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“Fine. Fine. Okay, I get the whole half of the whole, off-balance, how could two of them turn on their old pal. But I think it had to be two. Not just because of Mira’s profile, which plays out for me, but because logistically it’s more solid. One to slip out and do the job, the other to hang back and cover.”
“You’re right. It’s more solid.”
“And you still think it’s just one of them?”
“Yeah, I do. They’re a tight circle—square, whatever. A closely knit and tied group. One of them veers off on thi
s. That individual could disguise the resentment, envy, hate, ambition. Whatever of those served as driving force or excuse. Bad mood, overwork, distracted. Now make the individual a pair, which first means the spearhead in this has to take on a partner, has to trust.”
Off-balance, she thought again. Too much weight—or hate—on one side of the whole.
“Now you have two people trying to hide murderous intent,” Eve continued, “and by and large people aren’t that good at strapping down their more passionate feelings. And after the deed’s done, both those people have to project shock and grief, not only to us but to the last remaining member of the group.”
“If all three of them conspired?”
“Then Bart Minnock would have to have been completely oblivious to what was going on in his circle of close friends and partners. That’s not how I read him, certainly not how I read him after this last interview with the girlfriend. He had a sensitivity, a read on his people. And at the base, there’s just no motive, no sense in the three of them plotting to kill him. They’d be the majority. If they all wanted something from him, from the business, wanted a change or were just fucking sick of him, they vote him out or off, or push as a unit.”
The murder and the method equaled more than business, Eve thought. More than a bigger share of the pie.
“In the legal sense, the partnership agreement, they went with majority rule. And he didn’t have any more authority or power than any of the others. They gave him the authority and power, a tacit sort of deal. They let him run the show because he was best suited for it, and it was working.”
“Okay, you’re talking me into it,” Peabody said. “And one of them didn’t want him to run the show anymore, but that meant it was three against one, so, take him out and it’s no longer a problem.”
“That’s part of it. It has to be deeper, but the method of murder says raging ego to me, and serious loathing. The loathing may have built over time. Bart got the majority of the media attention, and he was the go-to guy at U-Play. He said no, or let’s go this way, they tended to go along.”
“Now there’s a void. And voids need to be filled.”
“That’s correct, Detective.”
“Given their backgrounds, skills, and personalities, any one of them could fill it.”
“I’m not convinced on the personalities.” She pulled into the lot. “For now, let’s go in and screw up their day.”
The warehouse was busier than the day before. Machines beeped and buzzed, shapes and colors filled screens. People went about their business with black bands around bare arms or the sleeves of colorful tees.
Eve spotted Cill riding up a level in one of the glass-walled elevators. The long fall of black hair had been tamed into a single neat braid. She wore a black suit, and black dress shoes with short, squat heels.
Respectful, Eve mused. Sensible—and unless she missed her guess, new.
Out of curiosity, Eve tapped one of the techs. “Where can I find Cill?”
“Um. Her office? She’s been in there all morning.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks.”
She glanced at Peabody, then jerked a head toward the stairs. “Most of these people are in their own bubble, or in a bubble with whoever they’re working with. They don’t pop it unless they’re told to or need something. The alibis aren’t going to hold.”
They didn’t find Cill in her office, but in the break room where she sat alone, rubbing her left temple and staring into a power drink. Her head snapped up, and her knuckles whitened on the tube.
“You’re back. Does that mean—”
“No. Not yet.”
Her body slumped. “I don’t know why it matters so much. When you find out who killed Bart, he’ll still be dead. I don’t know why it matters.”
“Don’t you want to know who killed him?”
“Yeah. Yes. But . . . right now, it just doesn’t seem to matter. Sorry.” She waved a hand. “I’m just bottomed, I guess. Do you have more questions?”
