The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [512]
“Nothing jumped, but I tagged the electronics, and boxed up her disc files. She had the blockers—case we saw her use earlier—and a couple of soothers in stock. Tagged her admin’s stuff, too. Just in case.”
“Good. Let’s go back through the lockers in the fitness area. And just for jollies, we’ll go through the kids’ lockers.”
“All of them? It’ll take hours.”
“Then we’d better get started.”
She could have called a team in, probably should have. They found a mountain of discs, a good chunk of them graphic novels rather than textbooks. Enough candy and salty treats to stock the shelves of a 24/7, memo cubes, comp games, moldy apples.
Flashlights, hairbrushes, lip dye, art supplies, an ancient sandwich of indeterminate origin. Doodles, sketches, empty wrappers, a number of mittens and gloves, neck scarves and caps.
Photographs, music vids, smelly socks, fashionable sunshades, broken sunshades, loose credits, and a forest of chewed-on pencils.
They also found a bag of poppers and three joints of zoner.
“Jesus.” Peabody shook her head. “Oldest kid in this place is barely thirteen.”
Eve noted down the locker numbers, confiscated the illegals. “Top dealer when I was in fifth, or maybe it was sixth grade was an eight-year-old named Zipper. You wanted it, he’d score it.”
“I never even saw a popper until I was sixteen.” Then Peabody waited while Eve answered her ’link.
“Dallas.”
“Reo. Warrant’s in on Mosebly. Took a little time as she tried to block. Still working on Straffo. He’s having a lot more luck bogging the works. You’re not going to get that one through tonight.”
“We’ll start with Mosebly. Thanks.” She clicked off. “Match the locker numbers with the students on those illegals, Peabody. Don’t file anything yet. We’ll talk to them first.”
“Parental notification?”
Eve shook her head. “We’ll talk to them first. Better, I’ll pass them to Detective Sherry in Illegals.”
“Ooooh, Scary Sherry.”
“Yeah, she’ll have them crying for their mommies and taking the pledge.” Eve checked her wrist unit, calculated the time. “Let’s call in a team to help with Mosebly’s.”
“Coming up to end of shift.” Peabody rubbed her hands together in gleeful anticipation. “Whose evening plans would you care to screw with?”
“Baxter and Trueheart just closed one. Tap them. And go ahead and tap McNab on the e-work there, if he’s clear.”
It infuriated Mosebly to have a small platoon of cops in her space. A very nice uptown space, Eve noted. Private-school brass did just fine, particularly when they were divorced with no kids of their own to pay to educate.
She had a female lawyer at her side who squinted at every word in the warrant, then made noises about police insensitivity and harassment.
It was interesting that under the conservative suits Mosebly—from the contents of her drawers—preferred sexy to slutty lingerie. Interesting that among the literature disc and collection of paper novels, she had a supply of popular romances.
And it was too damn bad they found no illegals, no poisons, no paralytics.
They trooped out with boxes of discs, electronics, and paper files. Eve handed the receipt to the lawyer, then heard, with some surprise, Mosebly burst into what sounded like genuine tears just before Eve closed the door behind her.
“Everything in my vehicle,” Eve ordered. “I’ll take it back to Central, log it in. Baxter, you and Trueheart are off the clock.”
“Let’s chow, my young apprentice.” Baxter slung an arm around Trueheart’s shoulders. “I know a place not far away where the food is questionable, but the waitresses are delicious.”
“Well…I could give you a hand with the carting and logging, Lieutenant.”
Eve shook her head. “Go eat and ogle, Trueheart. I’ve got this. I’ll dump you and McNab at Central, Peabody.”
“Excellent.” She didn’t say it would make more sense for them to snag a radio car and haul the boxes downtown since her lieutenant lived only a few blocks away.
Eve tuned them out on the drive. Obviously her partner and the e-geek were off the clock, too. Their conversation was primarily about a vid