In Death 12 - Betrayal in Death

"
    "I want a riot laser," Eve snapped at Peabody. "Full body armor." She yanked a six-inch combat knife from its leather sheath and watched, with glee, as its wicked serrated edge caught the sunlight through her little window.
    Peabody's eyes popped. "Sir?"
    "I'm going down to Maintenance, and I'm going locked and loaded. I'm taking those piss-brain sons of bitches out, one by one. Then I'm going to haul what's left of the bodies into my vehicle and set it on fire."
    "Jesus, Dallas, I thought we had a red flag."
    "I've got a red flag. I've got one." Her eyes wheeled to Peabody. "I've got under fifty miles on my ride since those lying, cheating, sniveling shitheads said it was road ready. Road ready? Do you want me to tell you about road ready?"
    "I would like that very much, Lieutenant. If you'd sheathe that knife first."
    With one last oath of disgust, Eve rammed the blade home. "It starts bucking on me while I'm sitting at a light. Just sitting and it's kicking like a..."
    "Mule?"
    "Probably. I run the diagnostic, and you know what it does? It brings up the dash map with directions to the morgue. Is that some sick joke?"
    Peabody's lips quivered. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. "I couldn't say, sir."
    "Then it coughs and stalls, and I get it going again. Two blocks and it's lurching. You know, lurching like..."
    "Frankenstein's monster?"
    Out of steam now, Eve dropped into her chair. "I'm a lieutenant. A ranked officer. Why can't I get a decent vehicle?"
    "It's a sad state of affairs. Sir, if I might suggest, rather than going down with a riot laser, you could try a case of beer. Get on the good side of a couple of the crew down there. Make nice."
    "Make... nice! I'd rather swallow a live snake. You call down. Tell them I need my vehicle up and running within the hour."
    "Me?" Peabody's eyes pricked with what might have been tears. "Oh, man. Before I go off to debase myself, I should tell you that we tightened the line on the wire, and the luggage."
    "Why the hell didn't you say so?" Instantly Eve swung to her computer.
    "I don't know what got into me, Lieutenant. Standing here like a chatterbox." When that didn't get a rise, Peabody huffed out a sigh and went back to her cubicle to bargain with Maintenance.
    "Okay, okay, what have we got." Eve ordered the data on-screen. There were numerous sources for and purchases of the silver wire that matched the murder weapon. But when you filtered it down to two-foot lengths and two-foot multiples, that number narrowed to eighteen globally and six nationwide. With one single purchase of four lengths of two, cash payment, from a wholesaler right in Manhattan.
    "Right here, what do we bet you bought it right here. Twenty blocks from the murder scene."
    As she read the data on the luggage, a grim smile tightened her lips. There were thousands of purchases of the black leather carry-on since January, but focusing on the last four weeks, she found less than a hundred. And of the dozen or so purchased in New York City, there were only two selected on the same day the wire had been bought. And only one paid for with cash.
    "There are no coincidences," she murmured. "You got your supplies right here. Now why would a man buy a transpo carry-on if he'd already done the trip? There was no trip. You were already here."
    Wigs, she thought, and switched to Peabody's search and scan. "Jesus, why don't people just grow their own hair?" Literally millions of wigs, hairpieces, extensions, fillers, and fluffers had walked out of salons and stores and suppliers over the last six months.
    She more than tripled that amount if she included rentals.
    Patient as a cat at a mouse hole now, she pulled up the image of Yost outside the door of the suite, highlighted head and shoulders, erased the face, ordered a computer image of three hundred and sixty degrees, then dumped the result into the data bank.
    "Computer, list cash-only purchases of human hair wig matching current image."
    Working... five-hundred-twenty-six purchases, cash, or imaged product in requested period. Listing...
    While her computer spewed out the supplier locations and dates of purchase, Eve followed on-screen.
    Paradise Salon, retail, Fifth Avenue, New York, May three.
    "Hold. And we have a winner. Busy boy that day, weren't you, shopping all over town. Computer, list any other purchases on this receipt."
    Working... in addition to human hair wig model distinguished gentleman, receipt includes purchase of human hair