“I don’t believe anyone in this room could mistake your stand on that,” he said. “Lieutenant.”
“If anyone’s offended by that,” she said evenly, “that’s the breaks. I don’t think Chloe McCoy’s too concerned about sensibilities and tender feelings just now. On another level, Bissel, working on his own or in conjunction with the HSO, inserted spy devices into his artwork. We know these devices were in place in various locations in the home he shared with Reva Ewing, and must assume the purpose was to gather intel on projects she was involved in for Securecomp.”
She watched Reva as she spoke, saw her jaw tremble, then firm.
“We’ll need the records of sales so we can track the locations of his other sculptures. They’ll have to be scanned. When that happens, this is going to blow out of the water. You’re going to get wet, Reva, by association.”
“I can handle it.”
“Surely as someone who was victimized, and so intimately, by this very plot, Ewing can’t be blamed for the actions of a man who used and deceived her.”
Reva offered the irate Tokimoto a weak smile. “Sure I can. It’s the way of the world.”
“Some of that backlash may come sooner than later,” Eve continued. “Bissel’s body is missing.”
She watched, watched carefully. Reva’s face went blank as if she’d just heard a phrase in an unknown language. Beside her, Tokimoto jerked in his chair, then reached out without looking and closed his hand directly over Reva’s.
So, Eve surmised, Roarke was right again. She should never bet against the house.
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Reva spoke carefully. “I don’t think I understand.”
“I’ve spoken with the ME, who informed me that Bissel’s body is no longer in the morgue. We’ll proceed on the assumption that it was removed.”
“But… why would anyone take…” Reva’s hand came up, rubbed at her throat as if pushing the words out of a clog. “I just can’t follow this.”
“It’s my job to follow it. Can you verify your whereabouts last night?”
“You’re cruel,” Tokimoto said softly.
“I’m thorough. Reva?”
“Yes. Yes. Um. We had dinner in. My mother and I. We watched screen. Her idea, all comedies. We ate popcorn, drank wine. I had a lot of wine.” She sighed. “We sat up until about one. I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up about four. She’d covered me up. I just rolled over and went back to sleep. Best sleep I’ve had in days.”
“All right. I need the civilians to go back to the lab.” She looked directly at Roarke. “I’d like a complete progress report by fourteen hundred.”
“Yes, I’m sure you would.” He walked to Reva, offered her a hand to bring her to her feet. “Would you like some air first, or a moment to yourself?”
“No. No, I’m fine. Let’s get to work. Let’s just get to work.”
Eve waited until Roarke shut the door, after one last cool look at her.
“Wow.” McNab gave a mock shudder. “Chilled down in here.”
“Button it, moron,” Peabody said under her breath. “Sorry, Lieutenant, the five hundred tiny little braids have cut off the circulation to his brain.”
“Hey.”
“Let’s move on. I’ve run numerous probabilities, none of which has been satisfactory or particularly enlightening. It all depends on how I input the data. But what it comes down to is we don’t yet know what we’re dealing with. Covert operations, a rogue agent, family violence. What we do know is we have three murders, one missing body, a connection in Jamaica.”
“Chloe McCoy was killed for what she knew or had in her possession. The autopsy confirmed that she had inserted birth control. She was expecting a lover. The only lover who has come to light is Blair Bissel.”
“Who’s dead, and among the missing,” Feeney put in.
“There’s little doubt she believed she was expecting Blair Bissel. This was a naive, theatrical, and gullible young woman. Play it right and she would’ve believed her lover had risen from the dead and was coming over to play-to tell her all, to seek her help, to ride off into the sunset with her. The killer had only to gain access to her apartment, keep her calm, induce her to drink the drugged wine. I’m Blair’s friend, associate, brother. He asked me to explain everything to you. He’ll be here as soon as it’s safe.”
“She’d have let him in,” Peabody agreed. “She’d have loved the excitement of it.”
“She certainly would have let him in if it was Blair Bissel.”
McNab stifled a snort. “Risen from the dead.”
“He wouldn’t have to, if he’d never died at all. If he’d set it up.”
“The body was identified, Dallas,” Peabody said. “Prints, DNA, the whole shot.”
“He was HSO, so I’m not ruling out falsified identification. But McCoy throws it off for me. If she had something, knew something, why not take care of it before you perform the main act? Then there’s motive. Why die-taking your lover, setting up your wife? There’s nothing in his files to indicate he was in any trouble with Homeland. From all appearances, he had it locked. Sexy secret job, loving wife who unknowingly feeds you regular intel, a couple of lovers to add variety, a successful career, financial security. Life’s pretty damn good, so why die?”
She sat on the side of her desk. “We could move to the brother. Jealousy, resentment. We know Kade went to see him in Jamaica, and have reason to believe she took him as a lover. Was this HSO-sanctioned? Or was she working on her own, or in league with Blair Bissel? And why? Maybe it was a setup that went wrong. Maybe it was a Cain and Abel, and Carter upped the stakes, took out his brother-too bad about the woman-and set Reva up. It’s a nice nest egg, the estate. If Reva’s tried and convicted of the murders, she won’t inherit. He’d get a chunk of it.”
“Maybe he was blackmailing Blair,” Peabody suggested. “The monkey on his back.”
“Good, that’s what Roarke’s going to help us find out. Carter has something on Blair-the HSO connection, the extramarital, something else-and taps him regularly. Blair’s had about enough of that and decides to shake off the monkey. But killing three people seems a little over the top. Why not just slip down to the islands, do the brother, and go back to your life? Some of these answers have to be on those units. Feeney, I need some answers.”
“Got one for you. Top-drawer face sculptor out of Sweden was killed in what appears to be a botched burglary at his office. Two weeks ago. His patient records have not been retrieved as his data unit was damaged.”
“Damaged?”
“According to the report. Jorgannsen, that was his name, had his throat cut. His drug supply was taken, and his data unit damaged. I’m figuring infected, but there’s no way to verify without seeing the unit.”
“See if you can play nice with your counterpart in Sweden, maybe they’ll transport it to us.”
“Give it a shot.”
“Shoot fast.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ve been called to the Tower at the request of the fucking HSO. I’m taking steps to cover all of our asses because this isn’t going to be neat and pretty. The shit’s going to hit the fan, and if it blows the way I’m hoping, the spooks are going to be up to their knees in it. But there’s bound to be some backdraft. For the duration of this area of investigation, we bunker down here.”
“God.” McNab grinned like an idiot. “How will we stand it?”
“And work twenty-four/seven,” Eve added and watched the grin turn to a wince. “In shifts. Let’s get started. Peabody.”
“Yes, sir. I’m with you.”
“Communication by secured lines only,” she added as she walked out the door and nearly into Roarke.
“Lieutenant, a moment of your time.”
“Walk and talk. I don’t have any moments to spare.”
“I’m just going to ah…” Be somewhere else, Peabody thought, and hurried past them.
“If you’ve got a beef about the way I handled your people, you’ll have to save it. I’m in a hurry.”
“It would take more than a moment to discuss the areas of your sensitivity and people skills. I realize you’re not looking at Reva and were, in your way, establishing her alibi.”