She took all the discs into evidence for viewing at Central, added memo cubes, a PPC and what appeared to be a broken address book.
“Pick a dresser,” Eve invited.
They searched the bedroom, moving from the contents of the dressers to the contents of the closet. They turned up nothing of interest but for what Peabody referred to as monkey sex underwear.
They split up on the home offices, with Eve taking Blair’s.
He had, she noted, the better end of the deal there. His was twice the size of hers, and with a view of the stone garden—the garden she assumed he’d wanted. There was also a long leather couch, the color of light coffee, with a mirrored wall behind it, and an entertainment center loaded with the latest toys.
It was, she thought, more a man-as-boy playroom than workspace. And when she called up his data unit, she found it wasn’t working at all.
She gave it a quick slap with the heel of her hand, which was her usual way of dealing with recalcitrant machines. “I said, ‘Computer, on,’ ” she repeated and once again read in her name, rank, and badge number for override of standard passcodes.
The screen stayed blank, the unit silent.
Interesting, she thought as she circled around it as she might a sleeping animal. What did he have in there he didn’t want his wife to see?
Still watching the unit, she pulled out her communicator and tagged Feeney at EDD.
His hound dog face had been sun-kissed by his recent vacation in Bimini. He’d only been back a couple of days, and Eve was hoping it would fade soon. It was . . . disconcerting to see Feeney with a tan.
She wanted his hair to grow back, too. He’d shorn his wiry ginger-and-gray mop painfully short while he’d been gone. It looked like he was wearing a snug, fuzzy helmet.
When you added the post-holiday sparkle to his droopy brown eyes, it was a study in mixed signals, and made her head hurt.
“Hey, kid.”
“Hey. Did you get my request?”
“First thing. Already cleared the time and manpower for you.”
“I got more. Dead guy’s home unit. He must have it seriously passcoded. I can’t get it on.”
“Dallas, there are times you can’t get your AutoChef on.”
“That’s a dirty lie.” She poked the data unit with a finger. “I need a pickup for this, and for a houseful of ’links and data centers. A boatload of security discs I need studied and analyzed.”
“I’ll send out a team for pickup.”
She waited a beat. “Just like that? I don’t even get a token bitch?”
“I’m in too good a mood to bitch. The wife made me pancakes this morning. Can’t do enough for me. I’m a fricking hero with my whole family. You flipped me that Bimini deal, Dallas, and I figure I’m going to reap the rewards for the next six months. I owe you.”
“Feeney, you look sort of scary when you smile like that. So cut it out.”
His grin only widened. “Can’t help it. I’m a happy man.”
“I’ve got enough EDD work on this one to keep you and a full team buried for days.”
“Sounds good.” He almost sang it. “I’m ready for a real challenge. Guy gets soft sitting on the beach sucking coconut juice all day.”
This had to stop, was all she could think. And now. “Case is a slam,” she said and showed her teeth. “And I’ve already booked the suspect on two counts in the first. I’m using departmental time and money to pick the case apart from the inside out.”
“Sounds like fun,” he said with a lilt in his voice. “Glad you called me in.”
“I could learn to hate you like this, Feeney.” She rattled off the address, and cut transmission as he began to hum.
“Do a favor for a friend,” she muttered, “and it bites you on the ass. Peabody!” She shouted it. “Tag all electronics for EDD pickup. Arrange for two droids to guard the premises and seal it after EDD has come and gone. And move it. We need to go check Bissel’s gallery and studio.”