Part 3 (2/2)

She set up a standard run on Chad Dix, and brooded into her coffee while her computer pooled the data. Cold, wasteful, pointless. That was how Andrea Jacobs's murder struck her. It wasn't a panic kill. The wound was too clean, the method itself too deliberate for panic. Coming up from behind, it would've been just as easy, just as effective, to knock her unconscious. Her death had added nothing.

She discounted any real possibility of a professional hit. The state of the house put that in the low percentile. A botched burglary was a decent enough cover for a target murder, but no pro would so completely botch the botch by leaving so many portable valuables behind.

Dix, Chad, her computer began. Resides number five, 41 East Seventy-first Street, New York, New York. DOB, March 28, 2027. Parents Mitch.e.l.l Dix, Gracia Long Dix Unger. Divorced. One sibling, brother Wheaton. One half-sibling, sister Maylee Unger Brooks.

She skimmed over his education, highlighted his employment record. Financial planner for Tarbo, Cha.s.sie and Dix. A money guy, then. It seemed to her that guys who fiddled with other people's money really enjoyed having bunches of their own.

She studied his ID photo. Square-jawed, high-browed, clean-shaven. Studiously handsome, she supposed, with well-trimmed brown hair and heavy brown eyes.

”Computer, does subject have any criminal record? Include any arrest with charges dropped or suspended.”

Working . . . Drunk and disorderly, fine paid, November 12, 2049. Possession of illegals, fine paid, April 3, 2050. Destruction of public property, public drunkenness, rest.i.tution made, fine paid, July 4, 2050. Drunk and disorderly, fine paid, June 15, 2053.

”Got a little pattern working here, don't we, Chad? Computer, records of alcohol and/or chemical rehabilitation?”

Working . . . Voluntary rehabilitation program, Stokley Clinic, Chicago, Illinois. Four-week program July 13- August 10, 2050, completed.Voluntary rehabilitation program, Stokley Clinic, Chicago, Illinois. Two-week program June 16-30, 2053, completed.

”Still clean and sober, Chad?” she wondered. Regardless, his record showed no predilection for violence.

She'd interview him the next day, dig deeper if it was warranted. For now, she brought up the data on the victim.

Andrea Jacobs had been twenty-nine. Born in Brooklyn, only child, parents still living, still married to each other. They resided in Florida now, and she'd shattered their lives a few hours before when she'd notified them that their only child was dead.

Andrea's ID picture showed an attractive blonde with a wide, brilliant smile. There was no criminal record. She'd worked for the same employer for eight years, lived in the same apartment for the same amount of time.

Moved over from Brooklyn, Eve thought. Got yourself a job and a place of your own. New York girl, beginning to end. Since she had next of kin's permission to go into the victim's financials, she coded in, brought up the data.

She'd lived close, Eve noted, but no closer than any young, single woman who liked fancy shoes and nights at the club might live. Rent was paid. Saks bill was overdue, as was someplace called Clones. A quick check informed her Clones was a designer knockoff shop downtown.

With the data still up, she switched to her notes and began to order them into a report. It helped her think to take the facts, observations and statements and link them together into a whole.

She glanced over as Roarke came to the doorway.

”There's quite a bit of information about the diamonds, including detailed descriptions, photographs. A great deal more on each of the men allegedly responsible for the theft. It's still compiling. I'm having it sent to your unit simultaneously.”

”Thanks. You need to oversee the run?”

”Not really, no.”

”Want to go for a ride?”

”With you, Lieutenant? Always.”

Chapter 3.

She went back to the scene. It was dark, she thought. Not as late as it had been on the night of the murder, but near enough. She uncoded the police seal.

”How long would it take to deactivate the alarm, uncode the locks? Average?”

”But, darling, I'm not average in such matters.”

She rolled her eyes. ”Is it a good system? Would you need experience to get through, or just the right tools?”

”First, it's a good neighborhood. Safe and upscale. There's considerable foot and street traffic. You wouldn't want to bungle about, have anyone wondering, Now what's that guy doing over there? Even in the middle of the night. What time was the murder, by the way?”

”Time of death's estimated due to the condition of the body. But between twelve and one A.M.”

”Not so very late then, particularly if we believe he was inside already. Shank of the evening, really. So you'd want to get in without too much time. If it were me-and it hasn't been for many the year-I'd have studied the system before the event. Either gotten a good firsthand look at it or done my research and found what sort was installed and studied it at the supplier's, or online. I'd've known what I had to do before I got here.”

Sensible, she thought, in a larcenous way. ”And if you'd done all that?”

He made a low, considering sound and studied the locks. ”With any sort of skill, you'd have the locks lifted inside four minutes. Three if you had good hands.”

”Three to four minutes,” she repeated.

”A longer s.p.a.ce of time than you'd think when you're standing somewhere you shouldn't be, doing something you've got no business doing.”

”Yeah, I get that.”

”If you're an amateur, it would take considerably longer. The alarm, well, you see our resident has graciously put this little warning plaque here, telling those with an interest that she's protected by First Alarm Group.”

Eve hissed out a breath in disgust. ”Hey, Mr. Burglar Man, let me give you a hand with this break-in. Her grandfather was a cop, then went private,” Eve added. ”Wouldn't he have told her how stupid it is to advertise your security system?”

”Likely. So it could be a blind. For argument's sake, we'll a.s.sume, or a.s.sume our killer a.s.sumed, she's giving the honest data. Their bestselling residential package is wired into the lock itself. You'd need to take it out while you were at the lock, and that takes steady fingers. Then you'd need to reset it on the panel she's likely to have just inside the door. So that might take your man another minute, even two, providing he knew what he was about. He'd have done better if he'd purchased the system himself, then practiced on it. Did you bring me here so I could have a go at it?”

”I wanted to see-” She broke off as a man hailed them from the sidewalk.

”What're you doing there?”

He was mid-thirties, with the look of a regular health-club goer. Solid muscle over a lean frame. Behind him, across the street, a woman stood in the light spilling from an open front door. She had a pocket 'link in her hand.

”Problem?” Eve asked.

”That's what I'm asking you.” The man rolled his shoulders, rocked up on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. Combative stance. ”n.o.body's home there. If you're a friend of the person who lives there, you should know that.”

”You a friend of hers?”

”I live across the street.” He gestured with his thumb. ”We look out for each other around here.”

”Glad to hear it.” Eve pulled out her badge. ”You know what happened here?”

”Yeah. Wait a sec.” He held up a hand, turned and called out to the woman in the doorway, ”It's okay, honey. They're cops. Sort of figured you were,” he said when he turned back to them. ”But I wanted to make sure. Couple of cops came by and talked to us already. Sorry about jumping on you. We're all a little edgy right now.”

”No problem. Were you around last Thursday night?”

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