She began to write her report, hoping that some of the facts she put in would trip over into theory.
Her desk ’link beeped.
“Dallas.” Captain Feeney’s hangdog face slid onto the screen. Noting the crumbs at the corner of his mouth, she leaned closer to the ’link.
“You got danishes up there?”
“No.” He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Not anymore.”
“How come EDD always rates pastries and stuff? Murder cops need sugar substitute the same as the rest.”
“We are the elite, what can I say. We’re finished with Nadine’s ’link.”
“And?”
“Nothing that’s going to help much. He transmitted the images and text from a public comp at one of those dance, drink, and data joints. Transmitted it just after six hundred hours, but he shot it out earlier, with a hold. Shot it out about two. Straight job—he didn’t bounce it around. Either he doesn’t know how, or he didn’t give two shits. Those places are crawling that time of night. Nobody’s going to remember some guy who popped in for a brew and used a ’link.”
“We’ll check it out anyway. Location?”
“Place called Make The Scene.”
“Pop.”
“Mean something?”
“It’s a club she frequented. Thanks. Quick work.”
“That’s why we’re the elite, and get danishes.”
“Bite me,” she muttered and cut him off.
She swung into the bullpen. There were no danishes, she noted. There weren’t even crumbs. She’d have to settle for a Power Bar from vending or take a chance on the food at the data club.
Surely it couldn’t be worse than a Power Bar.
“Peabody, we’re in the field.”
“I was just about to have this sandwich.” She held up a wrapped lump.
“Then you should be thrilled to be able to demonstrate those multitasking skills. Eat and roll.”
“This is bad for the digestion,” Peabody replied, but she stuffed the sandwich in her bag, grabbed her tube of OrangeAde.
“EDD’s got the location of the transmission to Nadine.”
“I know. McNab told me.”
Eve pushed through the crowd on the elevator and studied her aide’s face. “I just got off the ’link with Feeney, his superior—as I am yours. So why is it my aide and his detective are chatting about the information in my investigation?”
“It just happened to come up—between kissy noises.” She smiled, pleased when Eve’s eye twitched. “And sexual innuendos.”
“As soon as this case is closed, I’m putting in for a new aide—one who has no sexual drive whatsoever—and transferring you to Files.”
“Aw. Now that you’ve hurt my feelings, I’m not inclined to share my sandwich.”
Eve held out for ten seconds. “What kind is it?”
“Mine.”