Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

“Recorded it,” Whitney noted. “Most likely to play that throu

gh an earbud.”

“Yes, sir. They may have put a recorder on him as well.”

“To threaten him if he hesitated or attempted to contact the police.”

“That’s my belief, Commander. Sir, I’m not saying he had no choice, but that he believed he had no choice. He pulled the trigger, there’s no question of that. But he pulled it, the evidence at this point shows, to save his wife and daughter.”

Whitney expelled a breath. “I didn’t know Rogan, but Derrick mentioned him more than once. I know Derrick thought highly of him. Fondly of him and his family.”

“He had plans for a celebration with his team after the meeting, Commander. He’d arranged for refreshments with a caterer, was putting through for bonuses for two assistants. He noted down to stop on the way home Monday for flowers for both his wife and daughter as a thank-you for understanding how much time he’d put into the work. He didn’t leave Quantum Friday evening with plans to bomb the meeting. There is no evidence we’ve found to show he had any connection to explosives, or the knowledge to build or acquire the vest.”

Whitney nodded. “What do we know about the two men?”

“The sweepers were covering the house when I left it. Frankly, sir, I don’t expect them to find much of anything we can use. These men were careful. They’d planned this for months. But I believe at least one of them is military or police, active or former. I lean military, and when Salazar and her team examine the bomb fragments, I believe they’ll show some experience with explosives.”

She detailed the rest—the interviews, the angles, the upcoming briefing, and her working theory.

“I’ve asked Roarke to consult,” she added, “for the business angle, the ins and outs of a merger on this scale. And the ups and downs of it. Straight terrorism, Commander, there’d be a statement by now. Some group would take credit. A vendetta against one or more of the individuals in the meeting? It’s too broad and complicated for that.”

“So a strike at one or both of the companies,” he concluded, “or the merger itself.”

“Unless something comes out that leads me otherwise, that’s the direction I’m going. Pearson’s wife, son, and daughter are beneficiaries. I’ll need to interview them.”

“Understood and expected.”

“Could you tell me, Commander, if Pearson spoke to you about the merger?”

“I haven’t seen him since the holidays, though I know Anna and Roz have gotten together a few times since. We rarely talked business, Lieutenant, his or mine. I do know his children. Anna knows them better than I do, but my impression is they’re both bright and dedicated to Quantum. I can help clear the way for the interviews. Tomorrow morning, at their family home?”

“That would be fine, sir.”

“I’ll set it up. Keep me informed, Lieutenant. I won’t get in your way.”

“You’ll have a report from Baxter and Trueheart directly after our briefing. I’ll send you a report of my consult with Roarke as soon as possible.”

He nodded. “Good hunting. Dismissed.”

And he turned back to study his city through the glass.

She opted to swing by EDD before heading to her office and, calculating, headed to the lab first. She passed a few e-geeks in their eye-watering colors and patterns as they bopped their way to and from, but avoided Geek Central as she veered off to the lab.

There she spotted Feeney, his silver-threaded ginger hair sproinging out in every direction. He’d discarded what she assumed was a shit-brown jacket to go with his shit-brown pants and wore the sleeves of his wrinkled beige shirt rolled up.

At a station to his left, McNab stood with his long tail of blond hair streaming down a shirt the color you might get if you electrocuted an orange. His skinny hips ticktocked in carnival-striped baggies. On the other side, Callendar perched on a stool in her red baggies and pink polka-dot shirt. Her purple hair bounced as she shook her shoulders and rolled her head side to side.

Eve rubbed her eyes, then risked them and went through the glass door.

Despite the hips ticktocking, the shoulders shaking, and Feeney’s cop-shoes tapping, no music played. Just in their heads, Eve thought. What the hell did they hear in there?

Feeney spotted her, held a finger in the air to hold her off as he used his other hand to swipe and dance over a screen.

He grunted, turned to her.

“Got anything?”

“Got all kinds.” He gave his droopy, basset-hound eyes a quick rub. “Not much that’s going to help right now. Callendar, hit it.”