The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [569]
He’ll moan over that one, Eve thought, but she was pleased to be able to pass that part of the load over to the e-detective. “I’ll communicate that to him, Commander, and send him the list.”
“Copies to my attention. After the press conference, I’ll need you to clear any and all media interviews with me before confirmation. Dallas, you can expect to see yourself and your husband on-screen, in print, and blasted out of the goddamn tourist trams until this matter is satisfactorily closed. If you require a larger team, let me know.”
“I’ll start with what I have. Thank you, Commander.”
“Be here, this office, at thirteen-thirty, for premedia briefing.”
It was dismissal, and acknowledging it, Eve headed out of the office and down the glide. Before she reached her level, she pulled out her communicator and contacted Feeney in the Electronic Detective Division.
“Hey, Dallas. Heard you caught a hell of a show last night.”
“The reviews were a killer. Okay, got that out of my system. I’ve got direct orders from the commander. I’ll be shooting you a full list of cast and crew from the play, and additional theater personnel. I need full backgrounds, with correlation runs. Any and all connections of any and all individuals with Richard Draco and/or Areena Mansfield.”
“Love to lend a hand, Dallas, but I’m up to my nostrils here.”
“Direct from the commander,” she repeated. “He tagged you, pal, not me.”
“Well, hell.” Feeney’s already hangdog face filled the screen with sorrow. She watched him drag a hand through his wiry rust-colored hair. “How many backgrounds we talking?”
“Including nonspeaking roles, walk-on, tech and talent crew, concessions, maintenance, and so on? Four hundred, give or take.”
“Jesus, Dallas.”
“I’ve done Mansfield, but you could go deeper.” Instead of sympathy, she felt amusement that lightened her step as she passed through the bullpen and gave Peabody the come-ahead sign. “Whitney wants it prioritized and rushed. Media conference at fourteen hundred. I need all I can get by then. You’re authorized to put as many hands on the team as you need.”
“Isn’t that just dandy?”
“Works for me. I’ll be in the field. Peabody’ll get you the list ASAP. Look for sex, Feeney.”
“You get to be my age, you slow down on that some.”
“Ha ha. Sex and illegals. I’ve got a tie already. Let’s see if it spreads out any. I’ll be in touch.”
She pocketed her communicator, leading the way down to the lower level where her vehicle was parked. “Shoot the witness and suspect lists to Feeney. We’re dumping backgrounds on EDD.”
“Good for us.” Peabody drew out her palm unit and began the transfer. “So . . . is he using McNab?”
“I didn’t ask.” Eve slid her gaze toward Peabody, then shook her head and coded open the locks on her vehicle.
“You want to know, don’t you?”
Eve strapped in, started the car. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“About me and McNab.”
“As far as I’m concerned, there is no you and McNab. It does not exist in my world. My aide is not having some weird-ass sexual fling with the fashion plate from EDD.”
“It is weird,” Peabody admitted, then let out a long sigh.
“We’re not talking about it. Give me the first address.”
“Kenneth Stiles, aka Sir Wilfred, 828 Park Avenue. And it’s really good sex.”
“Peabody.”
“You were wondering.”
“I was not.” But she winced as a distressingly clear image of Peabody and McNab popped gleefully into her head. “Keep your mind on the job.”
“I have lots of compartments in my mind.” With a happy sigh, Peabody settled back. “Room for everything.”
“Then make room for Kenneth Stiles and give me a rundown.”
“Yes, sir.” Obediently, Peabody took out her PPC. “Stiles, Kenneth, age fifty-six, a rare New York City native. Born and bred in midtown. Parents were entertainers. No criminal record. Educated by private tutor through secondary level with additional classes in drama, stage design,