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“Darling Eve.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “Be sure to make time later.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
They worked together for an hour before Peabody arrived. She switched gears, leaving Roarke to do what he did best—manipulate data—while she focused on private residences purchased in the New York area, widening the timing to the six months since Palmer had activated his account.
Feeney called in to let her know he’d identified some of the equipment from the recording and was following up.
Eve gathered her printouts and rose. “We’ve got more than thirty houses to check. Have to do it door-to-door since I don’t trust the names and data. He could have used anything. Peabody—”
“I’m with you, sir.”
“Right. Roarke, I’ll be in the field.”
“I’ll let you know when I have this wrapped.”
She looked at him, working smoothly, thoroughly, methodically. And wondered who the hell was dealing with what she often thought of as his empire. “Look, I can call a man in for this. McNab—”
“McNab.” Peabody winced at the name before she could stop herself. She had a temporary truce going with the EDD detective, but that didn’t mean she wanted to share her case with him. Again. “Dallas, come on. It’s been so nice and quiet around here.”
“I’ve got this.” Roarke shot her a glance, winked at Peabody. “I have an investment in it now.”
“Whatever. Shoot me, and Feeney, the data when you have it all. I’m going to check out the rope, too. He likely picked up everything himself, but it would only take one delivery to pin down his hole.”
After three hours of knocking on doors, questioning professional parents, housekeepers, or others who chose the work-at-home route, Eve took pity on Peabody and swung by a glide cart.
In this neighborhood the carts were clean, the awnings or umbrellas bright, the operators polite. And the prices obscene.
Peabody winced as she was forced to use a credit card for nothing but coffee, a kabob, and a small scoop of paper-thin oil chips.
“It’s my metabolism,” she muttered as she climbed back into the car. “I have one that requires fuel at regular intervals.”
“Then pump up,” Eve advised. “It’s going to be a long day. At least half these people aren’t going to be home until after the five o’clock shift ends.”
She snagged the ’link when it beeped. “Dallas.”
“Hello, Lieutenant.” Roarke eyed her soberly. “Your data’s coming through.”
“Thanks. I’ll start on the warrant.”
“One thing—I didn’t find any account with a withdrawal or transfer that seemed large enough for a purchase or down payment on a house. A couple are possible, but if, as you told me, he didn’t finance a car, it’s likely he didn’t want to deal with the credit and Compuguard checks on his rating and background.”
“He’s got a damn house, Roarke. I know it.”
“I’m sure you’re right. I’m not convinced he acquired it recently.”
“I’ve still got twenty-couple to check,” she replied. “I have to follow through on that. Maybe he’s just renting. He likes to own, but maybe this time he’s renting. I’ll run it through that way, too.”
“There weren’t any standard transfers or withdrawals that would indicate rent or mortgage payments.”
She hissed out a breath. “It’s ridiculous.”
“What?”
“How good a cop you’d make.”
“I don’t think insulting me is appropriate under the circumstances. I have some business of my own to tend to,” he said when she grinned at him. “I’ll get back to yours shortly.”
Palmer had purchased, and personally picked up, a hundred twenty yards of nylon rope from a supply warehouse store off Canal. The clerk who had handled the sale ID’d the photo and mentioned what a nice young man Mr. Dickson had been. As Dickson, Palmer had also purchased a dozen heavy-load pulleys, a supply of steel O rings, cable, and the complete Handy Homemaker set of Steelguard tools, including the accessory laser package.
