Indulgence in Death - J. D. Robb [24]
And watched his eyes, saw them widen. He pulled out the communicator again. “Mitchell, cancel all my credit cards, initiate a search on the accounts, and arrange for temporary secure replacements. ASAP,” he snapped. “I want Gorem to do a sniff on all my electronics, and for Lyle to do an all-level sweep. Now.”
“Who’d have access to your information?” Eve asked when he shoved the communicator back in his pocket.
“I’m in the business of security. No one should’ve been able to access that credit information. That’s a company card. How was this booked?”
“Via ’link.”
“The sweep will include a check of all ’link logs in this department.”
“The Electronic Detectives Division will be doing a sweep of its own, which will include your personal ’links.”
She didn’t think it was possible, but his jaw tightened a few more notches. “You’ll need a warrant.”
“No problem.”
“What is this about? I need to take care of this breach of security immediately.”
“It’s about murder, Mr. Sweet, which may prove to be connected to your security problem, but still ranks higher on the food chain. The driver’s body was found early this morning, in his ride, at LaGuardia.”
“Killed by someone who used my name, my information.”
“It appears.”
“I’ll give you the names and contact of everyone at the meeting last night, and every one of them can and will verify my presence. I only use company vehicles and drivers, again for security. To my knowledge I don’t know this Jamal Houston, and I don’t appreciate having my data compromised this way. Or having my personal logs and electronics sniffed over by the police.”
“I think Jamal’s probably even more pissed off.”
“I don’t know him.”
“Your PA, some of your staff, would have your information, and probable access to that card number.”
“A handful, yes, who hold the necessary level of security clearance.”
“I’ll want the names of that handful,” Eve told him.
She split the interviews with Peabody and took Mitchell Sykes, the PA, first. He was thirty-four and looked slick and efficient in what she thought of as an FBI-lite suit.
“I coordinate Mr. Sweet’s schedule.” He had a prissy, I-am-efficient-and-educated voice and kept his hands folded on his left knee. “I confirmed the reservation for the dinner meeting last night, and arranged for Mr. Sweet’s transportation to and from.”
“And when did you do all that?”
“Two days ago, with follow-ups yesterday afternoon. Mr. Sweet left his office at seven-thirty. I left at seven-thirty-eight. It’s in the logs.”
“I bet. You have access to Mr. Sweet’s company credit card?”
“I do, of course.”
“What do you use that for?”
“Expenses incurred by company business, at Mr. Sweet’s direction. All use is logged and screened. If I use it, the expense must include a purchase order or signed request, and also includes my passcode.”
“Anything in the log about its use last night?”
“I looked, as requested. There’s no entry. If there had been a charge against the account, it would have sent up an auto notice, but as it was simply used to hold a reservation, there’s no flag. The security code on the account is changed every three days, again automatically. Without the code, even a hold would be denied.”
“So someone had the code. You’d have that?”
“Yes. As Mr. Sweet’s personal assistant I have Level Eight clearance. Only executives at Mr. Sweet’s level have higher.”
“Why don’t you tell me where you were last night, between nine and midnight?”
His lip curled. “As I said, I left the office—verified by our logs—at seven-thirty-eight. I walked home. That’s one block north, two and three-quarters blocks east. I arrived at approximately seven-fifty. My cohabitation partner is out of town on business. I spoke with her via ’link from eight-oh-five until eight-seventeen. I had dinner in, and remained in my apartment for the evening.”
“Alone.”
“Yes, alone. As I didn’t expect to be interrogated by the police this morning, I saw no reason to secure a proper alibi.” This time he managed to curl his lip and look down his nose simultaneously. “You’ll simply have to take my word