Ceremony in Death - J. D. Robb [84]
“Perfect.” Eve cleared the screen, just in case, and turned to the ’link. “So, Nadine, what’s the story?”
“You’re the story, Dallas. Two dead people. It’s dangerous to know you.”
“You’re still breathing.”
“So far, so good. I thought you might be interested in some data that’s come my way. We can do a trade.”
“Show me yours, maybe I’ll show you mine.”
“Exclusive one on one, in your home, with you discussing the investigation of both knifings, for the noon broadcast.”
Eve didn’t bother to snort. “One on one reporting the status of my investigation, in my office, for the evening broadcast.”
“The first body was found at your house. I want in.”
“It was found outside on the sidewalk, and you’re not getting in.”
Nadine huffed out a breath. The pout was for her own benefit. She knew better than to think it would budge Eve. “I want the noon.”
Eve checked her watch, calculated, considered. “I’ll clear you into my office. Arrival time eleven forty-five. If I can make it, I’ll be there. If not…”
“Damn it, we need setup time. Fifteen minutes isn’t—”
“It’s enough, Nadine, for someone as good as you are. Be sure your data makes this worth my while.”
“Make sure you don’t look like a rag picker,” Nadine shot back. “Do something with your hair, for God’s sake.”
Rather than respond, Eve ended transmission. “What is this obsession people have with my hair and wardrobe?” She raked a bad-tempered hand through the hair in question.
“Mavis told me you’re overdue for a style session. Leonardo’s bummed about it.”
“You hanging with Mavis?”
“I’ve gone down to catch her act a couple times.” She blew her nose heartily. Over-the-counters were pure crap, she decided. “I like watching her.”
“I haven’t had time for a style session,” Eve muttered. “I trimmed it myself a couple days ago.”
“Yeah, I could tell.” At Eve’s narrow look, Peabody smiled blandly. “It looks just lovely, sir.”
“Kiss ass.” Eve switched her screen back on. “And if you’re finished with your critique of my personal appearance, maybe you’d like to run a few of these names.”
“I recognize some of them.” Peabody bent over Eve’s shoulder. “Louis Trivane: big shot celebrity lawyer. Gets the stars out of legal jams. Marianna Bingsley: department store heiress and professional manhunter. Carlo Mancinni, cosmetic enhancement guru—medical doctor—you have to be way rich to have him even consider doing body sculpting on you.”
“I know the names, Peabody. I want background, personal data, financial data, medical data, any arrests. I want to know the names of their spouses and kids and pets. I want to know when and how they connected with Cross and why they decided Satan was a cool guy.”
“It’ll take days.” Peabody said it mournfully and reminded Eve painfully of Feeney. “Even shooting them into the IRCCA.”
Eve said nothing. The International Resource Center on Criminal Activity was one of Feeney’s prides and joys.
“If I could tag someone in the E-Division for help, we could cut the time in half. Maybe less.” Peabody jerked a shoulder. “So, where do you want me to start?”
“We’ve got a hop on Wineburg, so dig deeper there, and aon Lobar—Robert Mathias. Then start at the top and work down. I’ll start at the bottom and work up. Look for withdrawals of large amounts at regular intervals. We damn well better have what we need when we meet in the middle.”
She narrowed her eyes, thinking. The financial data on Selina’s cult would be protected by the Privacy Act and its status as a registered religion. Still, there was a chance, a slim one, that she’d been cocky enough to make deposits in her personal account.
That was a simple matter to check on. For the other, she would have to decide if the data would hold solid if she was able to access it, and to access it, she needed Roarke.
She’d wait, she decided, a day or two. Once they ascertained how much money the membership list was suspected of feeding into Selina