“Which we will. They don’t know about the copies she sent to her home unit. Unless they looked carefully. I’ve gotta go.” She contacted Denzel Dickenson first.
He looked, to her, unbearably weary.
“This is Dallas. Have you had anyone contact you or attempt to get into your apartment?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m sending a couple of cops over, just to take a look. I don’t want you to ans
wer the door to anyone else. Understood?”
“Yes, but—”
“Just a precaution. Are your children with you?”
“Yes. My sister’s coming over later this morning. We have to . . . start making arrangements.”
“Just sit tight.”
She grabbed her coat from the newel post, dragging it on as she rushed out the door.
Her car sat out front. She had to give Summerset points for putting it back, since she knew he always garaged it in the evening. Jumping in, she contacted Dispatch, arranged for the detail, then tagged Peabody.
“I need you and McNab at the vic’s office. They had a break-in. I want a geek going over her office unit. We don’t need the warrant for that now. Have him contact Feeney so he knows I’ve grabbed one of his e-men.”
“You got it. We’re on our way.”
She zipped through the gates and punched it.
Somebody’d been doing some calmer thinking, she decided, and had concluded sooner or later—most likely sooner—another accountant would be assigned to the audit. It didn’t pay to keep killing accountants. Better to get rid of the files. Then generate new ones at some point. Doctored ones, maybe. Or you’d insist the audit be conducted when the accountant in your pocket was back in business.
Or . . . Outrage. You’re taking your business elsewhere, or you’re going to court to demand another firm handle your audit.
The key word? Stall.
Pushing through traffic, she contacted Mira’s office, wheedled a short meeting out of Mira’s ferocious admin. Wheedling wasn’t easy, but she’d finished the job as she pulled up to Gibbons’s office building. She double-parked—screw it—and flipped on her On Duty light.
She badged her way through the door and dealt with the same security man she’d met the day before.
“I know Mr. Gibbons thinks he’s had some trouble up there. But I’ve got no record of anybody coming in or out of the building after hours.”
“Cleaning crew?”
“Yeah, sure, but they logged in.”
“I’m going to need copies of the discs.”
“I’ll have them for you.”
“I’ve got an e-man on the way. Show him your security.”
“No problem.”
With a nod, she stepped onto an elevator. And stepped off to a hand-wringing Sylvestor Gibbons.
“This is terrible. Someone stole those files, Lieutenant. They were on Marta’s computer. She worked on them on the day—on that day. Her unit’s secured, passcoded. That data is highly sensitive and confidential. We’re responsible.”
“I get it.” She moved into the office with him. “Why were you on her unit?”