Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

he wanted to say.
    “How many people at your company have access to every file on your main computer?” Sam asked.
    “Four,” Sizemore said sullenly. “Me, Sharon, Jason, and Ms. Tibble.”
    “Of those four, who has access to the ex-military old-boy club?”
    “You know the answer as well as I do.”
    Sam waited.
    “I’m the only one!” Sizemore said. He slammed his empty bottle in a nearby wastebasket—a bottle because this morning he’d started in on the high-test brew early. He put his head in his hands. “I’m the only one and I didn’t do it.”
    Sam made a subtle gesture to Kate. Time for the sort-of-nice cop to step in.
    “Did you know that Peyton Hall employed Jack Kirby?” she asked.
    Slowly, Sizemore’s gray, shaggy head came up. “What?”
    “According to information we have,” Kate said, “Peyton used Kirby for occasional background checks for Hall Jewelry International.”
    “Kirby never mentioned it,” Sizemore said. “But why would he? I only saw him a few times in the years since the strike force.”
    “What about Peyton Hall?” Sam asked.
    “Putz.”
    “No argument here,” Kate said, thinking about the man’s reputation with women. “Do you think some of his pillow talk with Sharon might have been about business? Sizemore Security Consulting business?”
    “Sharon knows better than to talk out of school,” Sizemore said roughly. “Oh, she might have let something slip here and there, but she’s not stupid.”
    “Except with men?” Kate asked gently.
    Silence stretched.
    And stretched.
    Abruptly, Sizemore came to his feet. “Most of the time when I see Peyton, he’s leaning over her, looking at her computer screen while she works. He could get a lot of information that way. Hell, he could even have her security code. And Kirby would be all Peyton would need to hire a bunch of badasses for the dirty work.”
    Sizemore grabbed the phone and punched in Sharon’s room number.
    No answer. He waited long enough for the hotel operator to break in and then hung up without leaving a message.
    “Sharon’s not in her room,” he said.
    “Where else would she be?” Sam asked.
    “She should be here. She knows we’re leaving. Or we were,”Sizemore said bitterly. “I don’t know if I’m going to be allowed near an airport until this is over.”
    “If Kennedy hasn’t had you arrested by now,” Sam said, “then he isn’t going to.”
    Sizemore shoved up his shirtsleeve and held his wrist under Sam’s nose. “I’m under house arrest. Or hotel arrest, to be precise.”
    Sam looked at the “bracelet” Sizemore was wearing. It was the latest word in keeping track of people without putting them behind bars. Sizemore couldn’t get away if he wanted to. The band on his wrist let the Bureau track him anywhere on the planet.
    The red flush on Sizemore’s face said that he was humiliated by the bracelet, but it was better than being fingerprinted and put in prison.
    “Kennedy’s good at covering his ass,” Sam said.
    Sizemore’s mouth flattened.
    “Is Peyton Hall still here?” Kate asked quickly.
    “Sharon had breakfast with the putz,” Sizemore said. “Didn’t say anything about him leaving before tonight. The last of our clients will be out of here by then.” He looked at his watch. “She’s late. Should be here by now.”
    There was a light knock on the door and the sound of the lock and the door opening.
    “Dad? I’ve been thinking. It isn’t easy to say, but—” Sharon stopped cold when she saw Sam. “What are you doing here—gloating?”
    “They came to talk about who else could have access to Sizemore Security Consulting information,” Sizemore said.
    Sharon took a deep breath, like she’d been hit. Fear or tears glittered in her eyes. Her fists clenched at her side.
    “I’ve been wondering about it too,” she said jerkily. “I was awake most of the night. Thinking. About connections. About who could and who couldn’t.” Visibly, she struggled to control herself. It took a few moments, but she managed. Swallowing hard, she said in a hoarse whisper, “I—Peyton. I’m so sorry, Dad. It’s Peyton. The bastard has been using me all these years.”
    Sam narrowed his eyes. “What makes you say that?”
    “We had breakfast together. He wanted me to walk away from my father.” She took a hitching breath and looked at Sizemore, not at Sam. “I was—upset. I went to get some antacids out of his computer case—he always keeps them