Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

As Eve watched, they looked over at each other, grinned.

“Does that mean you’re going to work miracles?” Eve asked.

“It ain’t going to be easy, and it ain’t going to be quick. But you never know till you know. You feeling lucky, Callendar?”

“I’m an e-dick, Captain. I wake up feeling lucky every freaking morning.”

“Use your lucky feet to walk down to the van, get our toys and tools. We’ll scan this shit pile in place before we call in some boys to haul it to the lab.”

He looked back at Eve when Callendar bounced out. “Not quick,” he repeated. “Not easy. It’s fried, blown to hell and got suppressant clogging over that. Could use you,” he said to Roarke.

“Right now he’s Peabody.” Eve looked down at the shit pile, shook her head. “Do what you can.”

Of the remaining two bedrooms, only the master had furnishings.

“The sergeant kept things squared away in his personal space,” she noted as she walked through with Roarke. “Bed’s made—military precision there.” She drew out the drawer of the single nightstand. “If he kept anything in here, he took it.”

She opened the footlocker he’d used in lieu of a dresser. “Same here.”

“Bathroom’s scrubbed to a gleam,” Roarke told her. “Some cleaning supplies in the vanity, a couple of towels, bar soap in the shower, and nothing else.”

“I’d say he kept a kit for toiletries, shaving, that kind of thing. Salazar’s not wrong about the closet,” she said as Roarke joined her. “Bet your fine ass he had a go-bag, so he grabbed it, whatever else he wanted, cleared out the safe. Smart, smart not to leave so much as a stray sock behind. But we’ll find prints, hair. He didn’t have time to wipe the place down.”

“Going by the furnishings, or lack thereof, he likely had few possessions.”

“Sleep, shower, dress.” Eve circled the room. “Plot, plan, be ready to bug out. What kind of towels?”

Roarke smiled at her. “Organic cotton.”

“Bed linens, too. So he learned to appreciate the finer things.”

She walked out, and up.

Smoke and fire suppressant still stung the air on the third level. She could look through the hole in the floor to where Feeney circled the pile of rubble as he waited for Callendar. Black streaked the white walls, and flying shrapnel had punched some holes in them.

“This is his lair, this is where he lived.” She stepped up to the remnants of a workbench, crouched. “A solid one, a damn good one. Like organic cotton. Couldn’t take this—or those vices that blew off and into walls. Got most of the tools and supplies though. Some still here—that’s for Salazar.”

“He built his bombs here,” Roarke agreed. “And lived with them. The big wall screen, the good leather sofa and chair—or what’s left of them now. That was once a high-end AC and friggie.”

He picked up a bottle—cracked, but not shattered. “Twenty-year scotch. Unblended. That’s a finer thing.”

“I leave Iler shaking—on purpose. He contacts Silverman, panicked. Silverman calms him down. Here’s what we do. Has Iler give him enough time to pack up, to set explosives and clear out. Iler packs up, too. Neither one of them’s smart enough to understand I’d have Iler under surveillance, but smart enough they don’t want anybody to know he’s running. They need some time, so he’s going to be real clever and belay his way down to the street.”

“Which is a git move on the face of it in any case.”

“Oh yeah, but he is a git, and Silverman’s not much smarter. Smart would’ve been for Iler to wait a few more hours. Wait until say two in the morning, then drop his ass down to the street where Silverman’s waiting for him in the black panel van.”

“You’ve booked a private shuttle,” Roarke continued. “You get out, get gone, taking your profits to somewhere without extradition—which you should have arranged at the very start of the whole business.”

“Not smart, but there are eighteen dead, and I’ve still only got one of them.” She stepped back up to the hole in the floor. “Feeney!”

“Yo!”

“I’m heading back to Iler’s. He didn’t blow up his equipment, and he’s no pro. He might have left a trail.”

“We’re going to scan this shit pile. I’ve got boys coming in for it. We’ll be right behind you when we’re done with this.”

“Good enough.” Eve straightened, looking around once more. “We need that trail,” she said to Roarke. “Because what I don’t see in here, or anywhere where Silverman worked and lived, is any remnants of a suicide vest. He’d have had another one in the works, or ready to go. He took it with him.”