In Death 12 - Betrayal in Death

retail suppliers sell small lengths, and my information is most of that's to consumers who buy it for hairdos or a quick wrap around the wrist or ankle. Impulse stuff."
    "Wholesalers," Eve said. "He's not an impulse guy, and he doesn't like to overpay," she added, thinking of the hotel amenities.
    "Figured. We got way over a hundred wholesalers globally, and another twenty or so off planet. You need an artist or craftsman license, or a retail ID number to purchase at wholesale level. You got that, you can get it from the source or order electronically."
    "Okay, run them all." She brought up her evidence list as she spoke, checked the length of the wire removed from the crime scene. "He used a two-foot length, exactly two feet, on French." She made a quick scan of other case files, nodded. "Yeah, he likes that length. Check on orders of that length, and lengths with two-foot multiples." She shut her eyes a minute. "Silver tarnishes, doesn't it? Gets spotty or something with age."
    "You gotta keep it polished unless it's coated. Lab said this was uncoated sterling. I got the report right here, and there's no mention of any chemical, any polish on the metal. He could've wiped it pretty clean, I guess. I don't know how much might stay on, or what the hell it does to the metal."
    "Highlight the two-foot purchases," Eve decided. "List them chronologically, going back from the date of the murder. My guess is he'd want a nice, shiny new tool for each job."
    She cut transmission, pondered a bit over the properties of sterling silver, then picked through the files yet again, following the wire.
    Other investigators had followed it as well, but in less than half the cases they had done full scans on specific lengths. And in half of those, the primary had focused on suppliers in the city and environs of the murder only.
    Sloppy. Goddamn sloppy.
    She glanced up, still scowling, as Roarke came in. "What happens to silver when you polish it?"
    "It gets shiny."
    "Ha-ha. I mean, does the polish stuff leave a coat on it, or what?"
    He sat on the edge of her desk, smiled at her. "Why, I wonder, would you suppose I'd know the answer to that?"
    "You know every damn thing."
    "That's flattering, Lieutenant, but domestic activities such as silver polishing are just slightly out of my aegis. Ask Summerset."
    "I don't want to. That would require speaking to him on a voluntary basis. I'll tag somebody in the lab."
    But when she started to reach for her 'link, Roarke simply waved her away, and contacted his majordomo on the house 'link. "Summerset, does silver polish leave a coating of any sort on the metal?"
    Thin-faced, pale of complexion, and dark of eye, Summerset filled the 'link screen. "On the contrary, if properly done the polish is buffed away or the silver would be cloudy, and the process removes a minute layer of the metal."
    "Thank you. Helpful?" he asked Eve when he'd ended transmission.
    "Just plugging holes. Do you sell silver wire?"
    "Oh, I imagine."
    "Yeah, so did I."
    "If you'd like help tracing the murder weapon -- "
    "McNab's on it. We'll see how far we can fumble without you in that area."
    "Of course. But you did want to discuss something with me."
    "Yeah. Where's your pal?"
    "Mick's enjoying the pool. And we've a couple of hours before our guests begin to arrive."
    "Okay." But she rose, walked across the room, and closed her office door. And standing there, looked back, studying the man she loved, had married, and lived with. "The hit, if we accept the theory that this was a hired job, cost two million plus expenses, at the minimum. Who would spend that much to inconvenience or embarrass or upset you?"
    "I can't tell you. There are certainly a number of competitors, professional rivals, or foes, those who have a personal dislike for me who have the financial resources to invest that much money to disturb me."
    "How many of that number wouldn't see murder as too high a price?"
    "In business?" He lifted his hands. "I've made a lot of enemies, certainly, but the battles are generally waged in meeting rooms, over ledgers. While it's not unthinkable that one of them might reach flash point and decide eliminating me is a worthwhile business move, I can't think of a reason, logically, why killing a maid in one of my hotels would answer."
    "Not all your battles used to be waged in meeting rooms, or over ledgers."
    "No. But even they were direct. If we're dealing with an old grudge, it would still be me or mine targeted. I didn't