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“There was no evidence to conclude Moss was target specific, but if so, they concluded it was because he was a judge, not because of any particular case. Moss had also been approached as a possible mayoral candidate, so the team factored in politics.”
He cleared his throat, and continued when no one commented. “There was no evidence, no reason for them to look at Kirkendall at that time. He’d made no threat, and his case had been resolved about three years prior to the incident. With, ah, what we have now, we can look at Kirkendall, his pattern and pathology, and conclude that he hit Moss in the city rather than at the cabin because it, um, murked the waters. And it was more of a challenge. More of a statement.”
“Agreed,” Eve said and watched Trueheart take an easing breath. “What about the device?”
“Well, that’s pretty interesting.” Baxter gestured with his burger. “And another reason the primary and team concluded urban terrorism. What they were able to sweep up from scene, then sim, indicated a military-style device. This wasn’t any homemade boomer some yahoo stuck together in his basement because he was pissed off some judge made him pay child support. Lab guys creamed over it—primary’s words—plaston base, and it don’t come cheap, electronic trigger designed to blow when the engine engaged, and . . .” He made a wide gesture, pulling his arms apart. “ . . . explode outwards for additional damage.”
Something flickered in her mind. “Okay, how could they be sure Moss would be the one to engage the engine? What about the wife?”
“Didn’t drive.”
“Not good enough. Even private lots can make a few extra fees by renting out a vehicle. You got to factor that in. And Kirkendall would want a hundred percent success rate. I want the lab to take another look. I’m betting there was a fail-safe on it. That he had control, and could detonate or abort by remote if necessary. Clinton’s their E and B man,” she stated. “That’s the specialty that pops out of his data, but Kirkendall would want the control.”
“I’ll give the lab a push,” Baxter agreed. “We also spoke with the primary on the Duberry murder. Now there’s a guy who’s dug in.”
“Meaning?”
“He figured the ex-boyfriend. He still figures the ex-boyfriend. I’m not going to say he missed anything on the investigation, but I’ll be going over it again myself. He homed on this guy and that’s that.”
“Boyfriend alibied?”
“Right and tight. Get this.” He wiggled a fry at her, bit it in two. “He’s home alone, and the building’s scan cams are crap. So yeah, you might think, hey, he could slip out, do the deal, slip back, no big. But in the apartment above him, there’s this guy with this big-ass water bed. Snuck that in past building regs. Weighs a fricking ton. Top it off, he likes to party. Got himself two economy-sized ladies up there for a three-way. And while they’re surfing, they get pretty enthusiastic. Bed pops, and you got yourself a frigging ocean. Water comes gushing through the ceiling, and nearly drowns the guy below. Big altercation between upstairs and down, all witnessed by neighbors—and taking place at the time Duberry was strangled.”
“Huh.” Eve stepped over, stole one of Baxter’s fries.
“Primary’s sure the guy was behind it. You got a woman with no known enemies, ordinary life. You got no sexual assault, no burglary, so you gotta figure personal.”
“Ex-boyfriend’s going to rape her—high probability,” Eve put in. “Do some damage to her face, too. That’s personal.”
“Yeah, but the primary figures he hired somebody to do her. But the guy doesn’t have the financials for a hit. He’s barely making rent. And this was a prime hit. He’s got no priors, no known association with the dark side. The guy’s not in it, Dallas. We started the interviews again. Nobody comes up with any motive, nobody remembers the vic talking about any worries. Her communication and data equipment is long gone, but EDD did the scans, and came up zip.”
“Okay, clock out for the night. Peabody and McNab are out talking to Kirkendall’s former sister-in-law. We’ll brief here, oh eight hundred.”
“Good enough. Listen, Trueheart and I thought we could take the night shift on the kid. We can bunk here.” He shrugged a shoulder when Eve frowned at him. “She’s a cutie. Gets to you. Rough day for her. We could hang out with her awhile, take her mind off it.”
“Talk to Summerset about where you should bunk. I appreciate the extra duty.”
“No problem.” He lifted the burger to his mouth again, then paused. “Where did Peabody head to interview the sister-in-law?”
“Nebraska.”
“Nebraska.” He bit in, chewed thoughtfully. “Do people really live there? I thought it was one of those myths. You know, like Idaho.”
“People live in Idaho, too, sir,” Trueheart told him.
“Step out.” Baxter laughed, and swept a fry through ketchup. “The stuff you learn.”
The two-passenger shuttle landed in a small cargo station in North Platte. As per Roarke’s memo, there was a vehicle waiting for the last leg of the trip.
Peabody and McNab stood in the chilly evening air, staring at the sleek black jewel.
“Oh my God. I thought the shuttle was mag.” Heart skipping, Peabody circled. “You know, the sleep chairs, the comp stations, the menu on the AutoChef.”
“The speed,” McNab added with a dopey grin.
Peabody sent him one back. “Yeah
. Way uptown. But this—”
