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“She’s going to have a lot more to deal with. Set up Baxter and Trueheart to assist us, if they’re clear. Trueheart’s a nonthreatening presence. Toss in Uniform Carmichael and another uniform. It’s a big place.”
“I’ll get it done.”
“Meanwhile,” Eve said as she moved to Nash Jones’s bedroom, “I’ve got Quilla as a bottomless source. Things are bogus, according to her,” Eve began and filled Peabody in as she started the search.
The small bedroom area and few possessions didn’t take long. She learned Mr. Jones liked good fabrics, and was practical and thrifty enough to have his shoes resoled.
“Nothing out of line on his pocket ’link,” she told Peabody when she checked it. “But it shows some recent deletions from the contact list. Let’s get EDD in here, too; they can check all the e-junk, and see if they can dig out the deletions.”
“McNab’s coming in with Baxter and Trueheart. I figured we’d need an e-man.”
“You figured right.”
“You know, this all speaks of a pretty simple lifestyle.” Standing beside the bed, Peabody took another study of the room. “A box of condoms—but tucked away in the bathroom, not in the bedside table. No sex here on site. The clothes, decent material—it wears longer. Somebody darns his socks.”
“Does what?”
“Sews the toes, heels. You know how you can wear a hole in the toe or heel? Somebody darned a couple of his—repaired them.”
“Like the shoes. A simple life, one where, from the looks of it, money and possessions don’t drive the engine, doesn’t mean the halo.”
“The halo?”
“Quilla again. Her term for totally good. That’s how she sees Jones. Maybe a hidey-hole somewhere.” Hands on hips, she did a turn. “But I can’t find it.”
“If he had something to hide, odds are it’s with him.”
“Yeah. Left his bedside reader, discs and downloads—mostly halo stuff—some novels, some books on psychology, spirituality, dealing with addictions and low self-esteem, all what you’d expect. Let’s move on.”
The living area offered little more. The music and vids stuck primarily with the spiritual and uplifting again, with a few random secular options.
Healthy food in the little kitchen. No alcohol or illegals hidden away. Not even a secret stash of candy.
“Got your warrant, LT,” Baxter said when he walked in. “Duly served to one Philadelphia Jones. The building’s full of kids pretending to be bored the cops are tossing the place. I bet a princely amount of zoner’s flowing into the sewer from here right about now.”
“Maybe, but they run a pretty tight operation.”
“We’ll be the judge of that. Your love muffin’s starting on main level e-shit, Peabody.”
“He’s not my love muffin. He’s my lean, mean sex machine.”
“I stand corrected. Where do you want us to start, Dallas?”
“Basement. Storage. Potential areas of concealment. Work your way up. We’ll work our way down. Uniforms should give the residents’ rooms a quick pass. I’m not looking for anything there, but we can’t leave them out.”
“Basement.” Baxter sighed at Trueheart, looked down with a shake of the head. “I knew I should’ve changed these shoes.”
“Be glad I don’t make you darn your socks.”
“Do what?”
“That’s what I said. God, this is a snack? Ginger-flavored rice cakes. Cakes of rice are not a snack. I suspect them of evil deeds for this alone. Basement,” she repeated.
They found nothing in the private quarters. Eve learned Philadelphia was slightly looser in her reading and personal music choices, mixing in more pure entertainment, with a lot of current options.
On which she made notes in her memo book.
So she could discuss what the kids watched, listened to, talked about, with some practical knowledge, Eve concluded.
