Page 22 of Bonded in Death

One of the team stepped back. The head shook, but she walked toward the door.

“Not yet, and no need. We found a canister, about two hundred and twenty-five grams. Appears to be empty, but it’s going to our lab for testing.”

“Where was it?”

“Positioned in the ceiling, has a remote trigger. Piped into the AC. Canister’s clean as you get, but it’s not new, Dallas. It says Phosphine, and some joker drew a skull and crossbones on it, along with the name of your vic.”

“His name?”

“And that’s recent, but the canister itself isn’t going to be. It’s dated 2024, and it’s an old-school device. So’s the remote.”

“I need to see it.”

“I’ll send you a picture, and you’ll get the canister when we’re done with it. We need to strip the vehicle down, make sure there isn’t more. We got a cam, too, one with audio. And that is new. The driver could see and hear what was going on in the back on the dash screen.”

“Did it record?”

“Yeah, it did. I’ll get that to you asap. Everything in here has to be tested, scrubbed, and cleared before it leaves the bay. That includes us.”

Behind the protective shield, Spooner’s eyes went hard. “The victim didn’t go easy. He went fast, and that’s your blessing, but he didn’t go easy. Did Dickhead tell you about the chemical?”

“Yeah, enough. Be careful in there, Spooner.”

Now she smiled, a little. “Never anything but.”

Studying the limo as the team continued to dismantle it, Eve jammed her hands in her pockets.

“So he watched—more personal. He had to feel it when Rossi kicked at the privacy window. Knew what was happening, but he needed to see it, and to hear it. Or have the record for his client to see, to hear.”

“Proof for the balance of payment?”

“Maybe. Could be that.”

Accepting she couldn’t make the sweepers work faster by watching, Eve turned away and started down the corridor.

“But that smirk, Peabody? I can see a pro holding up the card if that was part of the deal. But the smirk? You don’t pay for that. Personal,” she said again. “And I don’t recognize the face. Let’s find out if EDD hit a match. I want this bastard’s name.”

Back at Central, she had Peabody go back to digging into the victim’s background. And she went straight to EDD.

Even the crazed mix of colors, patterns, movement couldn’t compete with Jenkinson’s choice of tie today. She saw McNab, skinny hips rocking in a pair of baggies striped in red, blue, yellow, and orange. His red-streaked tail of blond hair bounced on the back of a red T-shirt with a full moon floating on the back.

The moon had a grinning face with one eye closed in a knowing wink.

She started toward his station when Callendar waylaid her.

Callendar’s bibbed baggies hit a green you might get if you fertilized your lawn with plutonium. She’d cut her hair into a kind of wedge. One side ink black, the other plutonium green.

Eve thought: Why? Then let it go.

“We haven’t hit. McNab’s trying searches with different hairstyles, colors, bald. I’m doing dead guys, in case he tried that angle. Nothing’s hit.”

“Okay.”

“I’m thinking a pro who keeps it down low enough wouldn’t hit. But the card he left on the body sure as hell isn’t down low. So puzzlement. We could still hit,” she added. “We’re all over it and back again twice.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you get back again twice.”

As she started out, Feeney came to his office door, waved her in.

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