Page 130 of Fury In Death

There were muttered curses now, but one handed over a knife, the other a foldable slap stick.

“Inside. Over there, sit. Peabody, take these down, evidence bag, bring up the field kits. Call it in while I talk to these gentlemen.”

Keeping her weapon out, she stood in front of them.

“So, let’s start with IDs, licenses.” When they took them out, she got them on record. “How long have you worked for Wyst?”

“We’re on call when he needs personal security. Two days this round.”

“Look, nobody got past us unless they were fucking invisible and could walk through doors. The elevator should’ve been blocked.”

“It was blocked. The desk unblocked it for us. Warrant,” she repeated. “Did you come inside with Wyst when he arrived?”

“SOP. We came in, cleared the suite. And nobody was in it. There’s a droid.”

“Currently deactivated,” Eve said. “What was Wyst’s state of mind?”

They looked at each other, shrugged. The one on the right answered.

“Nervous, so it showed. The man doesn’t sweat that I’ve ever seen, but you could smell the nerves.”

“He was carrying, too.” The other spoke up. “I can’t say if he’s licensed, but I know when someone’s carrying, and he was. First time when I’ve been on duty with him.”

“A couple of his employees got their brains bashed in, so nervous and carrying. He was taking a flight out tomorrow.”

“Where?”

“He didn’t say. We left his office and made a quick stop at the bank. Safe-deposit box. We stayed outside the room, so can’t say what he got out. Then straight here. We’ve been on the door since we cleared the suite. Orders were no entry. He had replacements coming at nineteen hundred, but until they clocked in, we stayed on the door.”

She nodded as Peabody came in.

“All right, you’re free to go.”

“Weapons?”

“You can pick them up at Central tomorrow.”

“Come on.”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “I can have you taken in for more questioning, or you can walk out, come in tomorrow.”

They decided to walk out.

“Uniforms coming, morgue and sweepers.”

“Seal up. Let’s take the body.”

Jacob Wyst lay broken and faceup on the blood-soaked rug spread in front of the desk. As with the others, the room was in shambles with blood-spattered walls, furnishings. Shards of glass sparkled in the bloody pools.

“Bag that weapon by the window, Peabody. The bodyguards said Wyst was carrying. It didn’t help him any more than Cruz’s helped him.”

“The window’s got some cracks, and blood smears.”

“Hurled him there,” Eve concluded, then crouched by the body, opened her kit. “Right thumb’s pulled out of joint, but I can get a print. Victim is officially ID’d as Jacob Wyst, whose company owns this suite. NYPSD has a warrant for the arrest of the victim.”

“If he’d come to us, he’d be in a cage, but he’d be breathing.”

“He thought he could ride it out. Get clear of Redman, ride out the rest. He’d been wallowing in his money, control, power too long to give it up. Victim has multiple facial injuries.”