“Yeah, but like half sloppy. Like if I were doing an eval report, I’d put down ‘Does the job, but doesn’t think outside the box, isn’t able to access the situation as it evolves and adjust accordingly.’ Trueheart’s going for the detective’s exam after the first of the year.”
Feeney swiveled back and smiled. “He’s come along.”
“He has. See, he’s not green anymore, but he’s still fresh. He’s always going to be fresh because that’s who he is. But I know if I sent him out on assignment, he wouldn’t just get the job done. He’d tie up the details, he’d adjust as the situation called for it. He might make a mistake, he doesn’t have much time on him, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”
“No argument.”
“Trueheart gets credit for that, because, yeah, it’s who he is. Baxter gets credit for that because he’s trained him and trained him well. I get credit because I saw there was something to be trained and brought him over. And I get credit because I’m the boss of both of them.”
“And you get the blame when they fuck up or do something half-assed.”
“Exactly. So you’ve got a couple goons, that’s how I see it. The killing wasn’t slick, it wasn’t messy. It was down, dirty, done—with little screwups.”
“Broke her neck, right?”
“Yeah, which Mira says was showing off, and that rings true. You’ve got the brute for that. Then you’ve got a hacker who knows his business and gets through decent but not stellar security, through more security into the vic’s comp, into her supervisor’s safe. He got the job done, but he doesn’t run it through and see that the vic made copies of the goddamn files he’s gone to all that trouble to steal. He did his job. The goon or goons did theirs. But—”
“Bad management.”
“Yes!” She lifted her arms to punch her fists lightly in the air. “Bad fucking management. Now you’re all pissed off because the cops are coming in the door when you practically put out the welcome mat for them. And still I can’t be sure who it is.”
“Do you have any who it isn’t?”
“Yeah, I got some of those.”
“It’s a start.”
“They’re all various kinds of assholes, and looking at them, I can see any one of them doing this, ordering this. Even if I figure out who, it’s likely to be circumstantial right now. And I haven’t figured out the why, not altogether. It’s money. It’s got to be money. It’s greed, or Roarke used avarice. That’s classier greed, right?”
Feeney poked out his bottom lip with a nod. “Sounds classier.”
“Avarice. You’ve got it so you’re wading through it, but you want more. You’ll cheat, steal, and kill for more, and to protect yourself.”
“Have you got your rich guy looking at the financials?”
“Yeah.”
“If anybody can find the why. Look at the spouses.”
“They don’t all have one.”
“I bet they all get sex somewhere. The spouse either knows or just spends the money without giving a rat’s ass. If they’re not banging anyone specific regularly, then you find out who they pick up, hook up with, or pay. Greedy people like to talk about money, how much they have.”
“He doesn’t see the people who work for him,” she continued. “I don’t know if that includes a spouse, but it would be a licensed companion, a hookup, a sidepiece. Sex and money, always a winning combo.”
She took a handful of his almonds, popped one as she rose. “Thanks. Something to poke around in.”
“Greedy bastards who kill women deserve a cage just like sons of bitches who cyberstalk and rape them.”
“Fucking A.”
“Hey,” he called as she started out. “The wife says I have to rent a monkey suit for the premiere thing.”
“I don’t know, Feeney. Mira just told me she made her husband buy a new one.”
“What kind of crazy shit is this? Who needs to wear a monkey suit to watch a damn vid?”
“I’ve got to wear a dress, and stilts, and put crap all over my face. Don’t cry to me because you have to wear a tux.”