Born In Death

“He’d watch,” she mused. “Like he watched Natalie and Bick. Watch the face, the eyes. Randall kicked, kicked off the slippers, grabbed at the rope. I’ve got what looks like rope fibers and tissue under the vic’s nails. Takes awhile. It’s not a quick death unless the neck breaks on the drop. He suffered, but I guess he earned it.”

She frowned at the now empty bedroom. “Might’ve had his own transpo, but that’s not an absolute. He could’ve come on public – subway’d work best, and taken the droid away by the same method if he deactivated all but its mobility.”

“So you’re looking for a man with a droid.”

She smiled a little. “Maybe.” She pulled out her ’link when it beeped. “Dallas.”

“It’s halftime, so I’m making this quick.”

She frowned at Feeney. “If you were making it quick, you’d have gotten back to me two hours ago.”

“Can’t do a locate if the ’link’s not in use, can I? I got the number.” And he read it off to her. “Put a tracer on that, but it wasn’t engaged until a few minutes ago, and then only for fifteen seconds.”

“You got a location?”

“Best I can give you is Upper East.”

“New York? The ’link’s in New York?”

“Yeah, where’d you expect it to be? Listen, Dallas, they got cheerleaders.”

“Who has cheerleaders?”

“The Liberties. I’m missing halftime.”

“For God’s sake, they’re young enough to be your kids. Your kids’ kids.”

“A man don’t watch a bunch of half-naked girls doing jumps and high kicks, he might as well be dead. You got what you need?”

“Yeah, yeah, and thanks. Keep the trace on, will you? Cheerleaders,” she grumbled when Feeney clicked hurriedly off. “Men have simple minds.”

“It’s not our minds that are simple,” Roarke corrected.

She had to laugh. “New York. Son of a bitch. They probably never left the city. Upper East. Hotel maybe, or a private residence. I need to run a check, see if the foundation or either Bullock or her son own or have interest in any properties in that area.”

“I can run that for you from home. Home’s where we’re going. You can write up your report on this just as easily from there,” he said, and took her arm before she could argue. “You need food, and so do I. You’re ru

“However I’m ru

She started for the door with him, then stopped. “Wait. Wait. A guy like Randall. He’d have insurance.” She turned a circle. Three-story house, she mused. Twelve rooms, and the solarium. Lots of places to hide insurance.

“He wasn’t stupid. The way he got Kraus to keep his name as account exec, but did the work himself. Something goes wrong, he just palms off the trouble on Kraus. Insurance.”

“The goat kept a backup goat in Kraus.”

“You bet. Randall had trouble, needs to needle his client, he’s got a copy of those books somewhere. If he didn’t before, he sure as hell copied them when he doctored Natalie’s files.”

“I imagine they thought of that as well, and got the location out of him.”

“Maybe, maybe not. He wasn’t tortured, and the place wasn’t tossed. Could be they figure they have all the copies, or already got his. But suppose he was smarter than that, more careful than that. This place needs to be gone over, top to bottom.”

“Which will take hours,” Roarke pointed out. “If you think you have hours left in you, you’re mistaken. Compromise,” he said, anticipating an argument. “Send Peabody and McNab back to do that. An e-man and a detective. If there’s something here, they’ll find it.”

“I’ll let them take first swing at it.”

She went out, sealed the door.

“It’s possible, if you’re right about the copy, he kept it off-site. A bank box.”

“Possible, but it seems to me he’d want it easily accessible, especially now. Shit’s flying, he needs his shield. What if he wants it after banking hours, or on Sunday? Traveled a lot,” she continued as she got into the car. “If he used a vault, it could be anywhere. Guy who travels that much would know how to run, know how to move fast and light if he had to.”

And thinking that, she dropped into sleep.

She woke, stretched nearly horizontal as Roarke stopped in front of the house. Rather than refreshing her, the mobile nap left her groggy and disoriented, and fumbling for the controls to bring her seat back up.

Roarke lifted it, as he’d lowered it, from his side of the controls. “You need actual sleep.”

“I need actual coffee.”

She’d have food to go with it, Roarke determined as he walked with her into the house.

“Red meat,” he said to Summerset. “Her office AC. If the others haven’t eaten, send up a bloody cow.”

“Right away.” As they headed up, Summerset lifted the cat that ribboned between his legs. “We’ll just put some nice green beans along with that steak. She won’t like it, but he’ll make her eat them, won’t he?”

Mavis didn’t exactly pop up when Eve entered the office, but she managed to shove herself out of the chair. “You’re back.”

“Yeah, sorry, things got complicated. You’ve got to give me a few minutes to deal with another thing.”

“You get the list?” Peabody asked her. “There are a couple that look good to me.”

“List of what?”

“The agencies, counselors. You said I should send it to your PPC.”

“Right, right.” Her brain felt like mush. “I didn’t get the chance to review. Something came up. I would give you the world drenched in chocolate for a cup of coffee.”

“I’ll get it for you.” Leonardo eased Mavis back in a chair.

“Chocolate thief,” Peabody said, hoping to make Mavis smile. “Anyway, a couple stand out for me. So – ”

“I’ll look it over in a few minutes. I need to pull you and McNab off this, put you on another assignment. Randall Sloan is dead.”

“Well, shit, you’ve had a busy day.”

“Staged suicide, that’s my take. I worked the scene, sweepers will be processing.”

Peabody opened her mouth, glanced at Mavis, then nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll fill you in, then I need you and McNab back at the scene.”

“You’ll fill them in over a meal,” Roarke added.

“As soon as I look over the list.”

“It’ll wait.” It was Leonardo who spoke as he carried in a mug of coffee. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said to Mavis, “but she needs to eat, to rest for a little while.”

“Jeez.” Eve took the coffee as if it contained the staff of life. “What is it with men?”

“He’s right.” Mavis pushed her hands though her hair. “He’s right. You look whipped and kicked. We’ll eat. We’ll all sit down and eat.”

They brought in a table, dragged up chairs. While the coffee helped cut through the fog in her brain, Eve had to admit the protein got her blood moving again.

“A hell of an operation,” McNab commented when she’d run through the bulk of it. “What’s funding it?”

“That’s another question. Illegals, weapons, mob money?” Eve lifted a shoulder. “We’ll dig it out. Or Global will. Bullock, Chase, or someone on their payroll murdered three people – that we know of – to protect that operation.”

“And they’re still in New York.” Peabody tried not to hum out loud in pleasure as she swallowed steak. “Why? I mean, after killing Randall Sloan, why not make tracks? It seems they’d want to be long gone before his body was discovered.”

“Another question. They still have business here. They feel safe where they are. From their point of view, they’re removed from the investigation. They were an alibi for a man who was not involved – and he, in turn, covers them. Another man has confessed to the murders, and being dead, can’t recant that confession. But you’re right, they’d need a reason to stay here, when they could be anywhere else.”

She contemplated as she ate. “They wanted the body discovered, and in good time. No reason to leave the security off and the door unlatched otherwise. The sooner it’s found, the sooner they can put this whole untidy business behind them. Must be irritating,” she decided, “to be so rich and powerful and have little people picking at your foundation. Like ants.”