She watched the numbers zip by on the display, then pursed her lips. Video was blocked. But the voices came through loud and clear.
Yes.
They're looking at me. Lamont, Eve decided, with the faintly French accent and the squeak of nerves in his voice. The cops were here. They're looking at me. They know something.
Calm down. You're shielded. This isn't something to discuss over 'links. Where are you?
It's all right. I'm secured. I slipped out to the grill down from work. They called me up, Roarke was there, too.
And what did you tell them?
Nothing. They got nothing out of me. But I'm telling you, I'm not taking the fall for this. I want out. I need more money.
Your father would be disappointed.
I'm not my father, and I know when it's time to cut loose. I got you everything you needed. I'm finished here. I want my share now, tonight, and I'm gone. I did my part. You don't need me anymore.
No, you're right. It would be best if you finished out the day as normal. You'll be contacted later as to where to pick up your share. We still have to be careful. Your work is done, but ours isn't.
Just get me what I've got coming, and I'm gone by morning.
It'll be arranged.
"Idiot," Eve muttered. "Signed his own execution papers." She shook her head. "Greed or stupidity."
There was another call, Lamont booking a private compartment on the off-planet transport to Vegas II. He used a false name and identification number.
"Have a unit go by his place, Peabody. I bet our boy was all packed and ready to go."
The next was an incoming, a recorded voice giving brief instructions.
The corner of Sixth and Forty-third, one hundred hours.
Lamont made two more outgoings, received no answer from either.
"Run the numbers, Peabody," Eve instructed as she picked up the day book.
"Already running the first. It's a private code."
"Use my authorization number and get it. Whoever he was talking to didn't realize Lamont was on his own 'link. Had to figure he was on a public job, or he'd never have left this on the body. Even if he'd wanted it, the tails on Lamont were right on scene."
"The code's shielded," Peabody told her. "They won't release it."
"Oh yeah, they will." Eve whipped out her communicator. Within thirty seconds she had Chief Tibble on the line, and barely two minutes later, the governor's personal authorization.
"Man, you are good." Peabody looked on with admiration. "You snarled at the governor."
"Gives me that shit about privacy acts. Politicians." She set her teeth, flexed and unflexed her fingers as she waited for the last line of bureaucracy to tumble. "Well, son of a bitch."
"What is it? Who is it?" Peabody craned her neck to see the data on Eve's display.
"B. Donald Branson's private line."
"Branson." The blood drained out of Peabody's face. "But, Zeke. Last night…"
"Transmit that call to Feeney, get him to run a voice check. We need to know if that was Branson on the call." She was moving fast as she snapped out the order. "Contact the guard on Clarissa Branson's room," she continued as they strode down the corridor. "Tell him no one goes in or out of it until we get there."
She pulled out her own communicator as they swung outside into the cold. "McNab, get down to Mira's. I want Zeke brought back up. Tuck him away until you hear from me."
"Zeke wouldn't know anything about Cassandra, Dallas. He'd never – "
Eve spared Peabody a look as she jumped into the car. "Toys and tools, Peabody. I'd say your brother was being used as both."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Clarissa was gone. There was nothing to be gained by berating and browbeating the guard on duty, but Eve did it anyway.
"She looks at him, smiles tearfully, and asks if she can go sit in the gardens." Eve rolled her eyes and tapped the note Clarissa had left behind in her palm. "Then she uses the can I have a glass of water routine she did with Zeke and our boneheaded hero runs off to fetch."
She circled the conference room, waiting for Zeke to be brought in. "Oops, where'd she go? It takes him thirty fucking minutes to call it in because he's so sure a sweet little thing like her is still around somewhere. But does he check her room? See the tearful good-bye note?"
Eve unfolded it again while Peabody wisely remained silent.
I'm sorry, so sorry, for everything that happened. It was my fault. All of it. Please forgive me. I'm doing what's best for Zeke. He can't be held responsible. I can never face him again.
"So she leaves him holding the bag. Let's hear it for true love." Though Peabody said nothing, Eve held up her hand and began to go through the steps and stages. "Zeke hears them fighting through the vent in the workroom. It's Branson's house, his workroom. He knows Zeke's down there. According to Clarissa, he was wild to keep anyone from knowing he knocked her around. So why doesn't he fix the damn vent? The staff's all droids, so he doesn't worry about them. But he's got a live one now."
"You think he wanted Zeke to hear?"
"Follow along, Peabody. I've been working this out since last night."
"Last night?" Peabody's mouth dropped open. "But, Dallas, there was nothing in the prelim report about – "
She broke off, winced, as Eve shot her a cool stare. "You read my prelim, Officer Peabody?"
"Strap me in irons," Peabody muttered, "and flog me. He's my brother."
"I'll reserve the flogging for a later date. No, I didn't put anything into the prelim because the main concern was getting Zeke's story down and putting him in the clear. But the whole deal screamed setup. Slick, organized, damn well-oiled, but a setup."
"I don't see it."
"You can't see past Zeke. Take the steps here. They pull Zeke in from out west. I don't care how good he is, they could've found somebody to do this work without transporting him in. But they pull him, a single guy, a Free-Ager. Branson kicks his wife to hell and back, but he lets her import a young, attractive man into the house. And he's diddling with having carpentry work done when, we suspect, he's laying plans for the biggest terrorist siege on the city since the Urban Wars."
"None of it makes sense."
"Not separately, but it does when you connect the dots. He needed a fall guy."
"But, for God's sake, Dallas, Zeke killed him."
"I don't think so. Why haven't they found the body? Why did this cowed, terrified woman manage to get rid of it in less than five minutes?"
"But – who died?"
"This time around, I don't think anybody did. Toys and tools, Peabody. I've seen several of the prototype droids Roarke's R and D department's got under production. You wouldn't make them at a glance, even a close look." She glanced around as Zeke came in, followed by Dr. Mira.
"Doctor?"
"Zeke's my patient, and he's under considerable distress." Gently, Mira walked him to a chair. "If you feel it's necessary to interview him, I want to be here."
"Zeke, do you want your lawyer?" Eve asked him, and he only shook his head. Sympathy threatened to surface. She knew firsthand how miserable Testing could be. She set the recorder, sat across from him. "I just have a few questions. How many times did you meet Branson?"
"I only saw him twice. Once over the 'link and then last night."
"Just once, over a 'link?" But he'd recognized Zeke instantly. Branson had reportedly been stumbling drunk, but he'd tagged Zeke at a glance. "The whore and the handyman," Zeke had quoted him as saying. "So most of your contact was through Clarissa. How much time did you spend together?"
"Not a lot. When she was in Arizona, we talked. We had lunch a couple of times." He looked up quickly. "It was harmless."
"What did you talk about?"
"Just… things. All sorts of things."
"Did she ask you about yourself?"
"I guess, yeah. She was so relaxed and happy. Not like she is here. She liked hearing about my work, and she was interested in Free-Agism. She said it sounded like such a gentle and kind religion."