Vengeance in Death (In Death #6)(93)

“Yeah?” Somewhat cheered, McNab bit into the bread and cheese. “I hadn’t heard.” A series of beeps had him frowning at the scanner. “Lots of goodies on nineteen, east wing apartment.” He shifted to his communicator. “Blue team, check on nineteen twenty-three. It looks like some rich kid’s entertainment center, but it’s loaded.”

“I’ll go check on the door-to-doors,” Eve said. “You get any interesting hits, pass them on to me.”

“You first, Dallas. Thanks for the food. Say, ah, where’s Peabody?”

Eve lifted a brow as she glanced back over her shoulder. “Overseeing the breakdown of equipment in the penthouse at the Arms. She doesn’t like you, McNab.”

“I know.” He flashed a grin. “I find that really attractive in a woman.” He turned back to his scanner, humming as he went through the complicated task of separating the beeps into known components.

At midnight, she ordered in a new crew, sent McNab home for eight hours off, and packed it in. It didn’t surprise her to find Roarke up, in his office, enjoying a glass of wine while he studied the recordings.

“I had the first team wrap for the night. They were getting punchy.”

“You look a bit punchy yourself, Lieutenant. Shall I pour you a glass of wine?”

“No, I don’t want anything.” She walked over, noted that he paused the recording at the point where McNab made abrupt contact with the stationary panel of the main doors. “I don’t think he’d consider that suitable for framing.”

“No luck locking in on his communication center?”

“McNab’s worried he’s shut it down.” She rubbed at the stiffness at the base of her neck. “So am I. He could have done it by remote while he was on the run, or contacted someone he’s working with. Mira’s profile indicates he’d want constant praise and attention during the game, so it’s possible he’s got a partner — likely a female, strong personality. Authority figure.”

“Mother?”

“That would be my first guess. But a remote’s just as likely as him having Mommy by his side. He wants to believe he’s running the show, so he probably has his own place.”

She stepped forward, closer to the screen, staring hard at the image of the man in the long coat and chauffeur’s cap. “It’s like a costume,” she murmured. “Another part of the game. He’s dressing up. It’s concealing, but it’s also, I don’t know, dramatic. Like in a play, and he’s the star. But right here, you can see that we’ve thrown him a cue he wasn’t expecting. See the shock, the panic in the body language. His weight’s off balance because he took a step back. Instinctive retreat. His free hand’s coming up, a defensive gesture. I bet his eyes are moon wide with shock behind the sunshades.”

Something caught her, made her frown and step even closer. “Can’t see what the hell he’s looking at. You can’t see where his eyes are focused. Just the angle of his head. Is he looking at Baxter going for his weapon on the other side of the glass? Or is he looking at McNab crash headfirst into the panel?”

“From his angle, you’d see both.”

“Yeah. Baxter look like a cop going for his stunner to you? Couldn’t he be a doorman, alerted by the commotion, reaching for his security beeper?”

“I’d go for cop,” Roarke told her. “Look at the way he moves.” He ordered the recorder to rewind thirty seconds, then play. The room erupted with noise so he muted audio. “Watch — it’s a textbook cop move. The spin, knees bent, body braced, the right hand sweeping inside the coat at the armpit. Doormen wear beepers on their belts, so his grab’s too high for that.”

“But it happened fast, look how fast.”

“If he knows cops, has had many dealings with them, it could have been enough. McNab doesn’t look anything like a cop, doesn’t move like one. The only way that would have tipped him is if he recognized Ian, knew him to be a cop.”

“McNab doesn’t do much field work, as he complained to me tonight. But they’re both electronics jocks, so it’s not impossible they’ve brushed up against each other. Damn it, I should have thought of that before I sent him out.”

“You’re Monday morning quarterbacking, darling Eve.”

“What?”

“We really have to do something about your lack of interest in sports other than baseball. It’s useless to second-guess yourself here. I watched you run that operation, and you did it with a cool and steady hand.”

“I still fumbled.” She smiled thinly. “How’s that for sports?”

“The fat lady has yet to sing,” he said and laughed at her confused stare. “Meaning the game isn’t over. But tonight is. You’re going to bed.”

She’d been about to say the same, but it was always hard to resist arguing. “Says who?”

“The man you married for sex.”

She ran her tongue around her teeth, hooked her thumbs in her front pockets. “I just said that to needle a sexually repressed, homicidal maniac.”

“I see. So you didn’t marry me for sex.”

“The sex is an entertaining element.”

“An element you’re too tired to explore tonight.”