New York to Dallas - J. D. Robb [24]
Peabody puffed out her cheeks. “The meet may have taken longer than I thought, but we’re a lot further along than I figured.”
“Not far enough. He’s had almost two days. The guard’s a tossaway. Gambling addict, and though I wasn’t able to pass it on, the feds will shortly find out he’s got a not-very-well-hidden account where he’s been making regular deposits of two large a month, for years. McQueen knew we’d track that, pull the guard in. He won’t know anything much.”
“Which is why you gave him to the feds.”
“He has to be interviewed, sweated some. He may have more than I think. But it’s Stipple who rings for me. He won’t know McQueen’s plans, not the fine details anyway, but he may know or have a good guess as to who he’s hooked up with. The woman’s on the way, so we’ll take her first. I need you to run and analyze all the data the prison just handed over en route. Searches and anal fully on record now. Let’s go.”
“How are we handling the coordination with the other teams?”
“We work independently,” Eve told her as they headed out, jumped on a glide. “Share all results, hold a daily briefing. So far nobody’s playing games. But . . . you should do a standard on the feds,” she said, and gave Peabody the names. “Just to get a full sense of them.”
“How many men are you putting on the team?”
“I want to talk to these two possibles first, then I’ll get down to that.” In the garage she got behind the wheel of her vehicle. “I’ve gone around and around on it. I had some time and space to settle last night, think it through. The probability runs, given the current data, say McQueen’s in New York. He’ll hunt here, work to engage me. He wants me to be part of the investigation.”
“That makes the most sense.”
“I don’t think so, because staying in New York is stupid, and he’s not. He broke pattern, yeah, which means he’s likely to break it again. But I’ve had twelve years to make New York my ground. He wants to take me on, and yeah, that plays. But why would he do it on my home ground? He could go anywhere.”
“Leave New York,” Peabody pointed out, “lose you.”
“He’s already given me a good shot. I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. It feels too simple, too straightforward. He likes elaborate. He had years to put his plans together, and this is the best he can do? Maybe I’m overthinking, second-guessing.” She rolled her shoulders to loosen them. “I need to consult with Mira. I’d trust her more than a probability run.”
“She was at the ceremony yesterday.”
“Yeah, I saw her.”
“It was nice, seeing so many friends. I owe you big for cutting me loose early yesterday.”
“Consider you won’t be again until McQueen’s back in a cage.”
“Even so. It meant a lot to my parents for me to spend real time with them. Dad took us out to dinner. A real restaurant, too. Not veggie, not vegan, not healthy choice for Free-Agers. We had actual meat. They were sorry you and Roarke couldn’t come. They understood, but they were sorry.”
“It was nice to see them anyway. Give me data, Peabody. We’re nearly there.”
“Special Agent Scott Laurence, twenty-seven-year vet. Recruited while he was in college. String of commendations. On the short list for bureau chief.”
“Interesting. He let her take the lead.”
“Well, she’s no slouch. He’s married—twenty-two years. Two kids. She’s single, got eight years in. Degrees in psych, criminology. First in her class at Quantico.”
She looked up when Eve rattled up to a second-level spot on the street. “Anyway, they look solid.”
“Felt that way. Bracken works nights. Tends bar at a strip joint where she used to peel it off.” Eve gestured. “She lives above her current place of employment.”
Peabody glanced over. “Handy.”
“Had her club LC license pulled when she tested positive on the regulation exam for illegals. She’s fifty-one, no marriages, no official cohabs, no offspring. Spotty employment, a couple of stints for illegals-related charges. Nothing major. Her juvie records show consistent truancy, runaway, petty theft.”
“Sounds like McQueen’s type.