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“It’s almost sicker that way.” Peabody looked back to the board. “If he profiled like a true serial, we could at least say he’s compelled. But it’s not compulsive when you go years between. It’s—”
“Convenience.”
“Sicker. And to think I was so juiced because he talked to me about the cameo, and how they’d play me up.”
“We’ll get him, She-Body.”
“Now I want a damn doughnut.”
“Got your cream-filled with sugar glaze right here.” McNab pulled it out of the box for her.
She took the first enormous bite as Whitney came in.
“Commander,” Eve began. “Thank you for making the time.”
“You made it sound urgent. Are those doughnuts?”
Peabody, unable to speak with a mouth full of cream, nodded.
“Detectives Peabody and McNab thought they were called for,” Eve told him.
“When aren’t they?” Whitney selected a jelly, topped with sprinkles. But the board caught his eye before he could sample. In silence he studied the data, the pattern.
“Nine?”
“Yes, sir. It’s possible there are more, but these dates, times, circumstances I can verify. I’m expecting Dr. Mira, Captain Feeney, APA Reo, and would like to brief everyone on the data and my conclusions at once.”
“Yes. Kyung will join us here at oh-nine-hundred. I can bump that time if you need more.”
“Hopefully not.”
Whitney shook his head. “This is a shit storm.”
A lot of that going around, Eve thought.
She stayed out of the way as Feeney came in, reacted enthusiastically to the doughnuts, then stood munching one as he studied the board. Mira and Reo came in together, and Eve heard a snippet of their continued conversation about a shoe sale.
Eve waited as each caught the board, as Mira accepted the cup of tea Peabody brought her. As she sat, sipped, studied.
Eve judged the timing, then walked up to the board, faced the room.
“The data, my gut, and a probability of seventy-three-point-eight say that Joel Steinburger killed the nine individuals on these boards. Motives may be murky as yet, but beginning with Bryson Kane, when the victim and the suspect were twenty and twenty-one, respectively, the suspect had received a warning of imminent academic suspension due to spotty attendance and failing grades. While records show the suspect’s attendance did not significantly improve, he went from near suspension to honors list in a four-week period.”
“You figure he cheated,” Feeney commented.
“I do. I figure he paid the victim, who was a straight honors student, to write his papers, crib any tests or exams. I believe the victim either wanted to stop or asked for more money. They argued, and the suspect pushed him down the stairs. The suspect’s grades dipped sharply for the three weeks after his roommate’s death. This was put down to natural emotional upheaval at the time. I call bullshit. His grades dipped because he killed his source. He had to find another.”
“How do you prove it?” Reo asked her.
“By analyzing financial data from that period. By interviewing the other roommates, instructors, students.
“Second victim,” she continued. “His fiancée’s wealthy, influential great-grandfather, and the suspect’s boss. At his death, the great-granddaughter—who married the suspect—came into a considerable inheritance. And from the pattern that emerges here, the suspect has a fondness for women.”
“A cheat’s a cheat,” Feeney commented. “He cheats on the girlfriend, Granddaddy finds out, tells him to blow.”
“That’s the one I like,” Eve agreed. “The suspect ends up with a wealthy wife, a solid position at the studio, and the potential to become heir apparent.
“Victim three,” Eve said and worked her way down.
