Page 152 of Random in Death
“Gladly. Dallas, I don’t know anything about it, really, but he’s got these hermetically sealed containers, and I think they might hold viruses or bacteria.”
“We don’t touch those. We call in a hazmat team, scientific lead on it.”
“Even more gladly.”
She checked her wrist unit again. Outside, she thought, dusk would be settling in.
“Just school stuff, Dallas. Where do you want me?”
Feeney answered McNab. “We found another tablet, take that. This unit here, it’s science stuff. I got some of it, and he’d have a lot of explaining to do with just this.”
Science, she thought. Berenski would be off duty, but…
She contacted Whitney.
“Sir, we’ve found numerous chemicals and controlled substances at this location. Illegal substances. We’re calling in a specialty team to handle what may be samples of viruses and/or bacteria. We’ve also found various formulas on his electronics we’re not equipped to decipher. I realize Chief Berenski is off duty at this time, but we’ll need the lab to prepare for what we’ll send them.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Passcoded,” McNab said of the tablet. “Fail-safe. Take a couple minutes.”
“Roarke?”
“Working on it,” he told Eve. Since he’d taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and tied back his hair, she knew he was deep in work mode. “He knew enough to cover his tracks, but not very bloody well. I’m getting there.”
She had to force herself not to tell him to get there faster.
Maybe he had a hidey-hole after all. It didn’t make sense considering the security he’d put on his work area, but maybe.
She started hunting for it. A panel, a secret door, anything.
“Lieutenant.”
She spun around toward Roarke.
“On-screen,” he said, and Jenna Harbough’s ID shot filled it.
“He uploaded this the day after he killed her. Along with media reports. And her social media accounts, as much about her as he could find. Including her obituary.
“There are notes, again logged the day after her death.”
He brought them up.
The first project successfully completed. The formula worked perfectly, allowing me time to leave by the preplanned exit. The subject, now identified as Jenna Harbough, reacted swiftly upon injection. She looked at me, and yes! She saw me. I had expected her to collapse inside the club, but, in what I consider a bonus, she managed to stumble out to the alley and die, the media reports, in Jake Kincade’s arms.
Girls, born whores, love to spread their legs for his type. Tall, a lot of hair, guitar-playing, brainless hulk. But she saw me first.
After another successful project or two, at least two, I have a way to make certain the one I pick sees me last.
“Evil son of a fuck,” Feeney muttered.
“There’s another document, on Arlie Dillon. It’s much the same,” Roarke said, and brought it up.
“Kiki Rosenburg?”
“Yes, but there’s a change there. No photo, no name. Just Third Project/Fail. And his notes.”