"Well, you can, but I can tell you it's likely been wiped. And there's not a single disc in the room."
"He destroyed them first, or she took them. If it's the latter, she knew about the room. The wife would've known. Even if Icove didn't tell her about it, she'd have known. She's an artist for one thing. She'd understand symmetry, dimensions, balance, and the proportions are off in the bathroom."
She took a hard look at the room, walked back out, took another study of the office.
"He's not going to destroy the discs," she decided. "He's too organized, too like his father. And you know what, this project is their life's work. It's their mission. He didn't think he was going to die, and he's got that vault in there. He feels secure about that. He feels secure except I'm asking questions, and he realizes his father kept records- coded, sure, but a little too accessible. So maybe he checks the room, just reassures himself. And it's under his skin."
"If he knew the woman who killed his father, wouldn't he worry she'd come for him?" Peabody stepped out with Eve. "Could be why he sent his wife and kids away. For their safety."
"A guy thinks there's a knife at his heart, he's going to shed some sweat. He didn't. He was pissy because I poked at his father. Concerned, even afraid that his father's death was a result of their work and we might screw that up. But you're afraid for your life, you run and hide. You don't hunker down in your house and take a sedative. Standard, mild. Morris," Eve said before Peabody could ask.
"If there were records," she added, "the killer has them. Question is, what was on them? And why does she want them?"
She turned to Roarke. "Let's look at it this way. You want to eliminate an organization, a company. Destroy it or take it over, whatever. What do you do?"
"A variety of things. But the quickest, most ruthless would be to cut off its head. Detach the brain, the body falls."
"Yeah, like that." Her lips curved, grimly. "The Icoves were pretty brainy guys. Even then, you'd want all the data, all the intel you can gather. Especially inside stuff. They didn't run it alone. You'd want to know the other players. Even if you know them, or some of them, you'd want the data. And to cover your tracks."
"You think the killer will pick off others involved in this project:"
She nodded at Roarke. "I'm thinking hey, why stop now. Let's get the sweepers in here, Peabody. Then we're at Central. We've got a lot of reading to do."
She started downstairs while Peabody called it in. "Oh, and Nadine's on for Thanksgiving," she said to Roarke. "With maybe a date.
"Good. I spoke with Mavis. She said she and Leonardo will be there, ringing."
"Ringing what?"
"With bells on, I assume."
"What does that mean, anyway? Why would people come to your house wearing bells. It would just be annoying."
"Mmm. Oh, and Peabody, she said if I spoke with you before she . . No, let me get this just right. If I tagged on you before she made the beep, I should tell you that she and Trina are jacked, and if it chills you. they'll group it tonight at Dallas's."
Eve went dead white. "Dallas's what? Trina? No."
"There, there," Roarke soothed, and patted her hand. "Be brave, my little soldier."
Instead, she rounded on Peabody like a panther. "What have you done?"
"I was ... it was just I was thinking about maybe doing something with my hair, and I was talking to Mavis."
"Oh. Oh. You bitch. I'll kill you. Rip out your internal organs with my bare hands then strangle you with your own large intestine."
"Can I get my hair extensions first?" Peabody tried a game smile.
"I'll give you hair extensions." She might have leaped, but Roark wrapped his arms around her from the back, held her in place. "Better run," he warned Peabody, but she was already heading out the door at a trot.
"You could always kill Trina," Roarke suggested.
"I don't think she can be killed." Eve thought of the hair and skin specialist, and possibly the only entity on or off planet that terrified her. "Let go. I won't murder Peabody-yet-because I need her."
He turned her around, gave her a squeeze. "Anything else I can do for you, Lieutenant?"
"I'll let you know."
On the street there was no sign of Peabody. Waving Roarke off, she sat down on the steps to wait for the sweepers. Since her day was already ruined with the prospect of an evening beauty treatment, she called the lab and had a round with the chief tech, Dick Berenski, not-so-affectionately known as Dickhead.