Indulgence in Death - J. D. Robb [28]
“We’ll look at her. Why Gold Star?” she wondered. “Small, exclusive company, small fleet, small staff, and if their hype’s to be believed, premium class, personal service. Top of the line,” she murmured, “like the weapon. Expensive. Connect to Sweet, high-level exec for a high-level company. If there’s no connection between Houston or his company and Sweet and his, then the only common denominator is they’re both successful men with specialized skills.”
“Maybe it’s totally random.”
“If it is, Houston may or may not be the first, but he won’t be the last. Listen to Houston’s transmissions.” She ordered the computer to play it.
“Hey, Michael. I’m pulling up to the pickup now. Traffic’s not too bad, considering. I’ll check back when I’ve got the Person on Board.”
“I’ll be here.”
“How’s Kimmy doing?”
“She’s beat. She’s gone on to bed. I’m going to carry the portable with me when I check on her and our boy.”
“Couple more weeks, you’ll be a daddy again. You get some rest, too. I think I see the client. I’ll come back.”
“Time lapse to next trans,” Eve said, “three minutes, ten.”
“POB,” Jamal said, his voice quieter now, brisker. “En route to LaGuardia, commercial transpo area for pickup, Supreme Airlines, Flight six-two-four out of Atlanta. ETA, ten-twenty.”
“Copy that.”
“Go to bed, Michael.” Jamal’s voice was barely a whisper now. “Take the portable with you if you’re going to be a stickler. I’ll come back to you if I need to. It’s a long run, no point in both of us getting a short night. I’ve got a book. I’ll entertain myself when the clients have their late supper.”
“Come back when you get to the airport, then I’ll go to bed.”
“Deal. The client’s excited about this surprise for his wife,” Jamal added. “He’s sitting back there grinning. Just keeps grinning. I have a feeling I’ll be using the privacy window before the night’s over.”
Michael chuckled. “Client’s king.”
“Last transmission,” Eve said.
Jamal relayed his arrival, said good night to Michael.
“Within five minutes, he’s dead. There’s no worry, no tension in his voice. Just the opposite. No sense of threat from the passenger, no worries. The killer’s not nervous, not if Houston’s read him right, and somebody who does what he did for a living should have a good sense. His passenger’s excited, happy, he’s anticipating the kill.”
“He—which lets out Iris Quill—the bolt buyer.”
“She could’ve provided the weapon, been the ‘wife.’ We’ll look at her. The transmissions tell me Houston didn’t recognize the client. Could be wearing a disguise, could be somebody he hasn’t seen in a long time. But a stranger says something else.”
“Random again,” noted Peabody.
“Even random has a pattern. We find the pattern. Get me this Quill woman’s address. I’ll take her on the way home. I’m going to work there. Do a secondary on everyone who bought that make of bolt, and on the owners and employees of the outlets.”
“Jeez.”
“Send me the list, and I’ll take half.”
“Yay.”
“Do a standard on Mitchell’s financials, copy me. Add Sweet’s to that. We’ll see if money takes us anywhere.”
Iris Quill lived in a sturdy townhome in Tribeca. The exterior spoke of no nonsense, no fuss. She hadn’t troubled to deck it out with flowers or plants in a neighborhood that seemed to love them. She hadn’t stinted on security, however, and Eve went through the routine with the palm plate, the scanner, the computer’s demand for her name, her badge, her business.
The woman who opened the door hit about five foot two, weighed in at maybe a hundred pounds with a short straight skullcap of shining silver hair and sharp blue eyes. She wore brown shorts that showed off short but exceptionally toned legs and a skin tank that showcased strong, defined arms.
Eve judged her to clock in at about seventy-five.
“Ms. Quill.”
“That’s right, and what can I do for you, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve? Last thing I killed was a black bear, and that was up in Canada.”
“Did you use a crossbow?”
“A Trident 450 long-barrel.” She cocked her head. “Crossbow?”
“Can I come in?”
“Why not? I recognized your name