“Crap.” She programmed it. “Spill.”
“Assuming you don’t mean the coffee-as what would be the point-I’ve just come from a chat with an old…acquaintance. He happens to specialize in electronics that aren’t legal in the strictest sense of the word.”
“He sells illegal jammers and bypasses on the black market.”
“To put a fine point on it, yes. He manufactures them, most usually for specific clients at quite a hefty markup. He’s very good at it. In fact, perhaps the best in New York.” He waited a significant beat. “Now.”
“Now that you aren’t in the same market.”
“Aren’t you clever? I started at the top of the chain, as I assume Ava would want someone talented, efficient, and reliable-also with a reputation for being discreet. She went for Charles, after all, who has those qualities in his former profession. I’ll admit I didn’t expect to hit straight off the mark. But that’s precisely what I did.”
“This guy, this acquaintance designed and sold the remote to Ava.”
“Three months ago, he received a package at his legitimate place of business.”
“His front.”
“You’re so picky. The package contained an order for a very specifically designed device. It contained the specs for the security system the device was to bypass. He tells me he was impressed with the research the potential client had done. And,” Roarke added with a smile, “with the considerable amount of cash as downpayment. Another payment would be made on delivery, and the final sent if and when the client deemed the device satisfactory.”
“Is that how he usually does business?”
“That would be telling.” Roarke stroked a finger down the dent in her chin. “But I can say this arrangement was a bit unusual. The offered fee was more than his usual as well. So he took the job.”
“He never saw her. Never had direct contact with her.”
“No. He made the device, and as instructed left it in a drop box, which contained the second payment.”
“A guy could get stung that way,” Eve commented.
“Not this guy, or not easily. He’s a nose for cops, and the setup. He also believes in knowing who he’s dealing with, so he had an underling stake out the box.”
Eve’s lips spread in a grin. “I might like this guy.”
“Actually, I believe you would. In any case, the woman who picked it up didn’t match Ava’s description, but she delivered it, along with some dry cleaning, to the Anderses’ home. The third payment was made, as promised. And my acquaintance thought little of the matter until he heard of Thomas Anders’s murder. This put him in a bit of a sticky situation.”
“Yeah, accessory before the fact’s pretty sticky. Will he testify?”
“That would depend on several issues. Immunity, anonymity-the man does have a business to protect-and a reasonable payment.”
“I’ll set it up. We may not need him, but I’ll put it in play.” Eve took his coffee, drank some herself. “You’re useful.”
“And always eager to be used.”
“I’ve got Peabody out on something else. Why don’t you ride over to New Jersey with me?”
“Being used across state lines. How could I resist?”
22
“YEAH, WE GET YOUR ILLEGALS DROPS, YOUR vandals, your vehicle boosters, rapists, muggers.” The NJTP security tech, with VINCE embroidered over his shirt pocket, shrugged. “Get plenty of action, mostly between midnight and six. Me, I work the days. I got seniority.”
“It’s days I’m interested in,” Eve reminded him. “A specific day a couple of months ago.”
“We got security cams covering all the lots, the grounds, the vending. Can’t use ’em in the johns, so that’s where we get the most action.” He pulled at his nose, swiveled on his high-backed stool. “But we roll ’em over every seventy-two hours. We got nothing goes back two months.”
“Do you go back two months, Vince?”
“Sure. I’ve been here twelve years come June.”
“Two women in a high-end black car, with one of them puking out the passenger door.”
He shot her a quick and sour grin. “Jesus, New York, you know how many people we got puking in the lots, in the johns? Every-damn-where?”
“I bet you don’t have that many booting it between ten and eleven on a weekday, non-holiday morning.” She pulled out a photo. “This would be the puker.”
He took the photo, scratched his ass, scratched his head. “She don’t ring for me. Looks like mostly anyone.”
“What about this one?”
There was more scratching as Vince studied Ava’s photo. “Looks like somebody. This one’s driving, right? Nice, black Mercedes-new model, two-door sedan.”
“You remember that?”
“Yeah, now that I’m thinking about it. Blondie here didn’t look like the road-trip sort, and they never got out to use the john. Women hardly ever pass up a trip to the john, they pull into a rest area. The other one tosses it out the door, and I think: ‘There goes breakfast.’ I remember ’cause I expected they’d go into the john, clean up the sick one. But the blonde, she just drives around to the truck lot, parks again. I let maintenance know they had a cleanup, got me some coffee. Can’t say I noticed how long they sat there or when they left.”
Back in the car, Roarke stretched his legs. “Are you going to pass up a trip to the john?”
“Ha-ha. I can put her here with Suzanne. Right here in the Alexander Hamilton rest area off the Turnpike. Who the hell was Alexander Hamilton, and why is there a rest area off the Turnpike named after him?”
“Ah…”
“Never mind. There’s a new model Mercedes sedan, black, registered to Ava Anders. This little chat with Vince confirms the day, the time-and I’ll back that up because I’ll betcha that big, black Mercedes has a pass scanner for the toll. Can’t confirm what was said, but it puts Ava with Suzanne here. How’s she going to explain that one?”
“She’ll have something. Hamilton was one of America’s Founding Fathers, and its first Secretary of the Treasury.”
“Who? Huh?”
“You asked,” Roarke said, pocketing his PPC again. “Where to now?”
Eve frowned at him a moment. “Is that what you’re doing, playing with that thing all the time? Looking up trivia?”
“Among other things. Something else you’d like to know?”
“Whole bunches of things. Right now, we’re going to go to the market to find out a few.” She answered her dash ’link. “Dallas.”
“We got it. Bag was in the closet,” Peabody said, “as advertised. A disposable ’link, several security discs, and a very rocking bypass remote-along with a pair of light blue men’s pajamas, the pressure syringes, and the meds.”
“Get them in, log them. I want chain of evidence pristine. Have Feeney and McNab start on the contents. I’m in the field, got a couple more stops to make.”
“It’s falling apart on her,” Roarke commented.
“She’s going to hire a big, fat, sneaky lawyer. A fucking fleet of big, fat, sneaky lawyers. The type who get shit suppressed, tossed out, who pump in reasonable doubt. I don’t have enough. I can put her with Suzanne in Jersey a few days after Custer’s murder. Proves nothing. What Peabody just picked up only proves Suzanne was in the Anderses’ house, and pretty much sews up she killed him. We’ve got her confession already. She’s locked. Your acquaintance can state that the device was taken to the Anders residence. He can’t put it in Ava’s hands. I’ve got her lies, her association with an LC, I’ve got her father-in-law’s death, which I wheedled the local cops into opening again. Disposable ’link. Batt’s going to be dead, and when the battery dies on those, it wipes the transmissions. I need more.”
The chubby and cheerful Mr. Isaacs gave her a bit more.
“Right after her husband was killed, yes? I remember very well. Terrible thing. She comes in on Mondays, about nine-thirty on Monday mornings, poor Mrs. Custer. But this day, a few days after I hear her husband’s dead, I see her go right by carrying her market bag.”