal Alex. I bet he wept tears of f**king joy.

“I bet there were women, too, women he wanted that never spared him a second glance because Alex got there first. I bet Coltraine was one of them. She probably knew it, too. Sure, she’s smart, she’s self-aware. She’d know he had a thing for her. Probably felt sorry for him. He’d have to hate her for that. Helping kill her would’ve been like a bonus.”

She turned to pace again, and saw Morris watching her. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Don’t be.” He came to her with coffee, held out the mug he’d poured for her. “I’ll get your murder board for you if you tell me where it is. I see her as she was,” he added.

“The panels over there open to a storage closet. Any time you need a break . . .”

“Don’t worry about me. It’s about her.”

“No private air transpo out of the city fitting the time frame,” Baxter announced. “Not with anyone using his ID, or anyone fitting his description. I’ll widen the circle.”

“Do that.” She went back to her desk to work out a time line, and looked up and over when Roarke came in.

“Groveling can wait,” he said before she could speak. “And I have specifics in mind there. But for now, what is it?”

“I’ve got Feeney and McNab on the way. I need a detailed and deep search on Sandy’s finances. I’ve got the hideaway accounts from Alex. The ones he knows of. I figure there’s at least one more. Sandy’s gone rabbit.”

“And any self-respecting rabbit needs funds. All right, I’ll see what I can find. But you’ll be losing your e-team at four.”

“But—”

“We’ll be leaving, Lieutenant, as arranged, for Vegas. Charles’s bachelor party.”

“You guys are going to Vegas?” Baxter piped up, looking both sad and hopeful. “I know Charles.”

Roarke smiled at him. “Would you like to go, Detective?”

Eve literally waved her hands in the air. “Hey, hey!”

“I’m already there. Can I bring my boy?”

“The more the merrier.” Roarke poked a finger at Eve while she sputtered. “You’ll be busy yourself. And what we can’t find in the next few hours isn’t to be found. But, in that unlikely event, I’ll program an autosearch.”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t just postpone the whole thing until—”

“Of course you don’t. But you’re out-voted.”