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“Physically’s a factor though, isn’t it?” Nadine pointed toward Grady’s photo. “Didn’t the killer carry Coltraine to the basement? Or do you think Sandy was there and did the heavy work?”
“Maybe. But she could’ve done it.”
“I carried Dallas down.” Peabody smiled. “We reenacted.”
“Going on the assumption this is your killer, she wouldn’t have wanted him there. Or anyone else there.” Mira gestured with her coffee cup. “Factoring in the theories, this would have been a one-on-one, woman-to-woman. On orders perhaps, but personal.”
“You need more than theories. Sorry.” Reo spread her hands. “You’ve got no probable cause, no witness, nothing putting your suspect at either scene. Unless Rouche worked with her directly, and can give us some chapter and verse—or Ricker gets a wild hair and decides to flip on her for the fun of it—there’s no physical evidence, and no real circumstantial.”
“Crap City.” Mavis plopped her butt on Eve’s desk. “Because all my tinglies are saying the bitch is guilty.”
“Usually it takes more than the tinglies to convict,” Reo pointed out. “First Callendar’s got to come through. Then, given that, Rouche has to spill. I might like the theory, in principle, but from where I’m sitting, you don’t have any more on her than you have on any of them. Which is not anything.”
“Tinglies should count,” Mavis protested. “Besides. Oops!” She slid off the desk. “Bellamina’s awake,” she said tapping the big pink butterfly pinned over her ear. “Cha!”
“Mavis,” Eve called out as Mavis dashed for the door. “Thanks for the input.”
“Hey, us double-X chromos have to stick together.”
“Some of the others are probably stirring by now.” Louise got to her feet. “I’ll gather them up and steer them into the dining room and keep them out of your way.”
“I guess the party’s about over.” Nadine stretched out her legs. “I can do some research, see if I can find anywhere Ricker’s path might’ve crossed with this Cleo Grady’s. They had to connect somewhere. I take it you’ve checked her pockets. It’s unlikely she killed two people for love or the fun factor.”
“I’ve looked at her financials as far as I can without the probable cause to dig deeper. I figure she’s been paid, but I don’t discount the fun factor—or what people like her consider love. Ricker liked younger women.
“It’ll go back, though,” Eve mused. “It won’t be recent, that connection. She didn’t turn up in the sweep after we busted him, but she’s no new recruit. That means she’s got some layers over her, and some time in.”
“If you find me a connection between her and Ricker—something solid—I can use that and her connection to Coltraine. I may be able to finesse a search warrant, and authorization for that deeper dip into financials.” Reo considered it. “If you can get Rouche to say Ricker has someone in Coltraine’s squad. I don’t need a name, just the verification that Ricker has someone inside that unit, I can get the warrants. Maybe IAB—”
“They don’t have anything on her,” Eve told Reo. “I checked.”
“Well, maybe they should look again.”
“I’ll take another look at her file,” Mira said. “And her background data. I’ll work up a more comprehensive profile.”
“I’ll write it up, run probabilities.” Peabody got up to gather empty plates. “While Nadine’s looking for that crossed path with Max Ricker, I can look for one between Grady and Sandy. Maybe he recruited her.”
“Or she recruited him.” Eve ordered more data on-screen—split screen. “Sandy, Grady, Alex Ricker. They’re all about the same age. Yeah, that might be something. Go back ten years, fifteen. College pals. If she was Ricker’s that far back, he might’ve used her to get to Sandy. Let’s—hold it.”
She swiveled back to her ’link. “Dallas.”
“What do you want first, Dallas?” Callendar asked. “ ’Cause I got a shitload for you.”
“Did you break the encryption?”
“Damn fucking-A tooting. Gee, I’m really tired now. Booster’s wearing down. Text, Omega to New York.” She yawned, blinked. “Sorry. Text: ‘Hit target within forty-eight. Complete disposal. Complete arrangements with hunter. Usual fees cleared when disposal verified.’
“Second text, Omega to New York,” Callendar continued. “Oh, this is the one we matched with a toss-away down there. Text: ‘Go. Coordinate with mole. Don’t disappoint me, dear.’ ”
“Are there any more?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Nothing within the last twenty-four from Omega?”
“Not on this. But to jump ahead, there’s one from New York to Omega, same ’links as the second trans. Text: ‘Disposal complete. I never disappoint.’ That was sent an hour after Coltraine’s TOD, to the unregistered ’link we dug up in Rouche’s quarters. We also dug up a nice bit of accounting. He kept records, Dallas, of income. Payments listed by date—going back for ten months—and the accounts, by number, where he stashed the funds. It was a romp through the daisies. Then there’s the e-mail. We pulled them off his in-room comp. All e’s are required to go through security, but it looks like he got his buddy Art to bypass. The receiver’s account is under Luanne DeBois.”
“Yeah, I bet it is.”
