Page 42 of Framed in Death (In Death #61)

“Something goes wrong, it’s on me. Let’s make sure nothing goes wrong. Let’s see the house.”

She glanced around. “Where’s Roarke?”

“He and Feeney stepped out. He got it programmed first. I’ve got it,” McNab told her.

Eve studied the exterior first. “That’s all one unit?”

“Three-story with accessible rooftop and attached garage,” McNab told her. “Converted from multi-to single-family residence in 2054. Entrances, garage, front, rear, and west side. We’ve got the security system—it’s one of Roarke’s.”

“Handy.”

“Three-sixty cams, anti-jam shields, palm and retinal scanners, anti-hack digital locks with full lockdown mode and integrated alarm system. He’s got the works, squared.”

“And we’ve got the guy who designed the works.”

As she spoke, Roarke and Feeney came in. She’d caught the scent, as had every cop in the room, from the stack of pizza boxes they both carried.

She should’ve known.

“McNab, put the interior up, then take five. Five, people! Grab your slice and keep the noise down.”

On hologram, Mira watched the stampede in amusement.

“And now I want pizza.”

Roarke smiled at her. “I spoke to Dennis, and he said you hadn’t had dinner as yet. Yours should be arriving any minute. Only fair,” he added as Eve’s gaze tacked briefly to him from the screen. “Teamwork, after all.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Peabody, how long has Ebersole lived at this address?”

As she’d just taken her first bite of a veggie slice, Peabody held up a hand. Then juggled the slice and her PPC. “Since September of 2054.”

“When’s his DOB?”

“Ah… September 28, 2033.”

“They converted it for him. Twenty-first birthday present.”

“Highly probable,” Mira agreed. “Which shows indulgence, but also strings. He lives there, but doesn’t own it. I’ll add, the level of the security system indicates they—and again, I lean toward the mother—will go to great lengths to protect him.”

“He’s closing in on thirty, but treated like a child. A spoiled one. I get it.”

Roarke handed her a plate with a slice. So she ate pepperoni pizza while she studied the screen. And began to strategize the operation.

“How long will it take to get through his security?” she asked Roarke.

“Mmm. A bit of time. I’ll need to make a few adjustments to Feeney’s equipment, so I’ll want… twenty minutes for that before we load up. Then? Five or six on-site to clear for eyes and ears. About that again to shut down the alarms, then the cameras.”

He paused, met her eyes. “This is assuming you want a stealth entry.”

“I do.”

“Well then, perhaps… mmm… five minutes to undermine the lockdown option, then two or three minutes at the outside to lift all locks.”

“So, twenty here, twenty there.”

She took the tube of Pepsi he’d already cracked for her and studied him as she drank. “Out of curiosity, how long if you hadn’t designed the system?”

Considering, he sipped from a tube of his own.

“Ah, hypothetically, if I were a thief, and a clever one rather than a businessman and police consultant, I’d want to take several days, perhaps a week or two, to thoroughly study the system.

Then I’d need to design the tools needed to get through the various layers.

This might take another two weeks, even a month.

After that? About the same time I gave you. ”

He ate some pizza. “But, unfortunately for me, unless I were exceptionally clever, I would likely have missed at least one of the underlayers of the system, as they’re designed for just that. So after that time, expense, and effort, I’d probably end up in the nick.”

“What you’re saying is he’s got a system that’s next to foolproof.”

“Nothing’s foolproof, but yes. It’s a bloody good system. And they’ve added every security layer we offer, and at considerable expense.”

Nodding, she glanced around at cops eating pizza.

“It’s different from when we went after Potter. I needed the whole squad there. He had a kid inside, and he had weapons. He was trained. This guy isn’t trained, he’s unlikely to be armed. He’ll have a street LC who should know how to defend himself.”

“But they worked it,” Roarke concluded.

“Yeah, and because they did, we’ll have him before he kills the next target. He’ll feel safe inside,” she added. “He’ll never see us coming because he won’t be looking. But he’s got a bloody good security system around him personally, too. And shutting that down comes after we get him.”

“The level of wealth the Harper Group can access is formidable, and it appears they’ll use it for this… wayward son.”

“You say wayward. I say shithouse rat crazy murdering fuck of a bastard.”

“Your way does sum it up nicely.”

“Who do you need to adjust the equipment?”

“Not to diminish McNab, but Feeney would be best for it.”

“Take him, get started. I can brief you on the op on the way.”

“Then we’ll be taking some of this pizza with us. You’d best grab another slice yourself before there’s nothing left but the memory.”

Because she wanted one, she grabbed a second slice, and continued to study the screen.

She couldn’t think of a word that topped indulgence , but if there was one, this hit that mark.

He had a three-vehicle garage that led into an anteroom, she assumed for coats or foul weather gear. Turn right, and you had a storage area, laundry area, the security hub, and an elevator. To the left, what was labeled an office with a full bath.

Straight ahead, the living area.

Come in the front, foyer—small sitting room on the left, large closet on the right. Living area, half bath, game room.

Open stairs led to the second floor, and behind them, a lounge area, formal dining, kitchen with butler’s pantry—and, she noted, droid storage.

So he likely had at least one droid in residence.

Second floor, four bedrooms including the main suite with its own bathroom, closet/dressing area, sitting area, outdoor terrace.

Third floor, studio. Full bath, dressing area, two storage areas, a bar area. Then the rooftop with retractable glass roof and sides, elevator access.

Windows, and they were generous and many, all one-way glass. He sees out, but no one sees in, she thought. Unless he’s on the roof, lounging, painting, observing.

She tagged Feeney.

“Working here.”

“I want the elevators and interior locks shut down, too.”

“What, am I stupid all of a sudden?”

“Since no, I need both of you to take a look at the third-floor interior/exterior, east. His studio takes up the third floor, and there’s a large storage area.

It looks off to me. He’s got a big storage area on the main level.

There’s a basement for mechanicals and more storage down there.

There’s droid storage, security hub. Smaller storage area on the west side of the third floor.

So why would he need a second storage room this big in his studio?

And the walls aren’t right on it. They’re too thick compared to all the rest.”

“You’re thinking panic room, and they didn’t permit for it.”

“Another security layer,” she said, “and keep it off the books so if anyone tries to hurt the baby boy, he has the safe room.

“I don’t want him getting in there, Feeney. We’d get him out, sure, but why spend the time? Give him time to contact his family or lawyers before we have him in custody. Or worse, drag the target in there and use him for a hostage.”

Feeney looked away from the screen. Eve spent the next couple of minutes listening to the foreign language of the e-geek.

“We’ll need a few minutes to look into it. We’ll block the locks if it’s there, but we need time to figure it.”

“Figure fast.”

She stuck her ’link in her pocket.

“All right, you’ve had your pizza bonus. Now take a seat, cut the chatter. Here’s how ten cops and one civilian consultant are going to take down one rich mama’s boy murdering son of a bitch and keep his target—should he have one—safe.

“McNab, exterior again. Team one, Peabody, Roarke, myself, front entrance.

Team two, Carmichael, Santiago, garage entrance.

East side entrance, team three, Jenkinson, Reineke, McNab.

Team four, Baxter, Trueheart, Feeney, rear entrance.

No one moves into position until security is down and we have eyes and ears.

“The building has three-sixty cams,” she continued. “It also, as you see, has a serious crapload of large windows. They’re all one-way glass. We’re not giving him any opportunity to spot cops, so we stay out of range until EDD clears it and I give the green.”

Since she still had it, she drank more Pepsi.

“Interior, McNab. When we move, we move quick and quiet. He has at least one house droid. Storage area, as you see.” She used her highlighter. “Feeney will shut it down. Alternately McNab or Roarke shuts it down if it’s not in storage.

“Once team two is in the garage, EDD will disable the garage door. Team four clears the rear of the building. Team one moves directly via the stairs to the third floor. Team two clears the rest of the first level, team three second level. Elevators will be shut down before we enter. Rooftop, team two clears. All teams will clear their way to the third floor, or wherever the suspect is located.”

“While he’s unlikely to have a weapon,” Mira put in, “it’s not impossible, and he should be considered both desperate and dangerous.”

“Everything’s a weapon,” Eve said. “As Dr. Mira said previously, he’s unlikely to just throw up his hands and say: ‘Hey, you got me.’ There will almost certainly be a civilian present, one he may attempt to use as a shield.

“If team one doesn’t have the suspect under control by the time the rest of the house is cleared, they—which includes me—deserve an ass-kicking. In that event, I trust the rest of you can handle him.”

“Who delivers the ass-kicking?” Jenkinson wanted to know.

“In that eventuality, Detective Sergeant, you are the ranking officer in Homicide.”

He gave her a sober nod, with his eyes twinkling. “I’ll bear that responsibility, Loo.”

“I have no doubt you’d perform that duty with enthusiasm and skill. Meanwhile, there’s another area on the third floor. McNab?” She highlighted it. “Enhance this room. It’s billed as storage, but—”

“Walls are too thick,” Baxter said. “And check the ceiling. It’s lower than the rest of the floor. I dated an architect.” He added a wistful smile. “She was fine. Looks like they added girth to the walls, the floor, the ceiling. You sure don’t need that for storage. Safe room.”

“Did it without a permit,” Carmichael said. “I dated a contractor. Some palms got greased along the way.”

“I agree, both counts. Captain Feeney and Roarke are working to confirm it.”

“Just did.” Feeney strode into the room.

His basset hound eyes showed pure satisfaction.

“Turns out the suspect’s father’s brother-in-law has a company that designs and manufactures safes, lockboxes, vaults, and panic rooms. They call ’em secure rooms. We did a track back on the e’s installed, the infrastructure.

That area’s loaded. Full house and exterior cams, data and communication, hardwired D and C, temp and air flow control separate from the rest of the house. ”

“Basically, it’s a large vault.” Roarke carried what looked like a small toolbox. “But with amenities.”

“Can you shut it down?”

“Certainly. It would add a bit of time, but yes.”

She glanced at the toolbox. “New toys?”

He only smiled. “Tools adjusted for the purpose.”

“Peabody, check with Reo on the warrants. Feeney, looks like two vans.”

“Already went there.”

“You’re team four, rear entrance. Droid or droids need to be shut down. Roarke, team one, in the front and straight up. When we’re clear, we go Q and Q—quick and quiet. We clear, we secure the suspect, and we provide safety for any civilian who may be with him.”

She turned to Roarke. “How much additional time to shut down the panic room?”

“I’ll do better there once inside. It’s on a separate system, of course. So the same twenty, we’d say, for eyes, ears, shutdown, and to gain entry. Then it would take one or two, possibly three, to shut down that accessibility.”

“If he goes for it, manages to get in before you shut it down?”

“Same answer. With what I have now, one to three to shut it down, open the door. He won’t be able to hide for long, Lieutenant.”

She thought: Solid, then looked back at the screen.

“McNab, bring the suspect up, full screen. There he is. He doesn’t look like much, but he’s killed three people in three days. He spent months planning it, and he’s not finished. We’re going to make sure he’s never going to finish.

“Any questions?”

There were a few. Good cops always had a few questions, she thought.

When she’d answered, she scanned the room.

Every one of them could’ve been kicked back watching the game, drinking a brew. And every one of them was exactly where they wanted to be.

“Warrants came through, Dallas.”

“Okay then. Garage, level one. Jenkinson, drive the first van with McNab, Santiago, Carmichael, Reineke. Feeney at the wheel of the next with the rest of us. Everyone run checks on your earbuds. Once in the residence, we go silent. Hand signals or clicks only.”

“Eve, I can come in to observe once you bring him in if that’s helpful.”

“It may be,” she said to Mira. “I’ll keep you informed. Thank you for your input.”

She turned to her cops. “Let’s go get this asshole.”

She started out, headed for the glides.