How do you run a mega-million-dollar company when you make stupid, wasteful decisions? He was incommunicado, they knew that. He didn’t know about Dickenson, so he had no reason to betray them even if he’d wanted to. He’s been raking in the dough, and finding ways so they rake it in. As far as they know the files on them are all in their possession, so those numbers can be manipulated before they’re reaudited. Why wouldn’t they keep their same guy on that?”
“I figured they would. I was wrong.”
“No—I mean yes—but they shouldn’t have killed him, not with the scenario that’s in place. If they worried about letting it ride, that you’d keep building a case, keep digging, okay, move him out. He’s in the wind—and in the wind, hell, Dallas, they could’ve laid it all on him somehow. They could’ve planted bogus evidence that made it look like he ordered the hit, or that he’d been working with somebody who ordered it. He’s off doing the mambo in Argentina or wherever, still keeping the books—new name, new face. It’s a good investment. And they pin it on him, maybe even have him fiddle around so it looks like he skimmed from them. Now they’re a victim, too.”
Eve ran it over in her head. “That would’ve been smart. Keep the accountant, aim the light on him, but keep him fat and happy somewhere else. They should’ve thought of that, should have tried it.”
“They’ve got somebody who’s running their numbers, cooking their books, helping them run scams, but they kill him during an audit they need fixed up? It’s dumbass.”
“Impulse again, instant gratification. They could always get rid of Parzarri if he didn’t go along, if he made any of the wrong noises. They didn’t give him a chance, either way. They had an accountant, a money guy, a hacker, and the muscle.”
“Now they’re down an accountant.”
“Yeah.” Impulse, instant gratification, Eve thought. “They may compound the stupid by going after the money guy. But more—think about this—by killing the accountant, it gives us something they didn’t know we had—that connection. Now we know Parzarri was involved. So maybe they hope to shine that line on his corpse, with less time to plan it through, less time to implement. But that’s the impulse, the quick trigger again. And back to greed. Fucking greedy bastard. Why invest in the accountant? You figure you’ll just bribe another, start him out on what’s it—entry level. I bet Alexander thinks that’s smart business. The ultimate layoff.”
“No severance package.”
“If he’s going to try to hang it on the dead guy, he needs the money guy’s cooperation. Or he needs him dead, too.” Considering the pattern, Eve hit the sirens and floored it.
“Here we go again,” Peabody sighed, and grabbed the chicken stick.
Eve swung to the curb in front of the building, slapped On Duty as she double-parked, and ignored the bitter fury of other drivers. She scanned quickly for a dark Exec Lux 5000, saw none as she jogged up the steps to the main entrance.
She jabbed the buzzer.
In under ten seconds, Whitestone opened the door with a welcoming smile. “Lieutenant Dallas, we were just—”
“Ingersol.”
“Jake?” Whitestone stepped back as she strode straight into the spacious lobby that smelled of fresh paint and gleamed with smooth surfaces. The unmanned reception counter formed a central, wide U backed by a shimmering silver wall with THE WIN GROUP in large, fancy script.
“We need to talk to him.”
“He just stepped out. He should be back in a few minutes. Why don’t I give you the tour while—”
“Where?” Eve demanded. “Where did he go?”
Puzzlement edged toward worry. “I don’t know, exactly. We’re getting furniture delivered this morning, some other things. Rob and Jake and I wanted to make sure it all went smooth. Rob’s back in his office, trying to coordinate deliveries. Jake got a call on his ’link and said he had to go take care of something and wouldn’t be more than an hour. He’s only been gone about twenty minutes, maybe a half hour. I didn’t pay attention.”
“Peabody.”
“I’m on it,” she said, and walked away to follow the unspoken order for a BOLO on Jake Ingersol.
“On what?” Whitestone demanded, more agitated. “Is there something wrong? Something to do with Jake?”
“Chaz Parzarri was murdered this morning.”
“What? How? Jesus Christ. Rob!” He turned, moved right, shouting. “Rob, get out here. He was in the hospital, right? Are you sure it was murder? Maybe he was hurt worse than we thought. I