In Death 29 - Kindred in Death

OT dumped on him. Who plods through the work, gets it done, but doesn’t object when his boss or coworker or supervisor takes all or most of the credit.”
    In the bedroom she pulled on a support tank, underwear. “And he’d hate it, the way he’d hate not being able to beat MacMasters’s security from the outside.”
    “You think so?”
    “I know so, because I’m looking at you. You’re pissed off because he’s done something e-wise you haven’t been able to figure out. Yet,” she added, not bothering to disguise a grin when those blue eyes fired. “It’s frustrating.”
    “You’re making it more so,” Roarke muttered.
    “You’ll deal. But the point is, the average guy is a shell, a suit he has to wear that probably doesn’t fit very well. The little things oppose a good fit. Leaving the glass, making the vid, spending hours on the kill, and doing it inside the house. Easier ways, safer ways, but he’s got to show off a little.”
    Intrigued, Roarke continued to dress. “And what does all this tell you?”
    “Well, adding in he’s young, and that’s going to factor even with his sense of patience and control, he’s going to make more mistakes. Maybe just little ones, show-offy ones, but he’ll make them. And I’ll be able to use his need to shed that ordinary suit when I have him in interview. He’ll want to tell me.
    “And for now?” She scooped a hand through her damp hair. “It tells me if he works for Security Plus, he’ll be one of the geeks. Wherever he works, he takes home a decent salary, but damn it, not enough to afford that system. He has to be a geek for either the manufacturer or a service company.”
    “I had Caro get me the names of every male under thirty who works for that arm.” He spoke of his redoubtable admin. “The rest of the geeks and I have been running them throughout the day. None of them are standing out, and none have made a tidy fit with your profile.”
    “Profiles can be off. That was good work, getting the data, taking it into EDD.”
    “Perhaps I’ll ask for a raise.”
    “I just gave you one.” She shot him a grin as they walked out of the bedroom. “I like a service company better. It’s more in keeping. Service, don’t create. No splash.”
    “I just serviced you, and I distinctly recall splashing.”
    “Okay now we’re even on the sex jokes.”
    “It’s only fair. Eve, he could be an independent consultant, a brain trust, a troubleshooter. The field is wide and open. He may not work for any one company.”
    “Shit. Shit.” She had to pace. “That would be even better for him, wouldn’t it? Someone who comes in, fixes things, or gives advice, but doesn’t actually do the day-to-day. It’s perfect. Damn it. I’m going to work through it all again, piece by piece. Add in the data you get me, shuffle it with the Columbia data. Then—”
    “One thing you haven’t considered,” Roarke interrupted. “He’s young, smart, skilled, and he has no scruples. There are other ways for someone like that to make money, enough to buy a top-flight system and the residence to put it. You steal it.”
    “Steal it?”
    “In the grand old e-tradition. Hack into accounts, siphon funds off. Keep that mid-level, too—nothing too big. He knows how to use someone else’s ID to get what he wants. Identity theft’s a profitable business if you’re talented.”
    She rubbed her hands together as the idea took on weight. “You risk getting caught, but he’s willing to risk. He’s careful and keeps the risk low. Why work, or work very hard, when you can just take. It’s an angle. It’s a good one.”
    Her desk ’link signaled even as they walked into her office. She charged for it, scanned the readout quickly. “Yancy, give me something good.”
    “I had a second session with each of the wits. I had to give them, and me, a break between, but I know we need to push. I think I’ve got something, or something close. Lola’s more sure than Marta, but—”
    “Show me.”
    “Hold on. Neither of them saw his eyes, because of the shades. Those and the cap hid part of his face. I’ve projected the most likely, probability eighty-seven and change, for those features. Eyes, eyebrows, forehead. Marta got a glimpse of the forehead, the upper face when he pulled off the cap, but—”
    “Show me,” Eve demanded.
    “Coming through, on screen and hard copy, projected, and with cap and shades.”
    She leaned over her unit, studied the images