Golden in Death(102)

Leaving him to the body, Eve rose, recorded the room as she studied it.

“There was a single glass on the table downstairs. So he had a drink—we’ll test it to see if he had alcohol, any illegals. Was he alone? I just don’t think so. He’s not a loner. More eggs.”

She walked over to the cabinet that held them. “Two here, and one more already loaded and secured. So they planned at least four more. The one he was packing, the one loaded, the other two. Maybe they had extra in case. The fake wood boxes, with sealant and interior padding. Shipping boxes here—standard, strapping tape, packing. Organized well.”

She turned. “Lab area over here.”

“Quite a nice one, too,” Morris commented.

“There were chemicals and solutions, whatever, stored in these temp-controlled units. So they could make more if they wanted. Or had the nerve. Masks, suits, gloves. But he’s not wearing any protective gear.”

“Which is why he’s dead. There’s some burning here, on the palms, between the thumb and forefinger.”

She looked back. “Didn’t the other vics have burns on the hands?”

“Fingers, burning on the fingers.”

“More on the fingers,” she mumbled and walked back, took one of the empty eggs from a cabinet. “Because they opened this little hinge here—with their fingers, pulled the top up, broke the seal.”

“That was my conclusion.”

“But if you take the egg out of the container—airtight container—you hold it like this, carefully if you’re not a complete idiot, because it’s loaded. You think it’s sealed, but it’s not. Or not all the way? It burns, the fumes strike, you drop the egg.”

She got out her microgoggles to examine the broken pieces. “You’re essentially dead when it hits the ground, but it takes another minute. It’s designed to be contained to a small area. The one who’s killing you has to judge the distance, but he’s not going to risk it. He’d put on protection.

“Why didn’t you?”

She walked to the steps. “Peabody!”

“Yo!”

“Bag that glass on the table. Flag it priority for the lab. I want to know what Cosner drank.”

“He’s very freshly dead,” Morris said. “I can run a tox when I get him home. I should be able to identify the contents—or if not, put a second flag on it.”

“Good. Say he had enough of something to impair his judgment. Or he’s just stupid anyway, and he’s doing what he’s told. I’m standing back here, safe distance. ‘Pack it up, Marsh. Let’s get one more delivery.’ And Cosner is turned away, getting the egg. You put on the mask, and you just wait. It doesn’t take long.”

“No,” Morris agreed, “it wouldn’t take long.”

“How did he feel, I wonder? His oldest friend—and the first he’d seen die. Did he feel anything?” She shook her head. “Probably not, or not much.”

She turned back to Morris. “You got this?”

“I do. I’ll take him in, see to him.”

She walked over for her kit, crouched again to meet Morris’s eyes. “He’s the last one, I swear to Christ, this bastard puts on a slab.”

Morris put a hand over hers. Even through the seals, she felt the warmth. “This one, God knows, inflicted misery and was ready to inflict more. And yet, he’s ours now. We’ll both do what we have to do.”

“Fucking A,” she said, and taking her kit, headed downstairs.

Peabody intercepted her. “I had a uniform take the glass straight to the lab. We might have better luck that way. Harvo’s doing stuff with weird little lights and whirly-humming things—plus, she took both cleaning droids apart already. I guess that’s okay.”

“Leave her to it. Put sweepers on standby, but let her do what she does.”

“Hey, boss.” Reineke came in. “Kitchen and game room ACs stocked with junk food and addict munchies.”

“Makes sense.”

“Fancy duds—look new—in the bedroom, shoes never been worn, some of them. And a lot of porn on the entertainment units. Games and porn, porn games.”

“Also plays.”

“We’re still at it, but wanted to pass on we haven’t found any ’links or tablets, and no comm devices. Roarke, he said there was a setup for a data and comm center, and Feeney checks that, but the unit’s not here.”

“There’s a comp upstairs, but no comm. DB had a ’link on him. I’ll have one of the geeks get on it.”

She spotted a geek as McNab came in from the back.

“Security’s tight, Dallas,” he told her, “with the notable exception of cams. Not a single one.”

“They didn’t want any record of them coming and going.”

“Right, but there were some cams—interior.”

“Were?”

“We found a couple hookups.”

“Okay. Take the upstairs e’s,” she told him. “There’s a comp, password protected, and the vic’s personal ’link. No communications on it after business hours today. You can check if you think there were cams up there.”

“He and Whitt probably have drop ’links.”