“The Swishers cleared their ’links every thirty. That’s common. We’re digging in, and will retrieve the deleted transmissions prior to the thirty. As to the data centers, the files are pretty much what you’d expect.”
“What would I expect, Detective?”
He was warming up, she could see, losing the stiffness her reprimand had caused. He slouched more comfortably in his chair and began to gesture as he spoke. “You know, Dallas, games, to-do lists, meal planning, appointments, birthday reminders. Family stuff, school stuff, upcoming vacation data. Got case files from each of the adult’s business units, comments, reports, financials. Nothing pops out. If they had trouble, or suspected they might have trouble, they didn’t make a record of it. They didn’t discuss it with anyone via ’link.”
He glanced toward the murder board, the death photos, and his eyes—a misty green—hardened. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with that family the last few days. My opinion—from their electronic records and transmissions—they didn’t have a clue.”
She nodded, shifted to Feeney. Beside the fashionable McNab, he looked blessedly dull. “Security.”
“Bypassed and shut down. Remote and at site. Diagnostic scan couldn’t locate the source, but when we took the system apart we found microscopic particles—fiber-optic traces. They hooked in—portable code-breaker, most likely. Had to be prime equipment to read the code, to get through the failsafes without tripping any alarm. Equipment and operator had to be prime to do it in the time frame we’re working with. We’re looking for at least one suspect who has a superior knowledge of and skill with electronics, and the equipment to match.”
Since Feeney looked to him for confirmation, Roarke nodded. “Their equipment would have had to have been small, possibly palm-sized. From your description, Lieutenant, of the men seen walking away from the location of the murders.”
“They each had a bag, but no,” she confirmed, “nothing large.”
“Your ordinary, even better-than-average, B and E man isn’t likely to have access to a palm-sized breaker in the range capable of reading that system, certainly not at that speed. As the system showed no signs of tampering, the men you’re looking for probably didn’t have the burglary skills to go manual.”
“Meaning they had to rely on equipment, not . . .” She lifted her hands, wiggled her fingers. And made him smile.
“Exactly. The equipment would also have to be tailored specifically for that system. The time frame means it was tailored prior to their arrival.”
“Confirming they knew the system, knew what they’d find, and had studied it either by duplicating or purchasing the same system, or spending time on site.”
“The only way they could have studied it on site thoroughly enough to have pulled this off means they had considerable time—hours—both inside the house and outside, with no one questioning them.”
Eve pursed her lips at Roarke. “Hours?”
“It’s a solid system, Dallas,” Feeney commented. “They didn’t get through by eyeballing it.”
“Then it’s unlikely they ran sims with the Swisher’s actual system. Peabody, you’ve done a search of purchases of that security system?”
“Yes, sir, and it’s a whale of a list. I’ve started on it, dividing it into city, out of city, out of state, out of country, and off planet. I’ve then eliminated purchases made before the Swishers obtained their system. I’ve started runs on purchases in city, and have eliminated approximately another six percent.”
“By what process?”
“Well, by separating out single female purchasers and married with family, then checking those to determine if they had any maintenance and repair on the system since the purchase date. Profile indicates the killers are not family men, and the probability run gave me in the nineties that this process was the most efficient. At this time.”
“Have you run those systems purchased that were not installed by the company?”
Peabody opened her mouth, then closed it long enough to clear her throat. “No, sir. I’ll do so.”
“Split the list between all members of this team. Probability or not, do not—at this time—eliminate families or single females. Maybe one of them has a girlfriend, or a female accomplice. Maybe he’s a licensed installer. Maybe he’s just the handy neighbor who says, ‘Hey, I’ll take care of that for you and save you some dough.’ These are home security systems, but there’s no law saying a business couldn’t purchase one. Let’s get on this.”
She leaned back against her desk, remembered the coffee she’d poured before she’d begun. She picked it up, drank it lukewarm. “Baxter. Client lists.”
“Both the Swishers had a good thing going. Successful in their professions. Family law firm was busy, and Swisher had a good win rate. His caseload weighs heavy on protection of children’s rights, custody suits, divorce, while his partner takes more of the straight abuse, palimony, cohab dissolutions, and competency stuff. But they both have a mix, and both have a good percentage of pro bono work.”
He cocked his ankle onto his knee, brushed the line of the pants of his well-cut suit smooth. “She was no slouch either. Lots of referrals. Liked to do families or couples, but didn’t turn away the individual. She would also work on a sliding scale, ratio of fee to income. Not just fatties,” he added. “Dug into various eating disorders, health conditions. Consulted with her client’s health care provider, and made house calls.”
“House calls?”
“She’d visit the client’s home and workplace. Do a study on their lifestyle, recommend changes, not just in eating habits, but in exercise, entertainment, stress levels, the works. That kind of treatment didn’t come cheap, but like I said, she had a lot of referrals. Satisfied customers. You got your dissatisfied, too, both sides.”
“Do a cross-check. See how many times their clients crossed. Do another, see which cases Swisher’s firm worked on where Meredith Newman was listed as CPS rep. It could be interesting data. Trueheart.”
“Sir.” Long and lanky, and almost tenderly young in his uniform, he came to attention.
“You’ve been spendin