Golden in Death (In Death 50)

“He and Whitt probably have drop ’links.”

She nodded at Peabody. “Bet on it. I need you to stick here, finish up, seal it up. I’m going to notify next of kin and take a pass at the vic’s residence. Harvo’s cleared to do her thing upstairs after the body’s transported.”

“Got it. On it.”

“Where’s Roarke?”

“Back.” McNab jerked a thumb. “He and Feeney are trying to figure the missing cams.”

She walked back to what she took as the game room—as floridly decorated as everything else—where Roarke stood on a stepladder in a closet while Feeney frowned and watched.

“Mounted from in here. And the mount itself is still in place. This one appears to have been hastily yanked out. Fingertip hole for the lens.”

She saw Roarke’s fingertip press against a tiny hole above the frame of the closet.

“They wanted to watch the mad scientist.”

Feeney glanced back as Eve spoke.

“Sure. Make sure he wasn’t fucking up, didn’t bring people in, didn’t start plotting against them. Not a lot of trust.”

“Since Whitt’s killed both of them, from where I’m standing, not a lot of call for it. I’ve got to do the notification and hit the vic’s apartment.”

She watched for another minute. “Hell, nearly forgot. I saw Detective Swanson earlier. He’s security at Whitt’s office building.”

“Well, no shit.” Hands in pockets, Feeney nodded. “Good cop.”

“He said to give you his best.”

“He always did.”

“Do you need the civilian?”

“I can manage.”

“Then, Roarke, with me.”

“All right then.” He came down the ladder, dusted off his hands.

“Did you seal up?”

“I know the bloody rules.”

She gave him a nod, started out. “Peabody, make sure the sweepers check any and all previous cam locations. You’d be careful what you touched, wouldn’t you?” she continued as they went out. “You’d probably wipe down surfaces if you weren’t sure, or even seal up. But would you think of it when you’re pulling out cams from inside closets, behind a wall?”

“Me personally?”

“Not you, you think of everything, but the fact is these two are amateurs. Sure, Whitt’s smart, he’s careful, he’s patient, and he plans. But maybe. Just like he’d have been careful to create a solid alibi for tonight. But there’s got to be a hole, even a fingertip hole. I’m going to find it.”

“You’re so sure he was there?”

“It doesn’t work otherwise.” While Roarke got behind the wheel, she plugged Lowell Cosner’s address into the in-dash. “Cosner would need Whitt to reassure him about tomorrow. He’d need Whitt to tell him what to do, how to act, what to say. Morris found burns on the palms—different from the other vics. I think Whitt tampered with the seal on the egg, protected himself, then when Cosner took it out of the airtight to pack it, dead.”

“You said from the beginning it was both cold and personal. That would be both.”

“He had to be there. Cosner’s ’link was in his pocket, and showed no communications since about sixteen hundred—and none today with Whitt. They would have used drop ’links to discuss anything to do with this. Otherwise, it’s done face-to-face so there’s no trail.”

“And your estimation of Cosner is he wouldn’t act on his own.”