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“And my guess is that you’d have Summerset in charge—coordinating. The one person you know you can trust to juggle all the balls, keep them in the air.”
“You realize that would mean he’d have to live to be about two hundred and forty, but yes. While I could trust you, I wouldn’t expect you to set aside your own . . . balls to juggle mine. Especially when you’re comatose with grief and contemplating the bleakness of your remaining years without me.”
“Right.”
“You’re still liking the manager.”
“We’ll see.”
She went back to her desk, ordered a full run on Billy Crocker. Both Peabody and McNab stepped back in with plates of waffles.
“Carbs,” Peabody said between forkfuls. “Energy.”
“Yeah, it’s a big day for energy. Billy Crocker’s a widower. His wife—only marriage—died in a vehicular accident six years ago. He has two grown offspring. One’s a professional mother, living in Alabama with her husband and two minor daughters. The other is on the EL payroll, and is married to a woman employed as a publicist for EL. He’s sitting more than reasonably pretty financially, even while pumping a full twenty percent of his income back into the EL coffers annually. His home back in Mississippi is virtually next door to Jenkins, while he maintains a smaller second home near the married daughter.”
Eve sat back. “He’s in charge of booking appearances, clearing the venues, scheduling all Jenkins’s appointments, securing his transportation—or working with the transportation head. To get to Jimmy Jay, you’ve got to go through Billy.”
“Second in command,” Peabody offered.
“Absolutely. Schedules his appointments,” Eve repeated. “I can all but guarantee that both Caro and Summerset know where Roarke is pretty much any given time of the day or night. If not precisely, they know how to reach him, anywhere, anytime. If he was ever stupid enough to cheat on me—”
“I heard that,” Roarke called out.
“They’d know. One or both would know.”
“So Billy knew Jenkins was . . . preaching to the choir?” McNab suggested.
“According to Ulla, the side dish, she and Jenkins had been saying hallelujah for nearly five months. Regularly. I’m betting Billy knew, just as I’m betting Ulla wasn’t Jenkins’s first conversion.”
“So we pin Billy on how much he knew and see what else we get,” Peabody added. “And we see if we can find previous converts.”
“Meanwhile, we’re running the Flores investigation on parallel but potentially intersecting lines. I’ve got the results of a run I started last night before the second homicide. I’ve got about a half-dozen Linos baptized at St. Cristóbal’s during the appropriate time frame, who have not lived in that parish during the last six years. On this first pass, I eliminated those who do, or those who are currently listed as having a spouse, legal cohab, or are incarcerated. If we don’t hit on this pass, we’ll do another with those eliminated. It may be he created a trapdoor cover ID that’s as bogus as he was.”
“A lot more work.” McNab polished off his waffles. “A lot more complicated. Just adding in the tax filing shit wouldn’t make that real practical.”
“So we hope we hit first pass. Can Feeney spare you if I want you on this?”
“I don’t know how he runs EDD without me, but if you ask, he nods, I’m yours. What about the ID search?”
“Can Callendar handle it?”
“She’s almost as good as I am.” He grinned. “And I’ve pointed her in the right direction anyway.”
“I’ll tag Feeney. Meanwhile, get down to Central and start contacting and interviewing these Linos.” She tossed him a disc. “If Feeney can’t live without you, just hang onto it for now. I have a copy. Peabody, with me. And if the two of you have to lock lips before parting ways, make it fast.”
/> Eve headed out so she didn’t have to watch.
But the rosy flush riding her partner’s cheeks when Peabody caught up told Eve there’d been more than a quick lip bump.
“Where first?”
“Morgue.”
“Waffles, corpses, and slabs. The cop’s trifecta. Did you get any sleep?”
“A couple hours.”
“I wish I could bounce on a couple like you do.”
