“Would it be accurate to say, as you were there, you most likely saw her killer?”
She’d asked herself the same damn question. “I can’t say, with accuracy. It’s a good-sized bar, with a spreading layout, and was, at the time, near full capacity.”
The questions went on, a lot of the usual bullshit about leads, motive, details she couldn’t and wouldn’t answer or answered only in generalities.
When she felt herself running out of patience, she wrapped it up.
“Let me finish up with a statement. Investigative work must remain objective. In the usual course of my job, I stand over the dead, and I do my best by them, as does everyone who works in this department. In this case, I didn’t come on scene after a body had been discovered or a crime reported. I watched Larinda Mars die. The two medicals on scene with me watched her die despite their best efforts. The people in that bar, there to have a drink with a friend after their workday, and those serving them, watched her die. I will do my best by her, as will everyone on the investigative team.”
She stepped back, ignored the ensuing barrage of questions. She looked at Kyung, got his nod.
And left to do her best.
Hoping EDD had more forward progress, she aimed there first. She skirted the madness, went straight to the geek lab.
Through the glass she saw McNab, skinny butt bopping on his stool, along with Feeney, his hair in an explosive bush, which told her he’d been pulling at it. And Roarke, slick suit coat off, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back.
Not done yet, she concluded, but walked in anyway.
“If we had the Cat’s-Paw first layer,” Roarke said as he continued to play with a touch screen, “it may be an Armed Defense next.”
“Maybe, maybe.” Feeney pulled at his hair again. “It’s sneaky. I’m already working it.”
“Hot shiny shit!” McNab swiveled his narrow shoulders enthusiastically enough to have his long tail of blond hair swaying at his back. “I’m in the bitch now.”
“Well done, Ian.” Glancing over, Roarke spotted Eve. “Fine timing, Lieutenant. Our boy here just cleared his way into your victim’s bedside tablet.”
“You’d think she was freaking NSA, the shields and blocks and bullshit she used on her personal e’s.” McNab grabbed a vending cup, guzzled. “And she encrypted everything—different code patterns on every damn device.”
“Can you put what’s on that on screen?”
“I can now.”
Once he did, Eve looked at a blue screen with a bunch of colorful symbols.
“First layer under the shields,” McNab told her. “Standard icons. Hey, she played Killer Bees. Tight game. Anyway, we’ll go through all those and check it, but let me just…”
He did something to the tablet. Another bunch of symbols scrolled on along with incomprehensible geek code.
“Okay, maybe this.”
He did something else. The screen wavered, then actual words came on.
“Okay, just her calendar. Let me—”
“Wait. Hold it.” Eve poked his arm to stop him, stepped closer to the screen.
“Travel from last October—eight through twelve. Majestic Resort and Spa, CI.”
“Canary Islands,” Roarke supplied.
“Okay. See notation on October eight? Durante, with two stars. Person, place, thing? And later in the month, October twenty, she’s got Durante again, six P.M., Gino’s—bar, restaurant, potentially a person—with three stars. And once more on the twenty-third, five-thirty, DV—that’s going to be Du Vin—followed by two dollar signs and one of those stupid smiley faces.”
“Person,” Feeney said. “A mark.”
“Yeah, goes to the resort maybe to loll around and get some tune-ups, and to troll this Durante. People rate with stars, right? Maybe it’s a rating system. She ups the rating with a follow-up meeting, then the dollar signs. Durante pays. Move to November, McNab. And yeah. Keep going, month to month.”
“You’ve got Durante, every month—dollar signs.” McNab shifted calendar pages. “Other names, too. Durante, third or fourth week of every month, right through January.”