Divided in Death

“Sweepers?”

“Only the prelim, but they haven’t identified any prints other than the victim’s, no DNA, no trace. But I do have a neighbor, Mrs. Lance, who was coming back home from the deli. She saw a man coming out of the building at about ten-thirty. Description matches the one Sibresky gave us of this Angelo.”

“How about the artist’s rendering? We got that?”

“Working on it. When I checked I was told Sibresky isn’t being particularly cooperative or open-minded. I promised the artist a backstage pass to the next Mavis Freestone concert in the city if he got us something this afternoon.”

“Good bribe. I’m so proud.”

“I had an excellent trainer.”

“Suck up later. Have you been in to see McNab?”

Peabody pokered up. “I only stopped by the lab to check on the progress of their work.”

“Yeah, and to give his bony ass a pat.”

“Unfortunately, he was sitting on said bony ass at the time of my visit, so I was unable to complete that part of my mission.”

“Because, despite all my efforts, the image of that bony ass is starting to form in my fevered mind, tell me about the rest of the mission. How’s it going in there?”

Peabody wanted to ask why Eve hadn’t been in to see for herself, but from the snags of tension around her and Roarke, she thought she knew.

“Well, there’s a lot of techno-talk, some pretty creative cursing. I like how Roarke says ‘bugger.’ Tokimoto stays iced, and Reva’s like a woman on a religious quest. McNab’s in heaven, hacking away. But what tipped me was Feeney. There’s this gleam in his eyes. I think they’re getting close.”

“While they’re making the world safe for democracy, let’s see if we can solve a few murders.”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” she said when her communicator signaled. “I’ll get on that little task as soon as I take this. Detective Peabody,” she a

“You got my backstage pass?”

“My word’s my bond.”

“Then I got your face. How do you want me to send it?”

“Laser fax,” Eve ordered from her desk. “And a file to my unit here. I want a hard copy, and I want one on my computer.”

Peabody relayed, then walked over to retrieve the fax herself. “Lamar’s good. Could probably make a better living doing portraits than detailing bad guys. Not the prettiest petal on the flower,” she added, passing the printout to Eve. “But not as ugly as Sibresky said. The scar just messes up the face.”

“Yeah, it draws the eye, too, doesn’t it? You’re going to think scar when you see this face. Big, nasty scar, so maybe you don’t look too close, because, gee, that’s rude.”

“Sibresky doesn’t seem to have had that problem.”

“I get the feeling Sibresky’s not too big on sensitivity and etiquette. Let’s play a game, Peabody.”

“Really? Okay.”

“We’ll start by you going in the kitchen, getting a pot of coffee and… something. There’s gotta be something to eat.”

“You want food?”

“No, my stomach’s still shaky. You get food.”

“Hey, so far I like this game.”

“Don’t come back in until I tell you.”

“No problem.”

Eve turned to her computer, rubbed her hands together. “Okay, let’s play.”

It didn’t take long because the process and the possibility had been brewing in her brain for some time. She used the imaging program, shooting the visuals on the wall screens as she worked the details.

“Okay, Peabody, you’re up, and bring me coffee.”

“You should have some of this apple-cranberry cobbler.” She came in with a bowl of it, and a mug for Eve. “It’s really mag.”

“What do you see?”

Peabody eased a hip onto the edge of the desk, spooned up cobbler. “The artist’s rendering of the suspect known only as Angelo.”

“Okay. Computer split screen, keep current image and display image CB- 1.”

Working… Images displayed.

“Now what do you see?”

“Carter Bissel, split screen with Angelo.” She frowned, and though she understood immediately what direction Eve was taking, she shook her head. “I’ll go with the Angelo person being a disguise. I don’t see Carter Bissel in there. There’s no data on him being an expert on disguise. Buy a wig, slap on a mustache, sure. Even maybe manage the scar. But the line of the jaw’s off-an implant for the bucked teeth would change the shape of the mouth, but not the jaw. He’d need more for that, and even if Kade was working him, or with him for a few months, how’d he get so skilled in disguise?”

She scooped up more cobbler and continued to study and compare the two images. “And Carter Bissel’s ears are bigger. That’s the tip. Ears are a good giveaway. He could make them bigger for Angelo, but not smaller.”

“You’ve got a good eye, Peabody. But watch and learn.”

Chapter 18

Peabody ate cobbler and watched as Eve and the computer added the hair from image one onto the head of image two.

“You know, you can do it all with one command if you-”

“I know I can do it all with one command,” Eve said irritably. “It doesn’t make the same damn point that way. Who’s ru

“You know, getting shot at with a short-range missile makes you really testy.”

“Keep it up, and the next short-range missile’s going straight up your ass.”

“Dallas, you know how I love that sweet talk.” Shifting to a more comfortable position, Peabody licked her spoon, then waved it at the screen. “Okay, you add the bad hair, but it doesn’t change jaw structure or ear size and shape. Also, the witness makes Angelo slimmer, considerably slimmer than Carter Bissel. Fifteen pounds, easy. Bissel carried some extra weight according to his ID stats. The witness said Angelo was trim, in good physical shape. Again, you can add weight in a disguise, but you can’t shave off fifteen pounds overnight. If you could, I’d be signed up for the program.”

“If you don’t want to play, take your cobbler and scram. Computer, replicate facial scar from image one onto image two.”

“The entry into Powell’s apartment, as in the Bissel home, was slick.” Peabody scraped at the bowl, looking for any escaping cobbler as the computer complied with the command. “Has to be someone with experience or training. And all the murders in this case have been particularly cold, even the first ones, which were staged to look hot-blooded. It’s the very staging that makes them cold.”

“Nobody’s arguing that. Give me motive. Computer, assume front top teeth of image one is an implant. Calculate and replicate same on image two.”

“Covert organization screw-up-either one. Or, I’ve been thinking about this-a kind of gang war. The worm is complete so Doomsday must want to utilize. They know a shield’s being created. HSO and its associates create havoc to slow technos down or circumvent, or destroy the worm. Doomsday creates havoc to scatter resources, create havoc, which is what terrorists do anyway, and circumvent the creation of the shield until they get some use out of all the time, trouble, and expense they’ve gone to. One side murders a couple of operatives, the other snips off a potential loose thread-McCoy. One side grabs operative’s brother. The other steals dead operative’s body, and does the overkill attack on the primary investigator. Escalated espionage,” Peabody said with a shrug. “Not as iced as Bond, but plenty convoluted. It seems to me spies convolute everything.”

“Look at the images, Peabody.”

Peabody complied, and tapped the spoon gently on her teeth. “I see a resemblance, largely superficial, between the two images. Dallas, you put my image up there and do computer composites, you could make me look like Angelo. But don’t, okay, ‘cause I just ate.”

“Still hung up on the variation of jaw-line and the ears?”

“If you tried to take this into court, they’d throw you out.”

“Guess you’re right. Computer, remove image two and replace with image three.”