Secrets in Death (In Death 45)
Page 27
“What did you find?”
“She had a jammer on the ’link, to block logging any tags, so he’s got to work on that one. The PPC’s encrypted, but we’ve been working there. We think we might have the key. Dallas, we think she was blackmailing people.”
“Do tell.”
“Yeah, it’s…” On screen, Peabody’s expression dropped into a pout. “You knew that already?”
“Yeah—Bellami confirmed, and he’s low to off the list. But clearly he wasn’t her first or only mark, so let’s get more.”
“Working on it, but even what we’ve broken down so far? It’s like code names, or pet names. Not actual names. We’ve got some dates, some amounts. She doesn’t list them as either, but that’s what rings.”
“Get what you can, send me whatever it is. Knock off and go home when you think you’ve done all that makes sense for tonight.”
“We’ve got some juice left.”
“We’re at her place now. I’ve got a safe here. Let’s see what she locked away.”
“Is Roarke cracking it?”
Annoyance shimmered. “He’s busy. I’m on this.”
“But … okay.”
Only more annoyed, Eve clicked off, scowled at the safe.
“You’ll need tools for that one,” Roarke commented.
She sent him a steely stare. “If you keep sneaking up on people, you could get stunned.”
He crouched down with her, kissed her cheek. “You know how it excites me when you threaten to use your weapon.”
She ignored that and focused on the safe. “Why do I need tools? I’ve got that app you put on my ’link.”
“This model—its mechanism is a bit more sophisticated than that.”
“Because it wants her thumbprint?”
“That’s one. I can work it so it won’t get what it wants and still opens. It’s a three-stage system. First a code, which can be numeric or a word, a phrase. Or a combination, which would be recommended. Then the thumbprint, then another code. It’s professional grade, in that it’s rarely for home use.”
She stared at the safe again. “Yours?”
“It is, yes, which is why I’ll be able to get around it. Still, if I’d known, I’d have the proper device. I’ll have to improvise, so it’ll take a bit of time.”
He gave her a nudge. “Shove up now, and give me some room.”
No point in letting pride get in the way of progress, she decided, and got up to continue her search of the closet.
“She has ten zillion clothes and, according to the comp, hardly wears anything more than once. Maybe two or three times on the regular stuff. Evening stuff, one time, all of it. She’s had some of these fancy dresses for three years, only worn once. Why does she keep them?”
He didn’t answer; she didn’t expect he would, not while he was muttering, not while whatever device he was using hummed.
“A lot of the shoes, not worn period. Some worn once. She’s got a couple months’ worth of underwear. Who owns sixty pairs of underwear? Even you don’t have sixty.”
“Ah, there you are, my lovely.”
“What?”
“Not you, though you are lovely.” He inched back, stayed cross-legged on the closet floor. “You can open it now.”