Leverage in Death (In Death, Book 47)(4)

By: J. D. Robb


The visual said happy, loving, attractive family.

If there’d been problems on the home front, it didn’t show here.

She sat behind his desk.

“Computer, open ops.”

It fluttered on to a holding screen. Password required . . .

Ignoring that for now, she opened desk drawers. Standard office supplies, some file discs, some hard copy files. And a memo book.

She switched it on and, as it wasn’t password protected, paged to the current date.

ECON! Meeting/signing* 9:00. Final presentation and reveal. Don’t sweat it!

Confirm cupcakes and champagne for department thank-you by 11:30. Send department memo for meeting (surprise party). Set for 4:15. Prepared remarks—brief.

Personal bonuses for Rudy and Kimmi for job amazingly well done.

Home by 6:00—stop for flowers for your amazing girls! Act surprised at the celebration dinner those amazing girls have been whispering about for a week. One hour post-dinner to resume Dragon Spear tourney with Mel—too long postponed. Tuck Mel into bed, and make love to your beautiful wife—way too long postponed.

Get some damn sleep!



Eve sat back, swiveled to look out the window. Why would a man so obviously looking forward to a day—business and personal—blow it all up, himself included?

She paged ahead, noted several appointments—again business and personal—in that same easy stream-of-thought style. She paged back, found several weeks of an intense work schedule, much of which revolved around Econo strategy sessions, planning sessions, marketing campaigns—aside apologies to his amazing girls for missing dinner or dance practice.

Nothing to indicate depression, anger—frustration here and there, yes, but not anger. Nothing to indicate he’d bought or acquired explosives or had the knowledge to create a suicide vest.

“Doesn’t fit,” she muttered, looking at the triple frame photos. “You don’t fit.”

As she pulled out her comm, Peabody gave the door two knuckle raps, then poked in.

“Pearson—son and daughter—will probably cohead the company. Son was in London handling that area, and daughter in Rome when things went boom. Both are on their way back. As for Paul Rogan—”

“Clean as they come?” Eve finished.

“You got that. Financially secure—no signs of trouble there. Nothing to show any knowledge or interest in explosives, in political fringe associations. Company man, in charge of marketing for the last three and a half years. Worked his way up with over eleven years in the company. The same goes for the wife. I ran her. Actually, she had an assault charge brought when she was in her twenties—dropped. And the guy who brought the charge was subsequently charged with spousal and child abuse.”

“Okay, it doesn’t add up.” Eve reached for her comm again, and it signaled in her hand. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant, Officers Gregg and Vols. We’re at the Rogan/Greenspan residence. Greenspan’s been worked over, and was bound, locked in a basement storage room. The minor child’s unharmed except for some bruises and minor lacerations. We called the MTs for the woman. Both she and the kid claim home invasion.”

“That adds up. Secure the scene. If the MTs need to take Greenspan to a med center, one of you goes with her, one sits on the residence. I’m on my way.

“Peabody,” she said as she clicked off. “Inform Salazar of the situation, and contact EDD. I want all Rogan’s e’s—office and home—taken in. I want an e-man at the residence to go over security. I’ll seal this office and get a team in here. Move. Meet me at the car.”

She bagged the memo book, sealed and labeled it as she contacted her bullpen.

“Yo, LT,” Detective Baxter said.

“Are you and Trueheart clear?”

“Clear enough. What do you need?”

“I need you at Quantum Air, coordinating with Lieutenant Salazar.”

“On the boomer.”

She sealed the office as she barked out orders.

“Bring a couple of uniforms. Peabody started getting statements. You finish. Everybody, down to the cleaning service. Two honchos are coming in—family of CEO. I’m going to want to talk to them as soon as possible.”