Page 40 of Fury In Death

“That’s fine.”

“Have you ever thought of getting a decent spare chair? Wait,” Peabody held up a hand before Eve could speak. “Not a replacement. I realize you have a kind of weird attachment to the ass-biting chair.”

“It keeps people from sitting too long.”

“It keeps smart people from sitting at all. I mean a spare you could bring in when Mira or Whitney or like that comes to your office.”

“They can and do use my desk chair. I’m good with standing anyway. We’re going to run O’Brian and his admin. And see if you can dig up Mae’s full name.”

Because the visit had left her with an itch between her shoulder blades, she rolled her shoulders. “Something’s off about that place. O’Brian’s wearing a lab coat, but how much of that’s for show? I guarantee you he’s already played a recording of our interview with him for Wyst. Something’s off,” she repeated.

“Thirteen years,” Eve muttered. “The big payment, then an annual quarter million. No more, no less. Because it’s not a bonus. It’s payment.”

“I hear you on that, but what else I heard? They liked Chu. That didn’t feel or sound off.”

“Yeah, they liked him. Company man. At the base of it, that’s what he was. Maybe he always was, or maybe they bought his loyalty. And at the base of it, high probability, that’s why he’s dead.”

She turned into the garage at Central. “I’m wondering,” she continued, “if they’re in the dark about who and why, or they have a glimmer of light on it.”

The itch remained.

“Do the runs. We need to know the players—and Wyst is a player if I’ve ever met one. I’m going to dig back thirteen years, see what I can find out about what the company and the victim were up to.”

The elevator stopped almost immediately. A man with a short red ponytail and the stubble of a beard carried a baby in some sort of front-facing sack on his chest.

The baby, feet and arms waving, had a feathery shock of red hair, wide and intensely joyful blue eyes.

He said, “Bah, bah, GAH!” and blew a bubbling raspberry.

Peabody said, “Aw! He’s adorable.”

“Thanks, we sure think so. His mom works here. She’s just back from parental leave. She forgot a few things this morning.” He jiggled the bag on his shoulder.

The kid bounced like he had springs in his butt and said, “Ba ma ba ma DA!”

When the doors opened, and more people piled on, he bounced harder, clapped his hands, blew another enthusiastic raspberry.

Several hard-eyed cops went to putty.

The next stop, another huddle of cops, the kid’s opinion seemed to be, “GOO! Bahbah.”

Eve got off.

“Man, he was so cute. That hair! Those cheeks!”

“Yeah, he had those. How did you know he was a he?”

“He was wearing navy pants with trucks all over them, and a red race car shirt.”

“That’s sexist.”

“Yeah, sure, but also usually accurate.”

They rode the glides. As they topped the glide to Homicide, the elevator opened. A man rushed off. He had dark hair nearly to his shoulders around a sharply angled face. Dark eyes showed signs of weeping and fatigue.

Since her board carried his ID shot, she recognized Nathan Chu.

“Mr. Chu.”