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“My personal observation.”
“Nice that it meshes with mine.” She settled back as he drove. “He wants to be out front—the fancy business lunches, the travel, the wining and dining of high-dollar clients, with the occasional not-so-serious banging. And his relationship with the head of the firm gives him that opening over the others. Even Weaver, who outranks him. Pisser.”
“So she sleeps with him, hedging her bets, you could say.”
“You could say. Both Weaver and Vann make Macie Snyder right away—with Vann even elaborating—sitting at a table with another woman, two men. Laughing. Callaway’s more vague. Both men refer to Carly Fisher as a girl—a small thing, maybe, but it shows an innate
lack of respect for females in the workplace. You perceive them as girls. Callaway referred to Curve the same way.”
“I have to point out Feeney refers to his e-geeks as boys.”
“That’s affection. He calls them all boys even when they have tits. This was different, knee-jerk. Something going on there,” she repeated, picking at it. “Something. Two key players in their department dead. Cattery and Fisher. Cattery—the go-to guy, Fisher, Weaver’s ‘girl’, an up-and-comer who dug into any job that came her way.”
“If Weaver wanted either of them out, she could find a way to fire them.”
“Yeah. It’s harder to fire somebody who maybe knows something you don’t want them to know. Five people—that we know of—worked on this major campaign. Two of them are dead. It makes you wonder.”
“It’s a damn complicated and callous way to get rid of a competitor or a blackmailer—or inconvenience.”
“I don’t know. Business is dog eat cat, right?”
“Dog.”
“I said dog.”
He chuckled, sent her a look of amused affection. “Dog eat dog.”
“That’s just stupid. Dogs eat cats. Everybody knows that.”
“I stand corrected. Business is dog eat cat.”
“Like I said. So. Factor in Mira’s profile. Not getting the attention he wants, craves, no conscience, a need for power and control. Add in both times a woman—say, girl—was used as the vessel. He’s pissed off. It’s time for a goddamn statement. But he doesn’t have the balls to kill direct, to get his hands bloody. Let the girl do it. The girl’s beneath him anyway. Delivery girl—menial—the girl at the bar—just some unimportant drone.”
For a moment or two she tapped her fingers on her knees. “So, if it’s one of them, it’s not Weaver.”
“She’d have used a man.”
“Bull’s-eye. Using men is what she’s used to. And if, again, it’s one of them and Cattery was a target, she would have used him as the vessel. Just slip the vial in his pocket, walk out. Same with Fisher. Plenty of opportunities for her to plant the substance on Fisher. Say she ran into her, like she said, on Fisher’s way out. She could’ve walked out with her, told Fisher to go on in, get them a table. Just have to run over to the wherever for a minute.”
“Yes, it’s simpler. Why complicate it?”
“And Weaver’s not a loner, not by nature. Engaged twice. Maybe she can’t commit, but she makes personal connections. She’s a team player, just one who wants to captain the team.”
Time well spent, Eve considered. The meeting at S&R had been time well spent.
“I’m going to look at Fisher’s financials, run her hard, just in case. But until I see different, she was Weaver’s protégée. Someone she was training and molding to rise. And that rise would be a feather in her pocket, right?”
“I hesitate to say, but that would be cap. And yes, it would be.” He drove through the gates, wound up the drive. “Who is it then? Vann or Callaway?”
“I don’t know if it’s either of them. Maybe Scientist Lester. Maybe somebody I haven’t looked at hard enough yet. We still haven’t nailed down any connection to Red Horse, and that’s key.”
He got out of the car with her, looked at her in the brisk, breezy fall evening. “But you’re leaning toward one.”
“I’m thinking about leaning toward one. What I’d like to do is think about leaning toward one with a glass of wine and a clear head.”
“Why don’t we arrange that?”
“Why don’t we?” She held out a hand for his. “You were aloof, superior, and just a little rude.”
