“What? Oh, no it’s good.” She popped them into her mouth. “I like the sugar rush. Anyway, could be a psycho, who likes to travel, likes variety. Could be with enough digging I’ll find some strange connection between Tandy and Belego. Could be a business. Both had to be planned out. Women snatched off the street—in Belego’s case, in broad daylight. But there’s another connection. Both women started their terms in Europe.”
He watched, somewhat fascinated as she swished a slice of bacon through the pool of syrup. His steely-minded cop had the appetite of a five-year-old. “You think the root of it may be there rather than here.”
“It’s a thought. I’m going to let it circle around some while I write it up for Smith in MPU. Maybe she’ll have some thoughts on it. It’s more her area than mine.”
“Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll bring you up to date on my little project.”
“Run it by me now.”
“There’s one of the files that appears to add up, but doesn’t. Not when you peel it apart, shake it out. An outlay and an income that double back on each other, and a separate expense that pulls out of that same income again and gets funneled through yet another account—a nontaxable one, where it shouldn’t be. Not as far as I can tell, blindfolded as I am.”
“Your call.”
“So it was. There are repetitions of that, and subtle variations on it. Could be someone trying to tuck away a bit of the ready, someone hoping to avoid a bit of tax, or a little laundry.”
“How little?”
“I’m not sure yet. Thanks,” he added when she topped off his coffee, then her own. “It’s cleverly done, and I’ll need to peek under a few more covers. But it’s considerable.”
“Ballpark?”
“So far, mid–seven figures, for the time frame I’m working with.”
“Millions then?”
“So it seems.” He brushed a hand over her hair. “Motive enough, I’d think, for two murders.”
“A handful of credits dropped in the gutter’s enough motive for some. But yeah, for this type of thing, motive enough. Why don’t you let me have a look so I can match it with the client?”
“Why don’t you let me finish first?”
“You’re working blind, so I work blind, too?”
“Now, would I be that small and petty?” He considered a moment. “I might be, but in this case, I’d just rather put it all together first. Not as if you’ve nothing to do in the meanwhile.”
True enough, she thought. “I’m calling some more hands and eyes.”
“We work on Sunday, so everyone does?”
“Would I be that small and petty?”
He grinned, and this time patted her hand. “Peas and pods. If you’re pulling in troops, Lieutenant, I could make use of McNab.”
“You’ll have him,” she said, and sitting back laid a hand on her stomach. “I think I feel a little sick.”
“Small wonder after you sucked down a liter of maple syrup.”
“Couldn’t have been that much.” But she thought she could almost hear it swish inside her as she turned to her ’link.
She had a message from the garage manager on Fifty-eighth. The discs were wiped—that was a dead end.
She’d barely finished waking up cops and moving into her office when Mavis walked in with Leonardo.
“I knew you’d be working.” With shadows dogging her eyes, Mavis gripped Leonardo’s hand. “See, I told you she’d be working. Have you found anything?”
“I’m talking to people. I told you I’d let you know as soon as something broke.”
“I know. But…”