“Well then, it would take me about thirty seconds for the retrieval, and another one or two to do the wipe. But he infected it to corrupt. We’ve got that much from today’s work. A complicated virus to corrupt the drive and wipe out the data and imagery, and that would take some time to upload, and skill or money to obtain.”
“He’s not as good as you—not a pat on your back, but he doesn’t have your experience. If he passes for nineteen, I doubt he’s hit thirty. So maybe two or three times longer for the retrieval, maybe twice on the wipe since he’s using a virus.”
“What are you looking for, Eve? If I had an idea I might be able to do more than stand here.”
“I don’t know. Something. You gave me coffee.”
“Sorry?”
“A token, something to charm her. A little gift, nothing too important. You sent me coffee right after we met.”
“And you interviewed me as a murder suspect.”
“It worked. The coffee, I mean. Hit the right button. So what did he give her? What . . . I knew it. I fucking knew it.” She held up a music disc taken from the hundred or so in a holder. “Happy Mix 4 Deena, that’s the label. And look here, she added this sticker thing—a big red heart, and initials inside.”
“DM, for her, DP for him.”
“For the name he gave her anyway,” Eve confirmed. “David, Jo said. Never as smart as they think. He should’ve looked for this, taken it. It’s a link, and the only one so far.”
She bagged it.
“I have to say the odds of tracing that disc—as it’s a common sort—are astronomical.”
“He made it. A link’s a link.” She looked around again, satisfied for now. “Okay, the scene doesn’t have any more to tell me. At least not now. I need to go work it.”
6
AS SUMMERSET MADE NO APPEARANCE WHEN they walked into the house, Eve lifted her eyebrows. “Where’s Mister Scary?”
The look Roarke sent her managed to be both resigned and mildly scolding. “Summerset has the night off.”
“You mean the house is Summerset-free? Damn shame we have to waste it with work.”
He slid a hand down her back, over her ass. “A break wouldn’t be uncalled for.”
“Nope. I’ve got over thirty runs to do. Plus I put off reporting to Whitney hoping we’d catch a miracle.” She started up the steps, then stopped dead when she spied the cat sitting on the landing, staring at her with unquestionably annoyed eyes.
“Jesus, he’s almost as bad as your goon.”
“He dislikes being left on his own.”
“I’m not going to start hauling him to crime scenes. Deal with it, pal,” she told the cat, but stopped to crouch and stroke when she reached the landing. “Some of us have to work for a living. Well, one of us has to. The other one mostly does it for fun.”
“As it happens I need to go have a bit of fun. After which I’ll put in some time in the lab.”
“Work, on Peace Day—or pretty much Peace Night now, I guess.”
“A little something I started this morning when my wife left me on my own.”
They continued up together with the cat prancing between them.
“Can you make a copy of this disc?” she asked him. “I need to keep the original clean.”
“No problem.” He took the evidence bag. “We’re eating in two hours,” Roarke decreed as he walked past her office toward his own. “Meanwhile, you can feed the cat.”
She didn’t bother to scowl, it was energy wasted. She moved through her office, and again stopped dead when she saw the stuffed cat Roarke had given her—a toy replica of Galahad—sprawled on her sleep chair.
She looked at the toy, at the original, back to the toy. “You know, I don’t even want to know what you were doing with that.”