Calculated in Death

that.”
    “McNab’s sending up a copy of all transmissions. He says you can clearly see the vic pulling on her coat, a scarf, even a hat and gloves while she talked with the husband. She had him on her desk ’link. McNab says she had the briefcase Yung described, and a red handbag also with shoulder strap. Wedding ring, wrist unit, and the heart stud earrings.”
    “Good.” McNab might have been Peabody’s main man, but that didn’t affect his work.
    “They talked for just over three minutes, and she told him to pour her a big glass of wine, how maybe he’d get lucky. He joked back, no, maybe
she’d
get lucky. It makes it sadder. It just does.”
    “Sad isn’t part of the equation right now,” Eve said as they walked out of the elevator and into the garage. “The transmission backs up the husband’s story, and also gives a picture of their relationship. Add that, the initial interview, his demeanor, their financials, and he’s looking clear. Unless we find he had a sidepiece, he’s got no clear motive for having her done.”
    She got behind the wheel. “Harpo came through. We’re going to need to run Maxima Cargos, Mini Zips and 4X Land Cruisers, with Blue Steel interior carpet. Either ’59 or ’60.”
    “That’s a good break.”
    “It’s a break anyway. The blood on the tarp and some trace on the fibers are the vic’s. So we’ve confirmed she was grabbed, tossed in a vehicle, transported, taken inside, killed. Coat, hat, gloves, scarf, jewelry taken, dumped outside.”
    “I’ll start a run, see if any of the names we’ve got has a vehicle that matches.”
    “Let’s find out what work she was bringing home, and see if we can figure out why.”
    Knowing her job, Peabody pulled out her PPC as Eve zipped out of the garage. First things, first.
    “I’ve got Sylvester Gibbons as her immediate supervisor. If I’m figuring this right, she works in a division that does independent audits. Businesses, corporations, trust funds.”
    “Audits. That’s when they’re looking for something hinky.”
    “I guess. Or just making sure everything’s right.”
    “Something hinky,” Eve repeated. “One way to screw up an audit or at least delay it—kill the auditor.”
    “That’s pretty harsh and extreme. And if numbers are hinky, it’s going to come out anyway, right?”
    “Maybe they need time to fix it. You snatch the auditor, find out what she knows, what she’s put on record, who she’s talked to. Get the information, kill her, set it up as a mugging. Now you’ve got some time to fix the numbers, or if you’ve been dipping into the till, put the money back. If it’d gone smooth, everybody thinks Marta had some really bad luck. They don’t start poking around in her work straight off. We could be ahead of them. Contact Judge Yung.”
    “Now?”
    “Preemptive strike. No money guy’s going to want to hand over a client’s documents to the cops. We need a warrant, one that covers everything the vic’s worked on in the past month. Yung will clear the way for that, save us time.”
    “It’s like having a judge on tap. I didn’t mean that in the bribery, judge-in-the-pocket kind of way.”
    “Uh-huh. Don’t give her any more information than necessary. We want to be thorough, cover all bases. You know the drill.”
    “I’ve never drilled a judge before. And that still comes off shady. Or uncomfortably sexual.”
    “Just get the warrant, Peabody.”
    Eve thought about something else she had on tap. She happened to be married to a numbers geek. Money was his language, and he was seriously fluent.
    She hunted for parking, and considered it her lucky day when she found a spot curbside only a block and a half from the victim’s office building.
    “The judge says she’ll make the warrant happen,” Peabody reported, “but it may take a little time. Sensitive material, privacy issues. If we can show reasonable evidence the vic was killed due to her work, it’ll slide right through.”
    “We might show evidence if we looked at the work.” But she’d figured as much. At least the wheels were already grinding.
    The sky began to spit an ugly, icy sleet, causing other pedestrians to quicken their pace. In seconds, an enterprising street vendor hauled out a cart, popped it open to reveal a supply of umbrellas for about triple their usual rate.
    In seconds more, he was mobbed.
    “I wouldn’t mind one of those,” Peabody murmured.
    “Toughen up.”
    “Why doesn’t it just