The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [692]
“I’m sure that’ll give his family a lot of comfort, Dwier. Give me names.”
“You think it’s easy to weasel?” He slammed the nearly empty bottle on the table. “You think it’s easy to flip on people you’ve worked with?”
“Was it easier to kill? Easier to throw a few bucks in the hat for a dead cop because there was a snafu? I don’t want to hear about your pain, Dwier, or your skewed sense of loyalty. I want names. It comes down to you or them. No names, no deal.”
“Bitch.”
“Yeah. Keep that in mind. Donald Dukes? His wife?”
“No. He kept her out of it. He doesn’t much like working with women.”
“But he recruited Clarissa.”
“I figure there was some pressure on him to pick her up, since they had a history.” Dwier jerked a shoulder. “Matthew Sawyer, big-shot doctor out of Kennedy Memorial. Brain guy. Keith Burns, one of those computer geeks. Worked with Dukes on the virus. He was the kid’s, Devin’s, godfather. Stanford Quillens, another doctor. Judge Lincoln, Angie and Ray Anderson—their kid got raped by Fitzhugh. Angie runs her own media consultant firm midtown.”
He continued to reel off names. Eve recorded them. He ordered another beer. He wasn’t sloppy yet, she noted. Four beers in less than an hour and he wasn’t showing it. It told her his body was used to the steady intake.
There were other doctors, other cops, a city councilwoman, more programmers, two former social workers, and a minister.
“That’s all I got confirmed. Clarissa might have a couple more.”
“What about funding?”
“Everybody kicks in what they can, donates time.” He sucked on the bottle. “Some of the members got deep pockets, and put their money where their mouth is. We’ve got powerful support—political support—and we could’ve expanded on that without the accidents.”
“Who’s your political support?”
“The mayor. Peachtree, he doesn’t come to the meetings. But he sends statements, and contributions. My take is he lined up Sawyer and Lincoln, Dukes, too.”
“Are you telling me this organization generated out of the mayor’s office?”
“That’s how I see it, yeah. Peachtree wants reform, and he can’t get it through the polls. He found another way. He’s a goddamn hero.”
She stored it, clamped down on another wave of disgust. “How do you select the targets?”
“We put the names, the sheets, to the membership. We vote.”
“Who else is nominated?”
“Only got one more infected. We decided to hold off until we worked out the glitches. Dru Geller. Runs private clubs, sells young meat to patrons. Runaways mostly, she scoops them up and pumps them full of Erotica. Her AP’s scheduled within ten hours.”
“How do you know when it’s achieved?”
“That’s mostly tech stuff. Not my area. But we can track usage on their infected unit or units. They ran sims so they know how long it takes to finalize.”
“When’s the next meeting?”
Dwier closed his eyes. “Tonight, eight. The downtown church.”
“Where’s Dukes?”
He shook his head. “Safe house, Upstate. Albany. I’m supposed to help work out a relocation. He’s still working on the program. Him and Burns and the other techs. They’ll have it perfected in a few days. They’re sure of it. Nobody anticipated that girl being in Greene’s place. How the hell can you anticipate something like that? But it comes down to it, she wasn’t any different than Greene. Got what she deserved, same as him. Just a little whore—”
She bitch-slapped him. Her hand was up and swinging before she realized the fury had taken over, before he could see it in her eyes and evade. The sharp crack of flesh on flesh slashed through the club. A few people turned their heads, then quickly looked away again.
Eve got to her feet. “Stay where you are. Peabody! You’re going in. You can tell your