Shifting, Peabody swiped her notepad. “I ran it through IRCCA for like crimes. Most uses of these vests are political. But we’ve got a few where they were used in robberies. Usually financials. The closest to this is the abduction of a bank employee, two years ago in Chicago. The abductors strapped him into a vest, forced him to enter the bank. The abductors fitted him with an earbud, and held the controls for the vest on remote. Police responded to a silent alarm, surrounded the bank, but the guy relayed the threat that if anyone left the building, they’d blow the vest.”
“What were the demands?” Eve asked.
“Two hundred and fifty million wired to a numbered account. After four hours of the standoff, the owner of the bank opted to wire the funds. The guy in the vest? His son-in-law, and the father of two of his grandchildren. Once the transfer went through, the robbers contacted the hostage negotiator directly, told him thanks. They cleared the bank, the bomb squad deactivated the vest.”
“They didn’t go boom,” Baxter commented.
“No, and they didn’t get away with it, either. The bank guy, however scared shitless, paid attention. They wore masks, but they sealed up instead of wearing gloves. He caught a tat on the left wrist of the guy who strapped him into the vest.”
“Oh, those identifying marks,” Baxter said with a grin.
“Yeah. Prison tat. And though the second one didn’t say much, the guy recognized his voice. Worked in the bank—and had a brother who’d done time. They tracked down the third guy—the bomb maker—on a beach in Mexico. Bomb signature.
“Anyway, it’s not similar except for the use of the vest and the abduction. Though they snatched the guy on his way to work, strapped him up, sent him in after slapping him around a little.”
“And they didn’t get away with it,” Eve added, studying the board. “Only morons don’t learn from their mistakes or the mistakes of others. No identifying marks, no direct connection to the tool you intend to use. Make him responsible—and make sure it blows. Any more like it?”
“Well, a couple where the bad guys used a dupe like this. We had one in New York about twenty years back, but the bomb went off during negotiations. Faulty switch. Another in Vegas where some bystander tackled the dupe, and boom. Every one I found that wasn’t political was motivated by straight cash, and I didn’t find one that worked.”
“It’s interesting.” Eve walked up and down in front of the board. “Here you have two guys. Could’ve been more who stayed out of sight or never came into the house, but let’s go with two. Two’s smarter, less chance of mistakes or rivalry or leaks. They don’t snag a bank employee—though those assholes played a smart card by grabbing somebody who mattered to the main money guy. They don’t rush it through. Grab, strap, go. They take some time, create fear, layers and layers of it because they’re going to put the control in the victim’s hand.”
“What if he couldn’t do it?” Trueheart asked. “If, even with his family on the line, he couldn’t pull the trigger?”
“They lose the time and effort, but they walk away. They had to have him wired so they’d know what he was doing.”
Stepping to the board, she tapped Melody’s photo. “The kid said they made her call for him, scream for him into a ’link. Record that, play that through an earpiece. And still, if he balks, they walk. Maybe they kill the family, maybe they don’t, but they walk. Mission abort.”
She set it aside to play with later.
“Here’s what Peabody and I have.”
She ran them through the interviews, the evidence, the theories.
“So they’ve been at it since at least December,” Baxter calculated. “Had Rogan as the mark. Maybe had others, too, before they settled on him.”
“I’d say the probability they had others as potentials is high,” Eve agreed. “He suited best.”
“If it came down to balk and walk, what would they lose? A few months’ work,” Baxter considered, “whatever they paid for the e-toys and bomb—or paid a bomb maker. Not that big an investment.”
“What were they investing in?” Trueheart wondered. “I can see a kind of domestic terrorism.”
When he paused, Baxter circled a hand in the air. “Continue, young master.”
“Well, Quantum’s a major company, one that caters to rich people. So maybe a fringe group with a political stance against the wealth, especially since they’re about to hook up with a company that caters to the average Joe. Setting off a bomb at Quantum’s main base, with its CEO and other brass there, it terrorizes, doesn’t it? Who isn’t going to think twice about booking a flight on Quantum for a while? And the company’s shaken up.”
“Don’t forget Econo,” Peabody pointed out. “Same thing applies. Its CEO is hanging on, but that’s more luck of the draw, and she might not make it. So both companies are shaking.”
“Econo takes a slap, maybe, for hooking up with rich guys.”
“It’s an angle,” Eve said. “Why hasn’t anybody taken credit for the bombing? You want credit to make the statement.”
“Yes, sir, you do. Or they would,” Trueheart corrected.
“It’s still big bucks in the mix,” Peabody said. “Big bucks to the beneficiaries. But it seems off to hit your own company.”
“Some people’ll sell off. Knee-jerk,” Baxter said.
“The beneficiaries?” Eve asked.
“Shareholders. The stock’ll probably take a hit, both companies. It’s probably already taken a dive. Quantum can probably weather it unless they can’t get the ship righted in the next couple days. I don’t know how solid Econo is. The word is they needed this merger more than Quantum.”
Interested, Eve slid her hands into her pockets. “You got that from statements from Quantum people at the crime scene?”
“No. Financial news, market reports.” Baxter got up to get more coffee. “I dabble.”
“Killing the merger, blowing up the heads of both companies and other brass, that doesn’t benefit the shareholders, the people who’d inherit?”
“I don’t see how.”
“If hurting them’s the motive, what’s the gain? Unless it’s not about gain, but bullshit screw the rich guys. Or revenge. And fuck me if it feels like revenge.”
She paced the board. “We’re going to dig down, particularly on Quantum employees—current and former. They picked Rogan for a reason. You don’t pick him unless you know him or know enough about him to make him a mark. Maybe there’s a cross in the Econo staff, so we’ll look for it. And we need to find out if anyone outside the two companies knew the exact time, date, location of this meeting. Was that publicized, Baxter?”
“All I read about it was they’d cleared the legal hurdles and it was likely to snap together some time this week.”
“So not in the media, but a lot of employees, and people talk. These two knew how much time they had, knew it was going down Monday morning, gambled—with damn good odds—Rogan would do what they told him to do. At the same time, if he didn’t, they built the plan to walk away.”
“Lieutenant?” Trueheart didn’t raise his hand, but sort of lifted it from the table like he’d been about to. “Would the threat—the home invasion, the attack, strapping Rogan up and having him enter the building—even if he didn’t pull the trigger, wouldn’t it shake the companies anyway? Maybe nobody dies, but it’s bad media.”
“That’s a good point, Detective. If hitting the companies was the motive, if what Dabbling Baxter says holds, they’d have accomplished it. Not as hard, but yeah, bad media reports. Start by finding out who didn’t show up for work—right down the line. Peabody, get on that. Baxter, you and Trueheart get back in the field, wrap up more interviews.”
She turned back to the board. “Wait. Companies like that have food vendors and deliveries come in, right? Even if they have their own vending and break rooms. And they get package deliveries—messengers. Some of the execs probably use a car service. People sit in the back, babble on ’links. I’ll take that end.
“Move out. Peabody, get a lock on this room. We might need it again.”
When her detectives left, Eve pulled out her ’link and pushed her way through the winding process of speaking to Rudy Roe.
He sounded both sleepy and hesitant. “Uh, Lieutenant Dallas?”
“That’s right. I have a question. Did Paul Rogan, or your department, call in particular vendors? For in-office lunches or breaks?”
“Paul liked QT—Quick ’n Tasty. They’ve got a place on the lobby level. Elsa would bring him their muffin of the day at ten.”