Devoted in Death

15

When Feeney arrived, Eve gestured to the buffet table, and what was left.

“Still food.”

“I’ll take it.” He looked at her board as he grabbed a plate. “How long have they had this one?”

“About eight hours.”

He nodded, piled on bacon, uncovered the eggs on the warming plate, helped himself. “Could be trying a twofer.”

“I’m hoping, as that keeps Campbell alive. I just sent in a report, and I’m going to talk to Mira about it. It could be the next escalation. One for each of them. Carmichael and Santiago may have a lead in Arkansas. But the best bet we have now is the feed from the loading dock.”

“Dallas.” Peabody held up a hand, held her comm in the other. “We may have a little more. A café in the snatch location just opened. A beat droid’s sending over their feed. Image is spotty, but we may have the male unsub on it.”

“It’s cracking.” Eve turned to Feeney. “A couple of good whacks, and it breaks.”

“Send it onto Roarke’s comp lab. I’ll go join the boys. Deputy,” he added with a nod to Banner. “Looks like you had the scent all along.”

“We sure got it now.” He waited till Feeney stepped out. “I’ve got the souvenir places, Lieutenant. None of them are open yet. And I’ve got a chunk of places that do takeaway. Just getting going on the pawnshops, but none of them are open yet, either.”

“Send me what you’ve got, and we’ll start pushing through it.” She checked the time. “If Mira isn’t up by now, she’s about to be.”

Eve started toward her desk when her ’link signaled. “Santiago,” she said, answered. “Give me something.”

“We cut the son out of the herd, and started working him. He’s in this somewhere, LT, or knows something. But the father swooped in before we pried it out of him. They’re all pretty jumpy now.”

“Get the local law into it. Pull them in, work them in whatever they have for a cop shop down there.”

“That’s the thing.” Santiago’s dark eyes shifted to the side, narrowed in annoyance at something – someone – off screen. “Bubba’s brother-in-law’s a lawyer, and he’s putting up roadblocks on this. He’s also the local law’s fishing buddy, and the connections are playing hell with any cooperation. It’s a stall, Dallas. We can play the game, but it’s going to take some time.”

“Time’s the problem. How sure are you about this Bubba – and it embarrasses me to say that name out loud.”

“Guilt’s oozing out of the son – name’s Jimbo, and I’m sorry about that. And Bubba’s getting sweaty. The mother – she’s Maizie, and bakes one hell of an apple pie – we think she’s clear. But Bubba and Jimbo, they’re lying, Dallas. They know something, and they’re lying. Any of us could get Jimbo in the box for twenty minutes, he’d fold like an accordion.”

“Is that a colorful metaphor?”

He flashed a grin. “I’m working on them.”

“Take one for the team, Santiago.”

The grin faded fast. “Ah hell, Dallas, Bubba’s got hands like sides of beef. That’s not just a colorful metaphor, it’s next to literal.”

“Toughen up. Get him to take a swing at you, in front of witnesses if you can manage it. And have Carmichael stay on this Jumbo.”

“Jimbo.”

“Whatever. Keep the lawyer and the law centered on Bubba, and I’ll get the son into the box. Holographically speaking.”

“I’m going to get punched in the face, and you guys are going to have all the fun.”

“Make it look good,” Eve advised, and ended transmission.

Instead of Mira, she woke up APA Cher Reo.

“I had ten more minutes coming, damn it.”

“I need you to strong-arm whoever you know who can strong-arm somebody in Monroe, Arkansas. I need a search warrant for a place called Bubba’s Body Shop, Towing and Pies.”

“Is this just a bad dream?”

“Fast, Reo. For the facilities, for the books, for the works. It ties in with the spree killings, and they got another last night.”

The rustling signaled Reo was pulling herself out of bed. “Give me the data again, and give me some probable cause.”

“Bubba’s about to assault one of my detectives.”

“  ‘About to’?”

“Anytime now. If you have to wait until that happens, you could get the rest set up. The latest vic turned twenty-one the day after Christmas.”

“Don’t hang that on me. Hell. Give me a few minutes. I used to sleep with a guy who knows a guy.”

Eve smiled when Reo clicked off.

“It doesn’t work so different,” Banner commented. “Where I’m from? Smaller scale, that’s for sure, but it doesn’t work so different from here.”

“Cops are cops. Peabody, hold the fort here. Banner, you’re with me. It might be handy to have you on the interview.”

“You’re going to be good cop,” Peabody warned him.

“With a little good old boy tossed in?”

Eve nodded. “That’ll work.”

She took the elevator down to the holoroom, working out the strategy in her head on the way.

“How many rooms in this place?” Banner wondered.

“I don’t have a clue. I keep finding ones I’d swear weren’t there before.”

“How long you lived here?”

“Three years. Three years,” she repeated with some wonder of her own. “Jesus, how did that happen?”

“You mind me asking something?”

“Didn’t you just?”

“Another something. Was Roarke really… well, what you’d call a thief?”

Eve kept her voice mild, her face inscrutable. “I never caught him stealing anything.”

Humor danced into Banner’s eyes. “Neither did anybody else from what I hear.”

He stepped out with her into the blank slate of the holoroom.

“I thought he’d be different.”

“Different than what?” Eve asked as she puzzled over how to program what she needed.

“Than he is. I didn’t expect him to be so amiable.”

“  ‘Amiable.’  ” She glanced back with a half laugh.

“I figured he’d be more… stiff, I guess. And what you’d call highfalutin. Not somebody I’d be easy having a beer with. Can I ask what you’re looking to do here?”

“He’s got it in here,” Eve muttered. “He would. I want one of my interview rooms. We’re going to pull Jambo into it.”

“Jimbo.”

“Right – why would anybody tolerate being called Bubba or Jimbo?”

“It’s geography, I reckon.”

“We’re going to haul him in once his father’s busy being arrested for assaulting an officer, and the lawyer’s busy trying to say Santiago incited his client and blah-blah-bullshit-bollocks. We get him in here, and if Santiago’s right, and he will be, we’ll crack Benjo like an egg.

“There! I knew he’d have it programmed.”

It still took her twice as long as it would’ve taken Roarke, but she keyed it all in.

And the familiar dull walls, the scarred table, creaky chairs and long two-way mirror of a standard Cop Central interview room shimmered into being.

“Whoa.” Eyes wide, Banner turned a circle. “Never did one of these officially. Just at carnivals and such. And once at a… never mind about that.”

Sex club, Eve deduced. “They have those never minds in Silby’s Pond?”

“They got them in Little Rock.”

“I need to check in, but when this goes down, we go fast, so I want you to play sympathetic, to a point. That good-old-boy bit, yeah, that’ll work.”

She put the file she’d brought in with her on the table. “You’re going to soften him up. I’m going to scare the shit out of him, and what’s in this file will finish it.”

She pulled out her ’link. “Carmichael.”

“Working on it,” Carmichael muttered, looking away rather than into the screen. “Santiago’s just… ouch.” She hissed through her teeth, and Dallas heard the shouting off screen. “That’s going to leave a mark. Give me five minutes to go to my partner’s assistance, and I’ll be back at you.”

“Fast work.”

Eve nodded at Banner. “Faster the better. However this is set up, Banner, it’s fucking serious. It’s all going on record. There are three smart geeks up in the lab sweating to get us something we can use, and they will. Meanwhile, these two bozos knew something that might have led to the unsubs, might’ve saved lives. They knew since Jansen’s body was found, and they kept it shut to cover their own asses. That doesn’t sit with me.”

“Doesn’t sit with me, either. It ain’t right. Ain’t none of it right.”

“Then give me some room, and step in when you think you can do some good.”

Gauging the time, she contacted Mira.

“Sorry it’s so early, and I’ve only got a couple of minutes. I sent you a report.”

“I haven’t read it yet. I’m just —”

“Soon as you can,” Eve interrupted. “They grabbed another last night. Male, twenty-one. About midnight. Probability’s going to go by the pattern, and give me strong odds Campbell’s dead. I want your take.”

“Give me a second. They could have gone too far, too fast, or her body simply gave out. We can say with absolute certainty this hasn’t happened before, so, yes, the probability is high she’s dead.”

“What are the chances they decided they wanted to try two at once? A dump and snatch, the same night? Maybe. But a snatch, maybe impulse, it plays, too.”

“It would be a logical escalation. It’s certainly possible, but —”

“Would you read the report as soon as you can? I’ve got some scenarios in there, some speculation. We’ve got a couple of good leads working now. I have to go deal with one, but I’d like some input once you’ve read the report.”

“I’ll go over it now, and I’ll give you what I can before I go to Dr. DeWinter.”

“Thanks. That’s my lead,” she said as her ’link signaled an incoming. “Later. Dallas.”

“With some regret, our sheriff arrested Bubba for assaulting a police officer. The lawyer’s so pissed he hasn’t noticed – as yet – I’ve stepped out. Santiago’s bleeding and causing a serious stink. If it was real I’d tell him not to be such a drama queen. I can snag Jimbo pretty easy.”

“Do it. I’m going to use your ’link to bring you both in, on your signal. Then I’m sending you back – keep them busy as long as you can. Unless the son calls for a lawyer, we can work him on this.”

“On it. I’ll send you a flag when I’ve got him.”

It didn’t take long, and hoping she didn’t screw it up, Eve used the signal to coordinate. Carmichael’s image winked in, as did the big – “Jumbo” wasn’t off – guy next to her.

He wore coveralls on a frame designed for a career as a defensive lineman. His hair, the color of bleached corn, stuck straight up from a wide, square head.

Eve figured he weighed in at an easy two-sixty, and every ounce of him was scared shitless.

“Thank you, Detective. Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve and Banner, Deputy William in interview with… your full name, sir?”

“Um. Ah.”

“Dorran,” Carmichael supplied. “James Beauregard.”

“Have a seat Mr. Dorran.”

“I really gotta look after my ma. My pa’s in trouble.”

“Detective, go… look after Mr. Dorran’s ma.”

“Yes, sir. You’re going to want to cooperate with Lieutenant Dallas, Jimbo. Your ma doesn’t need you in trouble, too.”

She nodded at Eve, and Eve cut her image away.

“Mr. Dorran —”

“Maybe you could call me Jimbo, ’cause nobody calls me ‘mister.’  ”

“All right, Jimbo. Sit.”

“I don’t know nothing ’bout nothing. Or about nobody neither. My pa said —”

“I’m not talking to your pa.” Voice, eyes, went frigid, and sharp with it. “You are now talking to me. I run the Homicide division for the NYPSD. You know what homicide is, Jimbo?”

“Um, yeah, sort of.”

“It’s murder.”

His eyes wheeled. And, yeah, Eve thought, even holographically, she could smell the guilt pumping off of him.

“I never killed nobody. Pa neither. My uncle Buck said how we didn’t have to say nothing.”

“Your uncle Buck isn’t looking at being charged with accessory to murder, after the fact, obstruction of justice, and a whole fucking slew of other charges I can come up with if you don’t tell me the truth.”

“I never killed nobody. And ladies don’t use bad words like that.”

“Do I look like a lady?”

“You’re a girl.”

“I’m a cop. I’m a murder cop, and I eat assholes like you for breakfast. I’ve got a prosecuting attorney chomping at the bit to have you extradited to New York and tossed in a cage.”

“I didn’t do nothing!”

“Jimbo.” Banner’s voice was cool water from a country stream against Eve’s urban flash. “Now, I expect you didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Didn’t really know you did.”

“I don’t hurt people. You can ask anybody. You from Arkansas, sir?”

“Sure am. Silby’s Pond.”

“I never been there, but I heard it’s right nice.”

“It sure is.”

“Maybe we can arrange for you to spend some time in a cage there.” Eve slapped her hand on the file, making all two hundred and sixty pounds of Jimbo jump in his chair. “Since this man was killed there.”

She slammed the photos of Robert Jansen, broken and battered, faceup.

Jimbo went white. “Holy crow! Holy crow! Is he dead?”

“What do you think?”

“Holy crow. I never did that! I never hurt nobody.”

“What kind of vehicle was it,” Banner asked conversationally, “you and your pa towed in from down along Highway 12 last August?”

“It was… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But Jimbo twisted his big hands together, and stared at the photograph. “Did he get himself murdered?”

“They beat him,” Eve said, voice hard. “They burned him. They tortured him, then, when they were done, they tossed him off a ridge and left him for your goddamn holy crows. And before that, they did this.”

She shoved the dead pictures of Jansen across the table. “Bashed his head in, dragged him into the brush to rot until somebody found him.”

“I know about that. I know about that, ’cause it was Petie West and his mama who found him. But we didn’t do nothing.”

Eve dumped the rest of the photos out. “They killed all these people. Tortured them. Somebody’s son, daughter, sister, father. You took the vehicle they left on the side of the road. How much did you get for it?”

“We… I ain’t saying we did any such thing. But if we did, it didn’t hurt anybody.”

“We could trace the damn vehicle, Jimbo. We don’t know who they are.”

“You don’t know who they are,” he said slowly.

“Do the right thing, Jimbo.” Banner spoke gently. “If you don’t you are hurting people. You’re hurting the people they have right now.”

“They have people?”

Eve pushed Campbell’s picture, Mulligan’s picture over. “They have these two people. They’re torturing them. They may have already killed the woman. The longer you cover yourself, the less chance they have of getting out of this alive.”

“I gotta look after my ma.”

“They’ve got mothers, Jimbo,” Banner reminded him. “How would your ma feel if somebody had you, and there was somebody who could maybe help, but he didn’t?”

“My pa said if we told they’d put us in jail.”

“If you don’t tell, I swear to God I’ll see you both in cages, as long as I can manage it,” Eve promised. “If you help us out, give us something that helps us find these people, save this woman, this man, I’ll keep you clear of jail. And the charges currently against your father for assaulting my detective go away, too.”

“You can do that?”

“I will do that. But you come clean, and now. No more bullshit, or the deal’s off. You’ve got ten seconds.”

“I wanna think —”

“Nine. Eight. Seven.”

“Okay, all right.” He waved his big hands in the air. “It was just sitting on the side of the road. It didn’t have no registration in it or nothing. Had fuel right enough, and the battery was charged good and proper. But the engine was finished. Somebody’d worked on it, but it wasn’t going anywhere. So we towed it in. Somebody’d come around looking, we’d’ve given it back. Nobody did. We didn’t know about the dead man till later on, and then Pa said we had to be quiet or maybe they’d think we done it. We didn’t hurt nobody.”

“What kind of vehicle?”

“Quarter-ton pickup. A ’52, so it was showing its age. A ’52 American Bobcat, steel-gray exterior, black interior. You could see how it’d been wrecked once, and had good bodywork.”

“License plates?”

“Yes’m, Oklahoma plates as I recall. Nothing inside it. No registration, like I said, nothing in the cab or the bed, in the glove compartment or nothing. Some trash here and there, that’s all.”

“Where is it?”

“Where is it?”

“Where’s the truck?”

“Well, after we heard about the dead man, we stripped her down, sold off the parts, and took the rest in by the piece to the recycle place. Pa said we didn’t want any part of that truck, and not to say boo to a goose about it. We didn’t know nothing about any of these murdered people till those New York City detectives come around, and Pa said we couldn’t believe them because people were always looking for trouble and telling lies in New York City.”

He looked over at Banner. “You hear that?”

“Well, I can say I’ve been here for a day or so now, and haven’t found that to be true. And the people we’re after, Jimbo, they’re not from New York City. They’re from round about where we’re from.”

“I don’t know how that can be. I’ve never known anybody could do something like this. Honest, ma’am, we never hurt anybody. We didn’t know about all this. And I couldn’t shut my eyes most all night thinking about it. Pa was just looking out for me and Ma, that’s all. You gotta look after your own.”

The dead were hers, Eve thought. And she’d look after them.

“We may need to talk to you again,” Eve began.

“Can I talk to my ma first? She says you gotta tell the truth. She’s going to be a little upset with my pa about this. She’s already pretty upset he hit that detective like he did. But, well, that detective, he did get Pa riled up.”

“I bet.” Eve rose. “I’ll bring Detective Carmichael in. She’ll escort you back. I’ll be speaking to the sheriff.”

“So they don’t put Pa in jail for hitting the detective?”

“For that, and about what we just talked about.” Again, she used Carmichael’s ’link to bring her in. “We have Mr. Dorran’s statement. I’ll copy the record to the sheriff, and to you and Detective Santiago. I’d request that Santiago agree to drop the charges against Jimbo’s father. I would also go on record as requesting no charges be filed against either Mr. Dorran considering Mr. James Dorran’s cooperation in this matter, and the information we hope will lead to the identification and apprehension of the unsubs.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wrap it up, Carmichael. Warrant should be through or coming for searching the towing place, any and all vehicles on it. Get it done.”

“You bet. Let’s go, Jimbo.”

Carmichael took Jimbo’s arm, sent Eve a quick grin. And winked out.

“Copy record, my units,” Eve ordered. “And program end. Let’s move, Banner.”

“We can trace that truck.”

“We will trace that truck. Fucking morons stripped it down and crushed it out. We might’ve had prints, DNA, something.” She took a breath as they rode back to her office. “But we’ll trace it, get a name. Even if they stole it, we’re a step closer.”

Eve swung by the computer lab on the way, dumped the data on Feeney for a search while Banner goggled a little.

“Cutting it back to Oklahoma registration,” Feeney said and, as Roarke did, worked the screen and keyboard manually. “Search in for American Bobcat, 2052, quarter-ton pickup.”

“Gray. A gray truck.”

“Paint’s easy to change, so we’ll start without it.” He grunted as the computer spit out the results. “Got over six hundred in the first sweep.”

“If they stole it, there’d be —”

“I know how to run a search, kid.” He continued to play the comp. “Got three stolen in our time frame, two recovered, one wrecked. Running a separate including the color.”

“Got it.” Roarke swiveled around from his station. “The decal, back window, van in the loading dock. OBX.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Eve demanded.

“Outer Banks – North Carolina. A property owner’s decal. We’ve narrowed the license plate. Odds on New Jersey. Highest probability on the van is a ’58 or ’59 RoadStar, black or navy. Give us a minute.”

At another station McNab jiggled and bopped. “Nothing popped on facial rec, yet. I’m still trying to boost the image.”

“Initial cross-match results,” Roarke said. “Eight-six OBX property owners with vans within our parameters.”

“Gotta do better.”

“So I will.”

“On the gray,” Feeney put in. “We’ve got five matches.”

“That’s workable. Names, images, locations.”

“Coming on screen. Map on screen two. We can work the route, determine the most probable.”

Eve turned her attention to the screen, watched the locations light up, backtracked from Jansen’s location. “We’ll run these five. Shelley Lynn Waynes – she’s right on the route if you backtrack it.”

“Bringing her up,” Feeney said.

“Age thirty-one. Married – six years – two kids. Schoolteacher. Her truck gets boosted, she’s going to report it. Maybe lent it to a friend, a relative, but…”

“Low probability,” Feeney said. “I’ll tag her, suss it out, but she’s whistle clean. This Bowie Nettleton’s the next favorite by route. Age seventy-four, retired military. Master Sergeant, currently mayor of Three Springs, Oklahoma. Two sons, both still serving, a grandson, granddaughter, also serving. And a granddaughter in college – political science major.”

“I’m not getting a buzz, but we’ll check.”

“Barlow Lee Hanks,” Eve read, eyes narrowing on the next image. “Too old for our unsub at fifty-eight. Offspring?”

“None on record.”

“Owns his own business, mechanic, bodywork – much like the idiot Dorrans, in Lonesome, Oklahoma. Bumbo said the truck had been worked on – good work. Mechanic.”

“  ‘Bumbo’?” Roarke repeated.

“Jimbo.” Banner shrugged. “I guess it amounts to the same.”

Even as he spoke, Eve went with her gut. She pulled out her ’link, tagged Santiago. “How’s the face?” she asked, studying the black and swollen right eye.

“It’s had worse.”

“Get it seen to, then you and Carmichael are heading to Oklahoma. Lonesome, Oklahoma. Barlow Lee Hanks. I’d like to know who he lent his ’52 American Bobcat to. Get started as soon as you can. I’ll feed you details when you’re en route.”

“We’ll get along like little doggies.”

“Why?”

“You know, little – it’s a cowboy thing. Never mind. We’re wrapping this part up. The asshole keeps good records. We can track the various parts of the truck, and most are local.”

“Turn that over to the locals for now. Oklahoma takes priority. I’ll get back to you.”

She pushed the ’link into her pocket. “Thanks,” she said to the room at large.

“Data’s already on your comps,” Roarke told her. “I’ll have the van narrowed down shortly.”

“Good. Let’s move.”

Banner followed her out the door. “Right in your house. You got all those juicy toys right in your house.”

“We work here, too.”

“You’re telling me? Never seen such fast e-work. Might be we got something solid with this.”

“Feeney will tag the other four, but let’s do a run on Barlow Lee Hanks and see what we get.”

She strode back into her office, gestured to Peabody. “Barlow’s Garage, Lonesome, Oklahoma. Basic data and financials. Make it fast. Banner, tag them up over there, see if you can get this guy on the ’link. If he’s there, he’s sure as hell not here. That’s one. And just get a sense of him. Don’t play cop. Ask him some truck question.”

“A truck question?”

“Five hundred says you’ve got one.”

“I’m not taking that bet.” Banner pulled out his own ’link. “I’ll take this out there.”

With a nod, Eve sat at her desk, started her run on Barlow Hanks.

One marriage, she read – with no offspring. Divorced for a dozen years. One brother, but older than he was, and the unsubs skewed younger. A nephew about the right age, she considered, so she’d do a secondary run there.

“Financials look solid, Dallas,” Peabody said, “on the surface anyway. He’s not rolling in it, but he does okay. Bought the property the place sits on about eight years ago, and he’s making the payments regularly. Four full-time employees, one part-time.”

Eve nodded as she continued her own run. “A couple minor league criminal bumps. A DUI, a bar fight, a pushy-shovy at some rodeo.”

“This isn’t our guy.”

“No, but he may be connected. Better than one-in-five chance it was his truck the Dumbass Dorrans hauled off.”

She started on the nephew. Small-time rancher, sometime bronc rider. What the hell was a “bronc”? She discovered it was some sort of horse, kept going. About the right age, she thought, with a cohab, which tipped him down the scale as she appeared to be clean and shiny on record, with solid employment.

“Could’ve ditched her,” Eve added. “Taken off in his uncle’s truck with his murderous partner.”

She rose to pace and think. The uncle doesn’t report the truck stolen – blood’s thick. Or he sold it to the nephew under the table.

But it didn’t play well, not when there was nothing to indicate the nephew suddenly developed murderous tendencies.

Still.

Banner came back in. “Hanks is definitely in Oklahoma. I just had a conversation with him about my truck – which I told him was a ’52 Bobcat.”

“Good thinking.”

“Mine’s running mighty rough, and I’ve taken it in twice to my regular, but it only smooths out for a hundred miles or so. Told him I’d heard he knew a thing or two. He agreed that he did, and had a ’52 himself once upon a time, done some work on it.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so. His opinion while not a piece of cowshit, it ain’t much after it hits ninety thousand miles or thereabouts. But he’d be happy to take a look at her if I want to bring her by.”

“Okay.” She turned to her board, nodded. “Okay. We’ll see what Carmichael and Santiago get out of him. It feels right. Meanwhile.”

Her desk ’link signaled. She walked over. “What?”

“Say thank you,” Roarke requested.

“What for?”

“For Elsie and Maddox Hornesby of Bloomingdale who own a ’58 Country Scout van, color Indigo, with an OBX sticker in the left rear window.”

“Why them and not the eighty-two others?”

“I culled that down to thirty-nine, then hit the Hornesbys who, from my subtle invasion of their privacy, I determined have spent eight weeks – January and February – the last three winters in the Bahamas where they own a beach house.”

“Can’t report the vehicle stolen if they don’t know it’s stolen.”

“That would be my thought. A… brief glance at their financials indicate they drive themselves to the Newark transpo center, use long-term parking. I’ve heard boosting a vehicle from long-term parking is a very handy way to acquire one.”

“I bet you have.”

He smiled at her, in just that way. “Their contact information is on your comp.”

“You earned a thank-you. I have to move on this.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Peabody,” Eve began as she cut Roarke off.

“Ahead of you. Contacting transpo security at Newark.”

Since the data was there, as promised, Eve used her desk ’link. She didn’t try to figure what time it might be in the Bahamas, and didn’t care.

“Maddox Hornesby.”

Eve looked at the tanned, relaxed face, the short stream of sun-streaked hair. “Mr. Hornesby, I’m Lieutenant Dallas, with the New York City Police and Security Department.”

“So I see. What can I do for you?”

“You own a Country Scout van, ’58 model year.”

“That’s right.” The relaxed smile faded as his eyebrows drew together. She heard a woman’s voice – “Mad! You promised no business!”

“It’s not. Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”

“Can you give me the location of your vehicle?”

“Long-term parking, Deck A, slot 45, Newark Transportation. What is this about?”

Eve turned to Peabody, who nodded.

“What is your current location?”

“I’m sitting on my deck in the Bahamas with my wife who just handed me a mimosa and thinks I’m talking to our broker. What’s going on?”

“We had an incident with a vehicle that matches yours. Do you have an OBX sticker on the —”

“Left rear window, bottom corner. What kind of incident?”

“We’re checking on that, Mr. Hornesby, and contacting security at the transportation center. Either they or I will contact you if necessary.” She couldn’t help it. “Could you tell me what time it is there?”

“Time? It’s… it’s eight-forty-five.”

“In the morning?”

“Of course in the morning.”

Eve said, “Huh,” fascinated and a little irritated there was no time difference.

“Did someone steal our old van?”

“We’re looking into that, Mr. Hornesby.”

“Mad, didn’t I tell you that was bound to happen? How many times did I tell you we should take a limo to the airport?”

“All right, Elsie, all right.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’d like to know when you parked your vehicle.”

“January four, at eight a.m.”

“Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. Someone will contact you with more details.”

“Do we need to come back?”

“No, there’s no need to interrupt your vacation. Thank you.”

She clicked off as the female voice began to rag on Hornesby again.

“We got the vehicle. Peabody, APB – now. If sighted, do not approach. Contact me, do not approach, follow only at a distance.”

She pushed up. “How come the Bahamas gets to have the same time we do? It doesn’t seem right.”

And setting that puzzle aside, she went for another hit of coffee.

Things were breaking.