Chapter Fourteen #3
“Yes, he did. He’s got a code. His mistake, if we call it that, was believing everyone lived by one, too.
He used some of the money to get out of the city, and then he hitched rides.
At least some of the time. Got far enough away where he could work on building back up, physically.
Mira said that would take months of physical therapy. ”
“Since he paid back the loan, he must’ve gotten some work.”
“Enough to live on,” Eve speculated. “Likely odd jobs, off the books, under the radar. Save some for the repayment, and for what he needed.”
Eve studied the updated board. “He went to someone he knew wouldn’t talk, because he himself hadn’t. And could afford the loan. Rosenthal had a solid career, plenty of endorsement money.”
“You’d still think he’d have gone to family. They love him.”
“No, not family. Keep them out of it, away from it. The same way he turns away family photos when he kills. More? He protected his family by staying away from them.”
“Should I contact the other friends, interviews?”
“No, no point.” Eve checked the time, found it dripping away.
“I’m going to run up to EDD, check on their progress, get bitched at for checking on their progress.
Then we’ll head to Chu’s memorial. You write up the Rosenthal interview, copy everyone on the list for it.
And send a copy of the case file to Morris. ”
“Morris?”
“He’d like details. I’d say after these three bodies, he’s earned them. I won’t be long.”
She headed to EDD knowing she’d find her old partner, her mentor, her friend, grim at best.
She passed more than Jenkinson’s eye-searing tie in the crazed circus of EDD. Colors jarred, patterns screamed as e-geeks bounced or chair-bopped or called out to each other in a language she’d never translate.
She hurried by to the glass-walled lab.
Feeney stood in his comforting shit-brown pants, his already wrinkled anemic beige shirt. He’d shed his jacket and tie, she noted.
Flanking him, McNab’s red-streaked blond tail of hair swayed like his hips in star-strewed orange baggies while Callendar’s butt bumped in a similar rhythm in her red-and-yellow-striped ones.
She opened the door to a blast of music where someone shouted she should “walk this way!”
“How can you think?” she yelled over it.
Feeney glanced around, shot her a look. Yes, grim. “Keeps the juices up. Music off. We’re not there yet. Don’t bug us about it.”
She adjusted her strategy. “I wanted to give you a quick update. Mitchell Rosenthal.”
“Damn good player, decent coach.”
“And friend of Steven Redman’s. One who gave him ten K six years ago.”
Since that got Feeney’s attention, she read in the room quickly.
“We didn’t know the explosion was deliberate, but Redman sure as hell did. Goddamn it. Susan Washington—”
“Arson.”
“Yeah, she’s as pissed as I am. She’s going over everything again on her end.”
“Roarke says with the tech they’d have had that we didn’t back then, and the resources, they could’ve pulled it off as an accident.”
“Doesn’t make it better.” But he hissed out a breath, rolled his shoulders. “We’re hitting bumps. Get somewhere, then back to scratch.”
“He kept changing the code,” McNab supplied. “No rhythm or pattern to it.”
“You think you got it,” Callendar added, circling her head, “then you don’t.”
Eve heard the quiet pop-pop as Callendar stretched her neck, and sympathized. But she had to push.
“At the risk of getting my ass kicked, any sort of timeline on breaking it?”
When Feeney rolled his shoulders, Eve heard the crackle and the pop-pop.
“You’ll know when we know,” he told her. “It’s so stupid, so sloppy, it’s fucking genius. But we’ll get it.”
“Okay. I’m in the field.”
“Times like this, I wish I were,” Feeney muttered. “Music on!”
And the music blasted her out of the lab.
She’d have gone straight to Homicide, but stopped when Whitney approached from the other direction. She hoped to save her commander the trouble, and the e-geeks the aggravation.
“Sir, if you’re planning to go in there, ask for a progress report, I wouldn’t. I’ve just done so. They’re hitting snags, but are confident they’ll break through the code.”
“Any idea when?”
“Not at this time. Peabody is currently writing a report on an interview we just conducted. Could we walk and talk, Commander? I want to drop in on Chu’s memorial.”
“Walk. Talk.”
She walked, she talked.
“Six years, he doesn’t say a word. Code of honor,” Whitney said, and Eve caught the respect in his tone. “Redman pays back the ten K. Code of honor. And we’ve got three bodies. Until we can connect Cruz to Banner-Wyst, we can’t go after them. Going after them might stop the body count.”
She wasn’t so sure, but kept that to herself.
“I met with Mira earlier, and will write the consult up as soon as possible. To sum up, sir, Redman is determined, disciplined, focused, and believes he’s doing his duty as a husband and father.
Which corroborates Rosenthal’s statement that Redman told him he didn’t protect his family.
She believes, and I agree, fulfilling that duty is not only what drives him to kill, it’s what’s keeping him alive. ”
“Understood. Let’s try to keep whoever he’s got in his sights next alive.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get me those reports,” he ordered before he walked away.
Eve stuck with the glides, found Peabody still at it.
“Peabody.”
“Nearly done.”
Eve paced, and paced in a way that had everyone in the bullpen keeping it shut, keeping heads down.
Peabody lifted both hands, flicked them as if tossing something aside. “Done, copied, sent.”
“With me. In the field, Jenkinson.”