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She checked her wrist unit. “Where the hell is EDD?”
“I tagged McNab on my way in. He said they’d be here.” Peabody scanned the conference table. “No food, no beverage. Anybody want? Stupid question,” she said before anyone answered. “Be right back.”
“Well, while your refreshments are being arranged,” Eve began, breaking off when Feeney and McNab walked in. “Nice you could make it.”
Feeney shot a finger at her. “Neck-deep. Gonna need a transfusion for the blood I lost leaking out of my freaking eyes.”
He sat, circled his neck. Eve heard the pops and cracks from across the room.
“Son of a bitch used some new virus. Nothing like we’ve seen before. I’ve got men working on identifying it, piecing together the elements.”
“New viruses pop up every day,” Eve said. “Comps are supposed to be shielded anyway. CompuGuard’s supposedly on that.”
“They’re busy trying to regulate, screwing around with privacy issues, unregistered. The new shit crops up every few weeks, really good new shit every year or two. This is really good new shit.”
Eve considered. “How long would it take you to come up with really good new shit?”
He put on a sober face. “I’m an officer of the law.”
“Yeah, and?”
He shrugged. “Depends on how much time I’ve got to work it, how much damage I want to do.”
“Something like this?” McNab put in. “You’d have to have a good hundred-fifty dedicated hours in it. More if you’re a hobbyist and not cued in. Plus you’d have to do it shielded. CompuGuard’s got spotters. They don’t catch everything, that’s for frigging sure, but if they slap you, you’re slapped hard.”
She started to speak, but he anticipated her. “We started a run on CG’s known infractions and fines. The trouble is they don’t like to share, so we have to get an official go every time we hit a flag.”
She thought of Roarke’s skills, and his unregistered equipment. There, she considered, she might be willing to blur the line if necessary.
She turned back to the board, wrote: New comp virus, possible e-education or employment.
“Yeah.” Feeney nodded. “It’s an angle.”
“Mira’s profile, which I’ll cover, includes his having employment, or an income source. It includes education, skill, focus. All required for e-work.”
“Bet your ass,” McNab agreed, then grinned as Peabody came in hauling another box. “Hey, She-Body, let me give you a hand.”
“See, my guy’s a gentleman, too.” Peabody added a flutter of eyelashes.
“He scented food,” Baxter said.
“Sandwiches, soy chips, Energy bars.” Peabody snagged a sandwich herself. “Water, fizzies, Pepsi.”
“Brain drain,” Jamie said, “need fizzy.”
“Current.” Eve grabbed a tube of Pepsi, cracked it, then briefed the team on the morning’s progress and avenues.
“Method as mirror.” Feeney shoved the last of the mystery meat and processed cheese in his mouth. “That’s a good one. He didn’t take her out that way for the hell of it.”
“On the other hand, using a blade, bat, pipe, something of that nature,” McNab speculated. “It’s messier.”
“He had drugs. ODing her’s not messy, but he didn’t go with that. Even a blade,” Baxter continued, “in a heart jab—and he had plenty of time to aim, isn’t going to give you spatter. Bare-handed strangulation. That takes time, effort, and yeah, that purpose again.”
“Hurting her was the thing, right?” Jamie stared down at the fizzy in his hand. “That was the score.”
“He didn’t really mess her up.” Trueheart cleared his throat when eyes turned to him. “Her face. If he was working off rage, he would have. I think. Maybe he didn’t want to use his fists, mess up his hands. But there were plenty of weapons in the house. Objects he could have used as either blunt or sharp instruments. And he choked her more than once, so . . . that’s what he wanted. That’s the way he wanted to kill her. I think.”
Baxter beamed. “Boy gets an A.”
