“It’s easy. It’s all the initials of our first names, in order of age. PCIM—the numbers of the alphabet for them. So it’s sixteen—one-six, that is—three, nine, thirteen. I don’t understand. Did something happen at the house?”
That part of the report hadn’t hit the media, Eve thought—or it hit after Iris turned off the screen. “Two men broke in—got through security. At this time we don’t believe they knew the code.”
Her breath started to hitch. “You said Cecily and Melly were all right. You said—”
“They will be. Ms. Greenspan was hurt, but her injuries aren’t critical. You can contact her through her mother when we’re done here.”
“Melly?” Rocking faster, Iris fisted both hands over her heart. “Did they hurt Melly?”
“Nothing serious. Do you answer the ’link when you’re working?”
“Yes. Please, I just need to talk to them.”
“Melly threw Jupiter out her window to get the cops’ attention.” Peabody added a smile to her soothing voice. “She’s smart, brave, and she’s fine.”
“She is smart. She is.” More tear swiping. “Okay. They’re okay.”
“Have there been any contacts,” Eve continued, “repeat contacts you don’t know personally, surveys asking questions, anything like that in the last six months?”
“Nothing I can think of.”
“Think back to December. What was going on?”
“Oh, the holiday prep. Melly was so excited as we counted down to Christmas, even though she doesn’t believe in Santa anymore. I helped with the decorating, as I always do. We make a party of it. There’s extra marketing and shopping. I’d pick up things for both Paul and Cecily. Paul especially this year as he was already working hard on a campaign. And of course, Melly and I would go out to shop—our secret shopping and wrapping. For her parents, and a few of her girlfriends, her grandparents.”
“Nothing unusual.”
“I can’t think of . . . Well, unusual for me, but I don’t see—”
“Anything.”
“I had my ’link and wallet lifted, right out of my purse. And I know better. Born and raised in New York, so I know how to be careful, and still.”
“How, when?”
“We’d been shopping, Melly and I, hours of it, and had lunch out. A busy Saturday. I don’t work Saturdays as a rule, not for a couple years now, except sometimes over busy times and in the summer break. We were loaded down, and I was a little tired. I got careless. We were on the subway platform, crowded, noisy, and Melly was so excited. I had her hand, firm grip. And there was some jostling as the train came in. That had to be when it happened as I’d just used my ’link to scan us through the turnstiles. And when we were on the train, and I went to get it out—just to let Johnny know I’d pick up a curry on the way home—my ’link and my wallet weren’t in my purse.”
“Did you report it?”
“I did, only because Paul and Cecily insisted. Who would find them? I couldn’t say who took them, only when I thought. I had to cancel the debit card I carry, and the other apps on my ’link and so on. I hadn’t had but a little cash. Well under a hundred dollars, but I had photos in my wallet that meant something to me.”
“But not the codes for the security system?”
“No. Detective—I’ve already forgotten your name.”
“Lieutenant Dallas.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I’ll swear to you on all I love, you’ll never meet a man more decent and caring than Paul Rogan. If he did what they say he did, it’s as you said. He was coerced. More than even that. I don’t know what the word would be, but more than even that. Please, can I try to reach Cecily and Melly now?”
Eve rose. “Go ahead. If you think of anything else, however insignificant it might seem, contact me or Detective Peabody. Cop Central.”
“You have my word on it. I’ll do anything I can to help find who did this to my family.”
*
“December,” Peabody said as they rode down to the lobby.
“Before Christmas, so before the flicks and pushes. They gave it a shot, figured maybe Kelly had the code in her wallet, on her ’link. She didn’t, so they had to start working through the system. Let’s find out when this merger started rolling, who knew as far back as December. And let’s get the incident report on the stolen wallet and ’link.”
Eve stepped out into the brisk air. “We’ll run Kelly’s husband just to cover the bases.”
“She has pictures the kid drew on her kitchen board—and a Valentine’s Day card from the kid, along with one from the husband.”
“It’s not going to be the husband. We run him anyway, cover those bases. He wouldn’t have to lift the ’link and wallet to try to get the code. He’d just check for the code when she wasn’t looking. But maybe somebody he’s done a job for, or there’s someone he works with, hangs out with, who wanted a shortcut to Fat City. Pump him for info, start hacking the layers just like they hacked the security.
“We’ll head to the hospital,” Eve decided. “But let’s see who might’ve been released. If there’s any on the way, we’ll take them as we come to them.”
*
By the time they got to the hospital, they had statements from three people who’d been treated and released. All ran along similar lines. Paul Rogan—family and company man, creative team leader, had appeared “off” or “ill” or “not himself,”—had approached Derrick Pearson and Willimina Karson as they’d entered the conference room.
And boom.
Eve hoped to start at the top with Karson, but the severity of the Econo exec’s injuries had her in ICU, in a coma, and off-limits. Switching tacts, Eve badged them into Rogan’s admin’s room.
Against the white sheets of his hospital bed, Rudy’s face shined raw and red under its coating of burn gel. A stabilizer cast covered his right arm from wrist to shoulder. Sutures closed a gash running from the crown of his head to his left ear. Skin exposed by the thin hospital gown showed nicks, punctures, bruises, and burns.
“Mr. Roe, I’m Lieutenant Dallas, and this is Detective Peabody.” She slipped her badge away again as she approached the bed.
The room, the patient, reeked of the sweet, green smell of the gel. Rudy’s blackened eyes welled.
“I don’t know what happened. I don’t know.”
Ease him in, Eve thought. “What time did Mr. Rogan come into the office this morning?”
“Eight-forty-five. I was worried because I expected him by eight-thirty, latest. It was the big day, and we were going to go over the bullet points of the presentation before the meeting. I’d made some more notes—just chat points—over the weekend.”
“Did you send them to him?”
“No, but I texted him yesterday to tell him, and to remind him of a couple of things.”
“Did he answer?”
“He just texted back to relax. Um, ‘Chill, Rudy. We’re locked on.’”
“‘Locked on’?”
“Yeah, I didn’t get it for a minute, then I figured he meant we had the presentation locked down. Sort of.”
“It wasn’t one of his usual expressions?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, I never heard him use it.”
Military, Eve thought. First mistake.
“How did he seem when he came in this morning?”
“Distracted. Tired. I figured he worked all weekend even though he told me not to worry.” A tear leaked out, slid down the slick gel. “I wanted to give him my notes, but he went right into his office, told me no calls. And—and he locked the door. I heard him lock the door. He never locked the door before. I should’ve known something was wrong, really wrong.”