Golden in Death(52)

“He should be home in about an hour,” Peabody said. “His residence is on Riverside Drive. He has the entire top floor.”

“Pays to be clean. Check if Feeney can spare McNab, maybe Callendar. We’re going back to school.”

Eve went back to her office, and figuring a trip to the school, then a drop-by with Greenwald, potentially a pickup on the tablet, grabbed a file bag, gathered what she thought she might need to wind up the day with work at home.

“They’ll meet us at the car,” Peabody told her when she walked back into the bullpen. “It turns out Callendar knows somebody who went to Gold. He graduated after Rufty came on, so it might be another source.”

“A handy one.”

“Oh, and they got word on the naked running guy.”

“I’ve been on the edge of my seat about that all day.”

“Turns out,” Peabody continued, undeterred, as they got on the elevator, “he really is a runner. A marathoner. He had a whacked-out reaction to meds—prescribed for an injury—in combo with some homeopathic stuff he took. Stripped down and started running.”

“What do you bet he gets a sportswear or running shoes contract—maybe both—by the end of the day?”

Peabody pursed her lips. “That would be really smart. You should say something to Roarke.”

“If I thought of it, he thought of it before it actually happened. Like: Whatever Sportswear. The next thing to running naked.”

Surprised, Peabody let out a laugh. “Hey! That’s really pretty good.”

“It writes itself.”

In the garage, she crossed over to her slot, where McNab and Callendar already waited.

And here they had geekwear in Callendar’s purple (to match the streaks in her hair?) shirt, polka-dot baggies worn with rainbow suspenders, and purple high-tops.

McNab paired a shirt of plutonium green with orange baggies thinly striped in the same green, orange airboots, and a green knee-length floppy coat that all but glowed.

She supposed in geek world they were coordinated.

They each carried a shoulder bag she assumed held e-tools that wouldn’t fit in the multitude of pockets in the baggies.

Callendar said, “Yo. Hey, girl, you’re rocking the red!”

Grinning, Peabody gave her hair a little shake. “Right?”

Eve rolled her eyes, McNab and Peabody exchanged a quick little finger wiggle, and everybody piled in the car.

“Can it be fizzy time?” Callendar asked from the back seat.

“Whatever.” Eve pulled out. “The warrant should be in by the time we get there. We need records from ’53 and ’54, student body, staff, administration. Probability’s high someone who worked or attended during that time period is our prime suspect. Possibility of a parent or a student, a close connection to one of the staff.”

As the car filled with the scent of sugar-infused bubble drinks, Eve ran it through.

“According to statements we have so far, the previous headmaster ran a loose ship, let things slide, and focused on bringing in the moolah.”

“I can checkmark that,” Callendar said between slurps. “I’m friends with a dude who went there. We go back, and I know he had to dodge and sprint to keep from getting his ass kicked—didn’t dodge and sprint fast enough one time and got banged up bad. He’d have graduated in like ’53 or ’54. His parents went in, more than once, and wanted to pull him out, but he really wanted to finish there. He works for Roarke now.”

Eve shot a glance in the rearview. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. He’s a game developer, and he’s been working for Roarke World for a couple years. I can round him up if you want to jaw.”

“I want to jaw.”

“Solid. I’ll fix it. We hung out a lot back then because, you know, gaming. He’s wicked smart, and totally nerdy. Might as well flash a Kick My Ass sign to the assholes, you know? They wanted him to hack in for tests, or do their work, like that. I was taking martial arts, showed him some moves. It helped a little.”

“And the school—the administration—let it slide?”

“From what I know, yeah. He was there on scholarship, and got a full ride to MIT, so yeah, wicked smart.”

“Grange, former headmaster, either decided to take another job in the middle of the school year or was nudged out. Rufty, spouse of the first vic, came on and clamped down. Some weren’t happy about it. Second vic’s the spouse of a teacher who complained about Grange, and who transferred to Columbia. But he and Rufty got along fine during the term they worked together. Rufty states there were rumors that Grange had an affair—either with staff or daddies. Her husband filed for a divorce about the same time. We’ll be jawing with him, too.”

McNab gulped down his own fizzy. “Are you looking at her—Grange?”

“She’s in East Washington. We’ll check her travel, though it’s a doable drive. But nothing in her background shows an affinity for chemistry. Her ex—that would be second ex—is the CEO of All Fresh, and that’s a lot of chemistry.”

The Theresa A. Gold Academy rose five weathered brick stories. Security cams winked over its double entrance doors.

Eve pulled into a loading zone, flipped on her On Duty light.

“School’ll be out for the day.” McNab stood on the sidewalk, studied the building. “That’ll make it easier.”