Don’t bring your file copies. Let’s just…like insurance, you know. If cops don’t work, we’ll go to the media. This has to be exposed.
One way or the other, Nat. We’ll fry their asses.
And get back to our lives. I can’t wait to marry you.
Crazy about you. Sleep tight, babe. This’ll be over tomorrow.
I can’t wait for that either. Love you. Night.
“Civilians,” Eve said with a churning mix of pity and anger. “Playing detective. They’d gone to the cops, they’d be alive.”
“Had something hot,” McNab agreed. “Bribes and threats, ending in bloody murder. I’ll push back further, maybe she dropped more detail earlier in the game. Seems pretty clear it was something she came across at her work.”
“Still waiting for the fucking warrant for her files. Lawyers. Damn it. Somebody wants to, they’ve had plenty of time to pull incriminating, do some major covering up.”
“Everything leaves a trail. EDD bloodhounds will sniff it out.” He pulled out the disc, passed it to Eve. “Damn shame about them. You could see they had the real thing going.”
“They’d stuck with numbers, left the bad guys to us, they’d still have it going.”
But she was heavy with that pity as she pushed out of the booth.
“Go back,” she said to McNab. “Keep going back. Seems to me if someone had contacted her via ’link on this thing, she’d have kept a record of the transmission. She thought she was setting up a case. Accountants, they’re all about columns and balancing things out, keeping records. If there was electronic contact, she’s got it somewhere.”
Or had it, Eve thought as she gratefully headed out of Club EDD. She’d have told her killer anything he wanted to know before he was done with her.
Eve hit the lab on her way home. Her goal was to pin down Dick Berenski, chief lab tech, into passing on whatever they had to this point. But as she moved through the tunnels and glass-walled labs and cubes, she spotted Harvo, a tech she’d worked with before.
Harvo’s short, spiked red hair was covered with a protective cap painted, Eve noted, with naked men. “Nice hat.”
“Fun where you find it.” Harvo snapped gum the color of healthy lungs. “You looking for Dickhead, he’s gone. Got leave, a few days south—probably half-juiced by now and hitting on some unfortunate woman who just wants to drink her piña colada in peace.”
“Who’s running the asylum?”
“Yon’s got this tour, but he’s in the field. Pulled up a floater from the East River. Being that’s his favorite variety, he went out to the scene. You want, I can run you through what we’ve got on your double murder.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Live to serve.”
Instead of taking Eve to Berenski’s domain, Harvo wound her way through the maze to her own workstation. “You looking to do field work, Harvo?”
“Nah. I like my hive.” She boosted onto her stool, hooked her thick-soled, high-topped black and green sneakers on the rung. “And the whole dead body thing isn’t big on my list of appeals. I just cruise on the evidence, you know?” Wiggling her butt on the stool, she played her long, varnished nails over a keyboard.
“I didn’t process your tape. Tech who did just left for the day. Prob’ly shot you the report before, but since you’re here…”
“Since I’m here.”
“Tape on both murders came from the same roll. See here? You got your end from female vic’s ankles, dead match with the end from the male vic’s hands. Took hours to straighten those suckers out, but you got your match. Garden variety duct tape.”
“Don’t suppose we got a miracle and found prints.”
“Not a one. Some DNA though. None on the female DB, nothing under her nails. Prints on the scene—murder one—vic’s, second vic, sister of first vic. Blood spatter, all vic’s. She didn’t do any damage. But your male DB got some licks in.”
“You got DNA from scene two.”
“Not all the blood at the second scene was your vic’s. Got nice samples off the second vic’s knuckles. He popped the bastard. You get him, we can match him. Prints up the waz, second scene.”
“Doing reno there.”