“Wow.” McNab gave a mock shudder. “Chilled down in here.”
“Button it, moron,” Peabody said under her breath. “Sorry, Lieutenant, the five hundred tiny little braids have cut off the circulation to his brain.”
“Hey.”
“Let’s move on. I’ve run numerou
s probabilities, none of which has been satisfactory or particularly enlightening. It all depends on how I input the data. But what it comes down to is we don’t yet know what we’re dealing with. Covert operations, a rogue agent, family violence. What we do know is we have three murders, one missing body, a connection in Jamaica.
“Chloe McCoy was killed for what she knew or had in her possession. The autopsy confirmed that she had inserted birth control. She was expecting a lover. The only lover who has come to light is Blair Bissel.”
“Who’s dead, and among the missing,” Feeney put in.
“There’s little doubt she believed she was expecting Blair Bissel. This was a naive, theatrical, and gullible young woman. Play it right and she would’ve believed her lover had risen from the dead and was coming over to play—to tell her all, to seek her help, to ride off into the sunset with her. The killer had only to gain access to her apartment, keep her calm, induce her to drink the drugged wine. I’m Blair’s friend, associate, brother. He asked me to explain everything to you. He’ll be here as soon as it’s safe.”
“She’d have let him in,” Peabody agreed. “She’d have loved the excitement of it.”
“She certainly would have let him in if it was Blair Bissel.”
McNab stifled a snort. “Risen from the dead.”
“He wouldn’t have to, if he’d never died at all. If he’d set it up.”
“The body was identified, Dallas,” Peabody said. “Prints, DNA, the whole shot.”
“He was HSO, so I’m not ruling out falsified identification. But McCoy throws it off for me. If she had something, knew something, why not take care of it before you perform the main act? Then there’s motive. Why die—taking your lover, setting up your wife? There’s nothing in his files to indicate he was in any trouble with Homeland. From all appearances, he had it locked. Sexy secret job, loving wife who unknowingly feeds you regular intel, a couple of lovers to add variety, a successful career, financial security. Life’s pretty damn good, so why die?”
She sat on the side of her desk. “We could move to the brother. Jealousy, resentment. We know Kade went to see him in Jamaica, and have reason to believe she took him as a lover. Was this HSO sanctioned? Or was she working on her own, or in league with Blair Bissel? And why? Maybe it was a setup that went wrong. Maybe it was a Cain and Abel, and Carter upped the stakes, took out his brother—too bad about the woman—and set Reva up. It’s a nice nest egg, the estate. If Reva’s tried and convicted of the murders, she won’t inherit. He’d get a chunk of it.”
“Maybe he was blackmailing Blair,” Peabody suggested. “The monkey on his back.”
“Good, that’s what Roarke’s going to help us find out. Carter has something on Blair—the HSO connection, the extramarital, something else—and taps him regularly. Blair’s had about enough of that and decides to shake off the monkey. But killing three people seems a little over the top. Why not just slip down to the islands, do the brother, and go back to your life? Some of these answers have to be on those units. Feeney, I need some answers.”
“Got one for you. Top-drawer face sculptor out of Sweden was killed in what appears to be a botched burglary at his office. Two weeks ago. His patient records have not been retrieved as his data unit was damaged.”
“Damaged?”
“According to the report. Jorgannsen, that was his name, had his throat cut. His drug supply was taken, and his data unit damaged. I’m figuring infected, but there’s no way to verify without seeing the unit.”
“See if you can play nice with your counterpart in Sweden, maybe they’ll transport it to us.”
“Give it a shot.”
“Shoot fast.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ve been called to the Tower at the request of the fucking HSO. I’m taking steps to cover all of our asses because this isn’t going to be neat and pretty. The shit’s going to hit the fan, and if it blows the way I’m hoping, the spooks are going to be up to their knees in it. But there’s bound to be some backdraft. For the duration of this area of investigation, we bunker down here.”
“God.” McNab grinned like an idiot. “How will we stand it?”
“And work twenty-four/seven,” Eve added and watched the grin turn to a wince. “In shifts. Let’s get started. Peabody.”
“Yes, sir. I’m with you.”
“Communication by secured lines only,” she added as she walked out the door and nearly into Roarke.
“Lieutenant, a moment of your time.”
“Walk and talk. I don’t have any moments to spare.”
“I’m just going to ah . . .” Be somewhere else, Peabody thought, and hurried past them.