Working . . . Probability is less than five percent, and therefore these subjects would not be so marked.
“Yeah, my take, too. So what don’t we know about this nice family?” She swiveled around to the board. “Because you’re dead, aren’t you?” She shoved another disc in the data slot. “Computer, do a sort and run on subsequent data pertaining to Swisher, Grant, client list. Follow with sort and run on Swisher, Keelie, client list. Highlight any and all subjects with criminal or psych evals, highlight all with military or paramilitary training. Copy results to my home unit when complete.”
Acknowledged. Working . . .
“Yeah, you keep doing that.” She rose, walked out.
“Peabody.” She gave a come-ahead that had Peabody pushing back from her desk in the bull pen.
“I’ve got a complaint. How come Baxter and most of the other guys always get the good bribes? How come being your partner means I get shafted on the goodies?”
“Price you pay. We’re heading to Whitney. Do you have anything new I should know about before we report?”
“I talked with McNab. Purely professional,” Peabody added quickly. “We hardly made any kissy noises. Feeney put him on the household ’links and d and c’s, and Grant Swisher’s units from his office. He’s running all transmissions from the last thirty days. So far, nothing pops. Did you see the sweepers’ report?”
“Yeah. Nothing. Not a skin cell, not a follicle.”
“I’m doing runs on the school staff,” Peabody continued as they squeezed onto an elevator. “Pulling out anything
winky.”
“Winky?”
“You know, not quite quite. Both schools are pretty tight. You gotta practically be pure enough for sainthood to work there, but a few little slips got in. Nothing major at this point.”
“Pull out military, paramilitary backgrounds. Even those—what are they?—combat camps. Those recreational places where you pay to run around playing war. Take a hard look at teachers in the e-departments.”
Eve rubbed her temple as they stepped off the elevator. “The housekeeper was divorced. Let’s eyeball the ex. We’ll get the names of the kids’ pals. See if any of those family members should be checked out.”
“He’s waiting for you.” Whitney’s admin gestured even as Eve strode toward her desk. “Detective Peabody, it’s good to have you back. How are you feeling?”
“Good, thanks.”
But she drew in a deep breath before they entered Whitney’s office. The commander still intimidated her.
He sat, a big man at a big desk, his face the color of cocoa, his short cropped black hair liberally dusted with gray. Peabody knew he’d done his time on the streets, nearly as much time as she’d been alive. And he rode his desk with the same fervor and skill.
“Lieutenant. Detective, it’s good to see you back on the job.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s good to be back.”
“I have your writtens. Lieutenant, you’re walking a thin line taking a minor witness into your own custody.”
“Safest place I know, Commander. And the minor was emotionally distressed. More so at the prospect of going with CPS. As she’s our only witness, I felt it best to keep her close, to have her monitored, and to attempt to keep her emotionally stable in order to gain more information from her. I’ve assigned Detective Baxter and Officer Trueheart to witness protection, off the log.”
“Baxter and Trueheart.”
“Baxter’s experience, Trueheart’s youth. Trueheart has a kind of Officer Friendly way about him, and Baxter won’t miss the details.”
“Agreed. Why off the log?”
“At this time the media is unaware there was a survivor. It won’t take much longer, but it gives us more of a window. Once they know, the killers know. These men are trained and skilled. It’s highly possible this was an operation executed under orders.”
“Do you have evidence of that?”
“No, sir. None to the contrary either. There is, at this time, no clear motive.”
It was going to be the why, Eve thought, that led to the who.