In Death 32 - Treachery in Death

you think,” Janburry told her.
    Eve crouched down for a closer look at the body. No defensive wounds, she noted—and she could smell booze on him. She lifted his right hand—bagged now—by the wrist. No user would leave that much candy on his fingers. That, she thought, was overkill.
    “I think he and his killer entered together. Why, I can’t say, but I’d bet my ass Garnet believed they were here to screw either with me or my investigation. He not only knew his killer, but trusted him. Walked in ahead of him, got his light out, turned it on. A slice like that?”
    She wished she had her gauge, but eyeballed it.
    “I figure the killer pulled Garnet’s head back, exposed the area—gives him a wide, clear target, makes a wide, clean slice. The killer came here for that purpose, and then took the ID and the rest so it might appear to be a meet gone bad, followed by a robbery of opportunity.
    “Keener’s OD was staged,” she continued. “This is more of the same.”
    Janburry crouched down, kept his voice low. “You think another cop did this.”
    “I think people who kill for expediency, for profit, for any reason other than self-defense or in defense of another aren’t cops. They just have a badge in their pockets.”
    “How much muck are we stepping into?”
    “I can’t tell you—yet—but I’d bring spare boots.”

16
    WHEN PEABODY AND MCNAB WALKED INTO EVE’S home office, McNab’s heart, mind, and body arrowed directly to the breakfast buffet.
    “Morning eats! Told ya.”
    “I just said you shouldn’t count on it.” Peabody shifted her file bag and wished the scent of grilled bacon didn’t wrap around her system like a lover.
    But since it did, she dumped the bag and surrendered to temptation, crunching into the first slice as Roarke came in.
    “Morning,” she managed. “Best briefings ever.”
    “No point in solving murders on an empty stomach. You’re looking rosy this morning, Peabody.”
    “It’s the bacon.”
    “Woot! French toast.” McNab grinned as Roarke poured himself some coffee. “Thanks for the spread.”
    “Feeding cops has its rewards.”
    And this one, Roarke assumed, had the metabolism of a manic chipmunk to eat as he did and remain thin as a wafer.
    “We got here a little early,” McNab told him, “so Peabody could help Dallas set up.”
    “And I want to go over some things with her on the Devin investigation.”
    “While they’re at it,” McNab continued, heaping a plate, “I wanted to bounce this idea off you. Feeney and I kicked it around some last night.”
    “Bounce away.”
    “I think we could use the bugs we planted in Oberman’s vehicle to narrow in on the frequency of her disposable. We’d need to tweak and enhance the remote, narrow the focus to the disposable’s signal when she’s on it. It’d take some luck to lock it in, but if we could, we should be able to use it to triangulate.”
    “Coordinate the plants and remote, boosting output while narrowing range, redirect, and trap her signal. Trap it,” Roarke considered, intrigued, “and clone it.”
    “Yeah. If we pulled it off, we could—theoretically—use the clone to pick up her signals and conversations whenever and wherever she used the disposable.”
    “Like a conference call,” Roarke mused. “Interesting.”
    “Theoretically.”
    “By boosting the strength, you’d run a risk of her picking up the bug on a full sweep, particularly during triangulation. But timed right, and with the right adjustments, it could work.”
    “If you want to play with that idea,” Peabody interrupted, “I could hook with Dallas on my end.”
    “She’s not back yet.” Roarke glanced at the time. “She responded to a second homicide at your original scene. Garnet’s dead.”
    “Shit, that balls things up.” McNab stuffed a bite of French toast dripping with syrup into his mouth. “Feeney and I were going to start on his electronics today, and if we got the go, slip into his place and wire it up. No point now.”
    “Why didn’t she tag me?” Peabody demanded. “If Garnet’s down, I should’ve gotten the tag.”
    “It’s not her case—your case,” Roarke amended. “The primary on it contacted her early this morning, as a courtesy I’d say, and likely because he hoped she’d give him a lead.”
    “It should be ours,” Peabody began, then settled down, backtracked. “No, it can’t be ours. She had two confrontations with him yesterday. McNab was monitoring when