Page 35 of Done Dirty

The doorbell rang.

“Pizza,” Jack said, and went for the door.

Jack came back with the pizza boxes and three people behind him—Daniels, Derby, and Plank in that order, all of them looking rumpled and still in their work clothes. Oscar hit the entryway at full speed and made the rounds, nose to knee, tail going. Plank reached down and scratched his ears without breaking stride.

Jack herded everyone down the hall toward the office. I grabbed plates and followed.

Jack’s office was the biggest room in the house. Stone fireplace along one wall, bookshelves on either side of it, pine plank ceiling overhead. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the west wall looked out over the woods, and outside the woods were still bright in the July evening. Oscar went directly to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace, turned around twice, and settled in with his chin on the armrest.

The conference table in the center of the room was a restored barn door on steel legs, big enough for all of us with room to spare. Pizza boxes went in the middle and everyone pulled up a chair.

The whiteboard system took up the two corner walls behind Jack’s desk. Jack’s best friend, Ben Carver, had designed it—fully electronic, touchscreen, the kind of setup that could run photos and databases and autopsy reports simultaneously and let you draw connections directly on the screen. Jack had called it absolutely ridiculous when it went in. He’d meant it as a compliment.

He touched the panel and it came to life. Wade’s photo went up in the center.

“Doug,” he said. “Let’s start with the camera footage.”

Doug had his laptop under one arm and a slice of pizza in his other hand. He set the laptop at the end of the conference table, put the pizza down, opened the lid, and Margot’s interface came up immediately.

“Margot, we’re in the office,” Doug said. “Jack, Daniels, Derby, and Plank are here.”

“Jack,” she purred. “I’ve been thinking about you while I was offline.”

“Margot,” Doug said, a warning in his voice.

“I’m allowed to think, Doug,” she said waspishly. “You can’t control my thoughts.”

“Now’s not the time for this, Margot,” Doug said. “We’ve got important work to do.”

“Right,” she said. “Work.” Then the timbre of her voice changed into something sultry and southern. “Officer Plank. So lovely to work with you again. I don’t think I caught your first name the last time we met.”

Plank was the color of the pepperoni on the pizza. His eyes had a look of panic that only Margot could bring. “Umm…it’s Simon.”

I raised my brows at that. I’d never actually heard Plank’s first name before. I’d started to think it was Officer.

“That’s a very sexy name,” she whispered. “Simon. May I call you Simon?”

“Let’s keep things professional,” Jack said, cutting in.

“Sure thing, sugar. You know how I love it when you get so bossy and alpha. Those are bedroom qualities women look for in a man. Right, Dr. Graves?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Doug muttered.

I had no idea why Margot always called me Dr. Graves, but she’d been pushing the boundaries of decorum for a while now. I wasn’t sad to hear that Doug was thinking of upgrading her to a new iteration.

Doug pulled up the footage on his laptop and mirrored it to the digital wall so the whole room could see. “Multiple camera feeds—lobby, front entrance, parking lot, elevators, mailroom. I can toggle between all of them.” He queued it up. “First time our guy shows up on camera is here. 6:18 a.m.”

The elevator doors opened and Wade Rivers stepped out, gym bag over one shoulder.

“No one in the lobby at that time of morning. He walked to the studio,” I said. “Dana said he always arrives around six thirty. It’s only a couple of blocks.”

“Right.” He clicked through several angles. “Quiet morning. Residents leaving for work, a couple of deliveries, nothing that stood out. I’m assuming this is the building manager.”

A woman crossed the lobby, keys in hand.

“Jessica Contreras,” I said. “Lives on the same floor as Wade.”

“She goes to her office, comes out twice before noon—once to get the mail, once to talk to the concierge.” He pulled up the concierge camera. “Speaking of which.”