As rules went, not involving Phoenix unless absolutely necessary was fine with me.
But I was dying to see that footage.
He pulled a file folder from his briefcase. “Here’s another copy of the installation paperwork. I sent two sets with Eric. You were supposed to get yours last week.”
I glanced through the folder. Nothing unexpected. “What if the Kennesaw cops themselves asked you for the footage? Could you override the password then? Without, you know…paperwork?”
“That would require a subpoena, which would make it an official Phoenix matter. With paperwork.”
“So until Eric coughs up the password, we’re stuck.”
“Yes. Stuck.”
He fiddled with the camera for a few more minutes, then examined the rest of the shop, including the crawlspace. Working methodically from a checklist, he inspected the closet in Dexter’s office, the gun safe, the light fixtures. He checked the telephone for bugs twice, even though I assured him I hadn’t even gotten service yet. He ran his finger along the door jambs and took copious notes.
I contributed by unwrapping my broom and staying out of his way. Garrity was right—Trey could spot eleven different ways to break into a place without even trying hard. He was fascinating to watch, like a cat burglar in action.
He declined my offer of coffee, preferring his ever-present bottle of Pellegrino. I made a huge pot anyway, dark as road tar. While it perked, he explained the system.
“It’s a hybrid,” he said, “hard-wired except for the security camera. Door and window contacts in place, as well as glassbreak detectors and one motion sensor over there.” He pointed toward the safe. “No surveillance devices. But I did find the control panel in the closet upstairs, the key pad behind the front door.”
“That little gray plastic box thingie? I thought that was part of the air conditioning.”
He shook his head. “That’s how you control the system. One touch arm and disarm, one touch perimeter. It shows you which devices are engaged, which are not.”
“What’s engaged right now?”
“Nothing. The window was, but it was deactivated after the break-in.”
“Can I change any of this?”
“I can—I have the installer code. And then I can create a user code for you.”
I could have hugged him. “I owe you for this, Trey. Big time.”
He shut his briefcase. “You owe me nothing.”
“I do too. You’re my hero.”
He busied himself at the keypad and didn’t say another word. But I thought I saw a twitch at the left corner of his mouth.
While he worked, I poured myself a cup of coffee and opened three packages of sugar into it. Every now and then, I’d glimpse the holster under his jacket and remember, this is a man whose hands are lethal weapons and here I am, all alone with him. At night. In a deserted shop full of guns and ammo. And yet I felt comfortable with him, cozy even. At that moment, I trusted him more than my own brother.
I hopped up cross-legged on the counter. “If I asked you a hard question, would you tell the truth?”
“It depends.”
“Do you think Eric’s involved in Eliza’s death?”
Trey tapped a number sequence into the keypad. “He has a solid alibi.”
“Not for the murder per se, just…involved.”
“He’s certainly involved—he knew Eliza, he planned on meeting her. The evidence suggests she was killed while trying to talk to him. That doesn’t make him guilty of any wrongdoing, however.”
“Was Eliza pregnant?”
He looked up abruptly. “What?”
“Pregnant. I’m stretching here.”
“I haven’t seen the official report. According to what Ryan and Vance told me, however, the evidence indicates drug use, but no mention of pregnancy.”
“That’s what Janie told me too.” I rummaged under the counter and found a half-eaten box of chocolate chip cookies. “What about her bank account, the deposits, the money in the shoe box? Any idea where that was coming from?”
“No.”
“I can’t figure it out either. I mean, you look at the money and her history with Bulldog, and it looks like she’d decided to start selling drugs.”
“An acceptable hypothesis.”
I dipped a cookie into my coffee. “But that doesn’t explain her involvement with my brother. He’s a lot of things, but drug dealer isn’t one. Or drug taker for that matter.”
Trey didn’t reply. He pressed numbers and examined the lights that lit up in response, over and over, like he was practicing a magic trick.
I dusted cookie crumbs from my hands. “I’m guessing she was blackmailing somebody. But who’s done something blackmailable?”
Trey frowned. “Blackmailable?”
“It’s a sort-of-real word, stay with me here. And what about Dylan? We know that his SUV was