The In Death Collection Books 26-29 - J.D. Robb [403]
“And without Kip and Bop, we’re chasing our tails for Sandy for days, maybe more. All the arrows point to him for Coltraine. When we find him, it looks like he’d gone to ground, got rolled, got killed. You could construe he took off to avoid arrest—and that being tight with Alex, Alex remains a suspect on Coltraine.”
“You could construe.”
“Except for our motto.” Peabody put on a serious look. “We’re not idiots.”
“Too bad for Sandy, he was. Let’s go write it up.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
There was plenty of action in Central in the dark hours. The whines of street LCs, the moans or giggles of junkies, the weeping of victims. Eve closed herself into her office to translate her record into a report.
When her ’link signaled, she pounced on it. “Callendar. Gimme.”
Callendar grinned. “I got gimmes. Let me start with a big, juicy belch. Two, in fact. Transmissions from Omega to New York, confirmed. Both sending and receiving on unregistered ’links. And yeah, baby, that would be the same ’link used on the home planet. They match.”
“Oh yeah, baby,” Eve echoed.
“Encrypted transmissions from here to there were not logged. Big no-nos on the party palace of Omega.”
“Can you break them?”
“No encryption defeats me. But it’s going to take a little time, and a couple hours’ sleep. Meanwhile, Sisto had a little chat with our old friend Cecil Rouche’s drinking buddy, who also just happened to be on communications at the time in question. Guy named Art Zeban. Zeban played it dumb at the jump, but smartened up when Sisto leaned on him. Which Sisto reports he enjoyed bunches. Zeban claims Rouche gave him a thousand a pop to keep the transes off log. Just a favor for a pal, with compensation.”
“This is good.”
“Better is that the Gs included wiping the record of Ricker’s hygiene break.”
“It’s gone.”
“Please.” Callendar waved a hand in the air as if flicking off a gnat. “Nothing’s ever gone when I’m around. I’ll dig it out. Meanwhile in the meanwhile, I got authorization to search Rouche’s quarters.”
“Does he know?”
“Not yet. We’re—”
“Keep him in the dark. Make sure he’s unable to make any contact on planet—or off. No communications. Wrap him up, Callendar, and wrap him tight. Bring him and his drinking buddy home.”
“All over that. This shit is fun!”
“While you’re having fun, make goddamn sure none of it—not an inkling of it—leaks to Ricker. I want him closed down. If the warden has a problem, he can contact me. But Ricker is shut down tight until further notice.”
“Total,” Callendar said and signed off.
Eve added the new data, then rose to expand her murder board.
“I’m clear,” Peabody said as she came in. “Unless you want to notify next of kin tonight, we . . .” She trailed off when she noticed the additions to the board. “You got something again.”
“Callendar confirms Omega transmissions. They’re encrypted, but she says she can break that. And she matched the on-planet send-and-receive to the ’link Feeney found. She’s got the tech—” Eve tapped Zeban’s photo. “The guard Ricker’s bribing bribed him to keep them off the log, and to wipe the recording of Ricker’s shower. But she says she can reconstruct.”
“She’s good. McNab says straight up. That’s a lot of bribing.”
“Yes, bribing on a penal colony. I was shocked. It’s a food chain,” Eve muttered. “Ricker at the top. You’ve got Sandy, and Rouche, Zeban, and probably more under that. But there’s the link between Ricker and Sandy. That level. We need to fill that one in to make it all hold.”
She turned around, frowned. “What time is it in France?”
“Um.”
“I don’t know either. I shouldn’t have to know. Roarke would know, but he’s in Vegas. I don’t know what time it is there, either.” She waved her hand before Peabody could inform her. “Find me the head French cop, the one who handles the area where Rouche’s ex lives. I want her watched.