Indulgence in Death - By J. D. Robb Page 0,35

undetected.”

“Did you kill her, Gumm?”

His head jerked on his bony shoulder as he gaped at Eve. “No! No, of course not. I don’t even know her. I’ve never—”

“She’s winding you up, Gumm,” Roarke said mildly, but Eve heard the anger under the surface.

“Finish the analysis, and get the lieutenant the discs,” he began when they heard footsteps coming down the passage.

Peabody popped out seconds before the love of her life, EDD ace McNab.

“This place rocks even when it’s turned off. McNab and I came in for the spooks a couple weeks ago. It’s total.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself. Seal up,” Eve ordered. “Not you,” she added pointing a finger at McNab. “This is Gumm. Go with him and do e-crap.”

“Sure.” McNab, skinny of build, bony of ass, looked positively robust compared to Gumm. He offered a smile as sunny as the hair he’d pulled back into a long tail. “Live to serve.”

Because he was amenable, and as good as they come, Eve ignored the fact he wore red maxi cargo with multicolored pockets and a shortsleeved yellow jacket over a tank that looked like he’d soaked it in a rainbow.

“Go live. TOD, twenty-three-fifty-two.” She looked at Roarke. “There’s your blip. Her heart stopped, and whatever he was jamming it with gave you the blip instead of the alarm. He came prepared. Weapon, jammer, knew the route and the system if Gumm is to be believed.”

“He is. He’s skilled and reliable.”

“I’ll want a list of people who know the system, anyone who’s been fired or written up.”

“You’ll have it.”

“Peabody, contact the usual, and let’s get this place processed. Spookville’s shut down for the foreseeable.”

“What kind of knife is that?” Peabody asked as she pulled out her ’link.

“Bayonet. Vic is a high-priced LC. From a visual exam on the clothes, the state of the body, it doesn’t look like sexual assault—and really what would be the point? She’s got jewelry, cash, and credit still on her, so that ditches robbery—and again, why haul her in here, bringing a jammer and a freaking bayonet, if you just wanted sex and glitters?

“Limo driver, crossbow, transpo station parking. Pricey LC, bayonet, amusement park. Luxury items, unusual weapons, semipublic places. He’s got a system, and right now he’s two for two.”

She stood up. “Officer—”

“Milway.”

“Milway, see if you can find out how she got here. Personal transpo, private, public. Round up entrance security. Let’s see if he jammed that, too. Talk to park employees, find out if anyone saw her. She’s a looker. If they noticed her, they may have noticed who she was with.”

She waited until the uniform stepped out. “How do you figure he got that through the scanners?” she asked, gesturing to the bayonet.

“The smartest way would be to have it on him, in a sheath or holder lined with magnetic fiber that would block the reading.”

Eve nodded, continued to study the body, the room. “An LC of that level has to have solid experience as well as skill and a clean bill. Her hair’s still perfect. Her dress, except for the blood, isn’t messed up. No bruises, no sign she tried to evade or fight. She didn’t see it coming. Didn’t get any kind of buzz he was off.”

“Neither did Houston,” Roarke pointed out. “A driver would be good at reading clients.”

“Should be. She comes in here with him. We’ll get the route from the glitches, the blips, whatever Gumm wants to call them, and then she ends up here. Must be gruesome when it’s running.”

“It’s meant to be.”

“People are fucked up,” she said half to herself. “Can you get them to turn on this sector? Just this sector. I want to see how it played.”

“Give me a moment.” He took out his ’link, stepped away.

“Sweepers dispatched, morgue team’s heading in.”

Nodding at Peabody, Eve considered. “She doesn’t have a memo book on her, but you can bet someone at her level has perfect records. She’ll have this guy listed. But he’d know that.”

“If it’s the same killer, you’re thinking he faked his ID again.”

“I’m thinking he’d cover himself, play the same pattern. If so, it means she didn’t know him. A first round. Wouldn’t she run him? Make sure she’s not dating a psycho—not that it did her any good. But wouldn’t she? I want to talk to Charles about that,” she said referring to their mutual friend, a retired LC.

“Charles might’ve known her,” Peabody added. “They would’ve run in the same circles, same social strata.”

She jumped as if her air skids were springs

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