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five years ago, and just last winter—hosted a private island party for fifty-odd of their closest friends. A party that included scuba, sport fishing off your choice of yacht, and spear fishing. Among other assorted water sports. Several celebrities dropped in—vid stars and the like. It got a lot of play in the media.”
“Fucking A.”
“Ditto. I’ve got some lines out to bullwhip experts and instructors. There’s more of them than you’d think.”
“Go to Australia.”
“Thanks. I’ve always wanted to.”
“On the C&D. The whip was kanga-fucking-roo. Maybe Dudley took his lessons from whoever made the bastard. Add in handmade kanga-fucking-roo bullwhips.”
“I’ll run a search now, but it’s going to be close, Dallas, if you want me in here for the briefing.”
“Get it started, but be here. Put everything you’ve got together, and make it succinct. We’ve got some selling to do.”
When they left she rose to go to the room’s AutoChef for another hit of coffee and remembered she’d neglected to load it with the real thing she’d become spoiled by.
“Shit. Sometimes you just got to suck it up. Or down.”
She programmed an extralarge, black. And when the scent hit, she smiled. It was loaded with her brand. “Peabody, it really must be love.”
She gulped some down, ignored the jitter in her belly from caffeine overload, as Feeney came in. “Got your ninety percent. Ninety-point-one, and you ain’t going to get better. Give me that.”
He grabbed the coffee, drank it like a camel at an oasis. And he eyed her over the rim. “Maybe you need this more than I do. You don’t look like you’ve slept in a week.”
“Four dead, Feeney, in less than that. And those?” She gestured to the side of the board where she’d put the other victims. “All of those, too, from before. Their practice sessions. There could be another face up there tonight, or tomorrow. And what’ve I got?”
She pushed at her hair, pressed on her eyes. “It’s like weaving cobwebs together. A few strands of . . . whatever’s stronger than cobwebs. What I’ve got points to motive, method, opportunity, but it doesn’t hit the bull’s-eye. And I have to convince the PA and Whitney that it does, that it will.”
“You believe you can make it stick?” When she hesitated, he jabbed her shoulder.
“Ow.”
“You better fucking believe it or they won’t. Don’t waste my time here, or everybody else’s.”
“I know it. I know it. I’m tired. Half punchy, half twitchy.”
“I’d tell you to take a booster but you’ve probably had a cargo hold of coffee already.” He took a long, merciless study. “Go . . . do something with your face.”
“Huh?”
“Whatever it is your kind does. It’s one thing to look overworked, and another to look wrung out when you’re trying to pull a warrant this way.”
“You think because I have a vagina I cart around face enhancers?”
“Jesus, Dallas, you don’t have to use language like that. Borrow some, for Christ’s sake. You don’t want them looking at you thinking, ‘Man, Dallas needs some sleep.’ You want them focused on what you show them.”
“Fine. Fine. Crap.” She yanked out her communicator. “Peabody, put this on private.”
“What? Is there a break?”
“Are we private?”
“Yeah, what—”
“Do you have any face gunk?”
“Ah . . . sure. I got a supply in my desk for—what’s wrong with my face?”
