“Homicide, staged to look like self-termination. That girl didn’t knowingly eat those pills.”
“No, she didn’t.” And that made Chloe McCoy hers. “Termination pills require a prescription—after considerable testing and counseling. If she didn’t get them that way, and she didn’t, and they weren’t black market, would you say that a strong possible source for meds of that type and potency would be a covert government organization?”
“I wouldn’t say no.”
“Neither would I.” She pondered for a few minutes. “There’s something I’d like you to check out.”
When she was finished with Morris, Eve headed over to the grill. “I’ve got some new juice,” she said to Feeney, then found a plate shoved into her hand.
“Take a minute. There’s always time for meat.”
The scent of the burger had saliva pooling in her mouth. “A lot of new juice, Feeney. ME’s ruling homicide on McCoy, and I’ve got the gears oiled in Jamaica so Peabody and McNab can haul the evidence back here. Mira says—”
“Go ahead.” Roarke lifted the burger off her plate and to her mouth. “Take a bite. You know you want to.”
“This isn’t the time for a family picnic.”
“Think of it as a combination family and company event.”
“You gotta eat, Dallas,” Feeney told her. “That’s primo cow. You don’t wanna waste it.”
“Fine. Fine.” She bit in. “Mira says—okay, this is really good, and I see absolutely no reason I can’t sit down and eat this while I brief you.”
“Just let me set this on auto, and you can brief both of us.”
She moved to a table, and sitting, gripped the burger in both hands. Even as she took another bite, Roarke was dumping some sort of grilled vegetables on her plate.
“To balance it out,” he told her.
“Whatever.” If he wanted to play as if everything was dandy between them, she could get on board. There was enough inside her head without marriage weirdness. “Okay, here’s how I think it went down, and I need EDD to dig into McCoy’s links and verify. Whoever took her out contacted her. She’s happy and excited enough to take some Sober-Up to counteract the wine she’s been guzzling with her neighbor. She uses birth control. She fixes up the place, and herself.”
“Sounds like someone expecting a hot date, not a girl getting ready to pop termination pills.” Feeney shook his head. “She’s been rolling with Blair Bissel, and Bissel’s dead. You figure she had another guy dangling?”
“Possible. More possible that whoever contacted her made her think one of several options. That he had news on Bissel—the whole thing was a mistake, a coverup, maybe an operation. He’s going to bring Bissel to her place, for hiding out until it’s safe. Or he made her think he was Bissel.”
“That’d be a trick.”
“Not if you’re the man’s brother. You got a strong resemblance, and you could augment that. You’ve been jealous of the bastard all your life, and here’s your chance to get some young stuff on his back.”
Feeney contemplated the beer he’d brought to the table. “That’s a good one. Damn good one. Had to contact her, though, if she had time to prep herself. We’ll go deep on the ’links, and put her unit in the mix. If he used e-mail, it’s going to be a bitch to find.”
“That’s your deal. I’m looking at Carter Bissel. He knows what big bro’s been up to. He’s had a side deal going with his trainer. Blair’s working with Kade, and sleeping with her. She knows about McCoy, and about whatever Bissel gave her that was secreted in the locket. There’s a reason that was taken from the scene. McCoy’s a loose thread, and she has to be snipped.”
“I said it’s good, but why not just go in and snip?” Feeney questioned. “Why the big show?”
“Same deal as Ewing. Lots of bells and whistles, lots of show and smoke. He likes to improvise. He’s having fun with this. And maybe because the need for cover seemed to warrant it, maybe for the drama. Maybe both.”
“Follows.” Feeney nodded at Roarke. “I did a good job with her.”
“You did, yes. She’s cop to the bone.”
“Let’s try to stick with the point.” But Eve took a healthy and satisfying bite of burger. “Either way, it’s the same MO under the surface. Kill, and go to considerable lengths to make it seem like what it’s not. Hang the murder on somebody else. Ewing in the first case, McCoy herself in the second.”
“Plays well,” Roarke agreed. “When her killer arrived, however, wouldn’t she question or object if Bissel wasn’t along?”
“He gets inside. Tells her they have to be careful. They need her help. The more theatrical the story, the quicker she’d buy it and go along. All he has to do is talk her into starting a note. Hell, she might’ve written it herself beforehand, just a dramatic sort of touch. He slips the meds into her wine. After she drinks it, all he has to do is lay her out, then walk away.
“Or”—Eve ate a grilled pepper without thinking about it—“the HSO could’ve staged the whole thing. Gotten in, disabled her. But that doesn’t explain the BC, or the Sober-Up. Whoever killed her didn’t know she’d used either. He’s not as smart as he thinks he is.”