“I’m on my way to a meeting with Chief Tibble and the mayor now that I have your report.”
“I apologize for the delay, Commander. Detective Peabody and I have been in the field.”
Whitney waved that away with one finger as he stood at her board. “While procedure and policy demanded we report this death and its circumstance to Homeland, the lab results indicate this wasn’t an act of terrorism.”
“No, sir. Not only was this act very victim specific, the killer took steps to be certain the poison was contained to a very restricted area, and that it would dissipate quickly.”
“There are still concerns this single victim may have been a test case for a mass kill.”
“If that were the case, Commander, why go to the trouble of the additives that ensured the substance would dissipate, would kill only the specified target? The lab tech stated to control the substance to that limit of time and space took skill, effort, and resources.”
“Agreed. Which is why Homeland has passed on moving into the investigation. For now,” he added, as warning. “Their agent in charge will receive copies of all data, all reports.”
He turned back to face her. “You’re leaning toward the other doctor. Toward Ponti.”
“He checks some boxes. He has an alibi for the drop, but—”
“His wife is part of his alibi.”
“Yes, sir. And though she has a reputation for being less volatile than Ponti, she’s another medical, another who would have some knowledge of chemicals, have access to a lab. Who might harbor a grudge against Abner, for her husband.”
“You also have two ex-cons the victim helped put away.”
“Yes, sir. Ringwold’s alibi’s solid. He appears to have rehabilitated, made amends with his ex-wife and son, has built a stable business. He credits Abner with forcing him to begin to confront his addictions. He reads very believable. The second … He’s too damn stupid, sir. He’s a lazy drunk. Mean enough to kill, no question, but not smart enough for this.”
“And the ad exec? Some of your boxes checked there, too.”
“A mean streak, a grudge holder. And one I think wouldn’t confront a man like Abner. A strong, fit man like Abner. Not one-on-one. But find a way to pay him back, from a distance? Yes, sir. That would be his style.”
She looked back at the board. “The killer’s a coward. He’s smart, precise, methodical, but a coward. Poison’s a weapon of the weak,” she said, thinking out loud. “A weapon often used by women because they are, most usually, physically weaker than men. And in this case, the poison used was used remotely. So the killer doesn’t need to see the results, doesn’t have to see his target die. There’s no passion here.”
“An interesting term for it, Dallas. Passion.”
“It’s … like pushing a button to end a life. All the work, the thought, the effort went into creating the weapon. But there’s enough emotional distance here so the killer didn’t have to see the weapon work. There’s no explosion, no screams, no blood, no panic, no pleas. He—or she—shipped the package, walked away, and waited for the media reports.”
“An assassination.”
Because it never hurt to have your commanding officer follow your line of thinking, Eve nodded. “It has that lack of heat, yes, sir. But the victim wasn’t a man of political power, or great wealth and influence. He was a good doctor, by all accounts, a good husband, father, and friend.”
Now her eyebrows drew together. “If we go back to test case, Commander, and he was somehow a random target, a surrogate for some sort of actual assassination, why alert Homeland? There’s a brain behind this, and a brain would know releasing a nerve agent would do just that. Why not test it out on some sidewalk sleeper no one would miss, then dispose of the body? Abner generates media because he was a well-respected doctor.”
“You have a point, and I’ll bring that point up in my meeting. The mayor may be relieved with that point. Keep me updated, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
When he left, Eve sat again, put her boots up again, and frowned at the board.
Assassination. It fit the kill in her mind. A true assassin killed without passion, without heat, without regret. But where was the purpose? If she eliminated politics, power, money, religion, what remained?
Jealousy. Revenge.
Either or both, she thought. And either or both would be cold, calculated, and cruel.
Jealousy. Revenge. Both could fester for a very long time. Maybe something deep in Abner’s past had clawed its way into the now.
Calling up his data, she began a methodical search back, beginning with his parents.
What was that saying? The sins of the fathers something something. Well, some believed it.