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“Funny you should ask.” This time she walked straight through the bull pen, ignoring the questioning looks, into her office, and shut the door.
“You up for some drone work?”
“I prefer to call it expert computer tasking. You’ve got a look in your eye, Lieutenant, that I’m very pleased to see.”
“I’m on them.” Ophelia had smelled the blood, she thought. And now, so did she. “I’ve been thinking, and was about to pursue the theory that the Swishers might not have been first. That’s a kind of crescendo—isn’t that the thing you call it when you drag me to symphonies and crap?”
“It is, my darling, uncultured Eve.”
“Crescendos, the big noise. But mostly, you lead up to that, build up to it. So maybe they weren’t the only. And maybe not the first.”
“Both you and Feeney have run IRCCA for like crimes.”
“Not like—not home invasion, necessarily, with a slaughter. But connected. So, here’s a theory. If somebody was pissed enough or worried enough about one or more members of the Swisher household to wipe them out, could be there are one or more individuals this dick is pissed off at or worried about. So we need to go back, we need to do a search of logical connections—at least we’ll stick with logical to start. School staff—anyone connected with the school who died or disappeared within, let’s say, the last three years. These guys are patient, but they’re cocky, too, proud. They wouldn’t spread it out much longer than that.”
“Then there’s health care workers and physicians Keelie or Grant Swisher worked with.”
“You do connect the dots. Lawyers who went up against Swisher in court, presiding judges, social workers. Clients on both—dead or missing.”
“Same time period?”
“Yeah—shit, let’s make it six years. Better have a buffer. If I’m right and the Swishers were to be the big finish, we’ll find something. What’s happened since is cleanup, because of one small mistake. We connect something, that’s going to connect to something else. Then I’ll wrap them up and choke them with it.”
“Sexy talk.”
“Find me something, it’ll get sexier. You’re slicker than me on this stuff.”
“Darling, you’re an amazon in bed.”
“Drone work, ace.” She could feel the juices bubbling inside now. “I’ll take the school angle, because it’s the least likely. Anything pops, anything, tag me.”
She walked over to the AutoChef, then backed off. She was too damn revved for more coffee. Better to flush some of it out. She grabbed water instead before organizing what she needed for the ready room.
She opened her door, and stopped short before she walked into Whitney.
&n
bsp; “Sir. I didn’t realize you were in the house.”
“I’ve just come from paying condolence calls on Knight’s and Preston’s families.” He glanced down at the bottle in her hand. “Does coffee now come clear and in bottles?”
“It’s water, sir.”
“And has hell frozen over without me getting a report?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t . . . Oh.” She gave the bottle a little frown. “I thought I should offset the caffeine.”
“I, on the other hand, could use the jolt.”
“Yes, sir.” She set her things down, went to the AutoChef.
“I’m aware you have a briefing in a moment. It’ll keep. I’m also aware you have an artist coming in to work a potential witness.”
“I think she’s solid, Commander. I’ve requested Detective Yancy. I haven’t yet written my report on the interview.”
He accepted the coffee. “I saw Detective Peabody, so I have the main points. I’ll attend your briefing and expect to be filled in more completely at that time. But we need to discuss something else first.”
When he closed the door, her shoulders squared. When she realized it, she reminded herself of Trueheart.
