Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

Eve rose. “Go ahead. If you think of anything else, however insignificant it might seem, contact me or Detective Peabody. Cop Central.”

“You have my word on it. I’ll do anything I can to help find who did this to my family.”

* * *

“December,” Peabody said as they rode down to the lobby.

“Before Christmas, so before the flicks and pushes. They gave it a shot, figured maybe Kelly had the code in her wallet, on her ’link. She didn’t, so they had to start working through the system. Let’s find out when this merger started rolling, who knew as far back as December. And let’s get the incident report on the stolen wallet and ’link.”

Eve stepped out into the brisk air. “We’ll run Kelly’s husband just to cover the bases.”

“She has pictures the kid drew on her kitchen board—and a Valentine’s Day card from the kid, along with one from the husband.”

“It’s not going to be the husband. We run him anyway, cover those bases. He wouldn’t have to lift the ’link and wallet to try to get the code. He’d just check for the code when she wasn’t looking.

But maybe somebody he’s done a job for, or there’s someone he works with, hangs out with, who wanted a shortcut to Fat City. Pump him for info, start hacking the layers just like they hacked the security.

“We’ll head to the hospital,” Eve decided. “But let’s see who might’ve been released. If there’s any on the way, we’ll take them as we come to them.”

* * *

By the time they got to the hospital, they had statements from three people who’d been treated and released. All ran along similar lines. Paul Rogan—family and company man, creative team leader, had appeared “off” or “ill” or “not himself,”—had approached Derrick Pearson and Willimina Karson as they’d entered the conference room.

And boom.

Eve hoped to start at the top with Karson, but the severity of the Econo exec’s injuries had her in ICU, in a coma, and off-limits. Switching tacts, Eve badged them into Rogan’s admin’s room.

Against the white sheets of his hospital bed, Rudy’s face shined raw and red under its coating of burn gel. A stabilizer cast covered his right arm from wrist to shoulder. Sutures closed a gash running from the crown of his head to his left ear. Skin exposed by the thin hospital gown showed nicks, punctures, bruises, and burns.

“Mr. Roe, I’m Lieutenant Dallas, and this is Detective Peabody.” She slipped her badge away again as she approached the bed.

The room, the patient, reeked of the sweet, green smell of the gel. Rudy’s blackened eyes welled.

“I don’t know what happened. I don’t know.”

Ease him in, Eve thought. “What time did Mr. Rogan come into the office this morning?”

“Eight-forty-five. I was worried because I expected him by eight-thirty, latest. It was the big day, and we were going to go over the bullet points of the presentation before the meeting. I’d made some more notes—just chat points—over the weekend.”

“Did you send them to him?”

“No, but I texted him yesterday to tell him, and to remind him of a couple of things.”

“Did he answer?”

“He just texted back to relax. Um, ‘Chill, Rudy. We’re locked on.’”

“‘Locked on’?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get it for a minute, then I figured he meant we had the presentation locked down. Sort of.”

“It wasn’t one of his usual expressions?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I never heard him use it.”

Military, Eve thought. First mistake.

“How did he seem when he came in this morning?”