“Roarke has a different take. Do this to cause the dive, maybe work the . . . margin or whatever, but buy when it tanks.”
“That’s a hell of a risk, boss. It could take months for those companies to recover.”
“Roarke’s convinced the merger’s going through, and the stocks will start going up by end of business today or by tomorrow. Look for statements from the company brass. Look for announcements of the merger going through, and for the numbers to climb up. That’s his take.”
“Wait, so he thinks all of this is so these assholes can buy low, sell high?” On a half laugh, Baxter ran a hand over his well-styled hair. “That’s fucking brilliant. Cold as it gets, but brilliant.”
“We need to look at this angle. Those absent for work? We want to dig into their financials. Same with employees close to Rogan or Pearson or Karson. He also said talk of the merger’s been going on for about a year.”
“They kept it pretty down low then. But that gives the unsubs a lot of time to come up with the system, and how to play it.”
“At least one of them’s military. He’s going to have experience with explosives. Factor it in. I’m with Mira.”
6
Eve found the admin’s desk unoccupied, Mira’s door open, and inwardly cheered her luck. Mira stood at her AutoChef, her mink-colored hair swept back in sassy curls. She wore one of her slim, stylish suits, this one the color of ripe peaches paired with needle-thin heels that hit somewhere between green and blue. Mira turned, soft blue eyes in a pretty face, smiled.
“You’re prompt. Tea?”
“No, thanks. I appreciate you fitting me in.”
“I had a busy morning, but the afternoon’s easier. Have a seat.”
The department’s top profiler and shrink sat in one of the two blue scoop chairs, crossed her excellent legs and balanced a delicate cup and saucer. “My morning was jammed,” she continued as Eve sat. “I did hear bits and pieces about the bombing at Quantum, but only that an employee, an executive, entered a meeting with EconoLift execs wearing a suicide vest. Twelve dead, more injured.”
“I’m going to send you full reports, but if I can highlight it for you, it’ll save time.”
“Of course.”
“In the early hours of Saturday morning, two men circumvented the security on Paul Rogan’s home,” Eve began.
She wound through it quickly while Mira nodded and sipped her tea. She listened, without interruption, until Eve finished.
“So Rogan was terrorized, tortured, and coerced by two unidentified men who held his family hostage. You’ve found no connection between Rogan and the men, no motive for Rogan to have been a willing part of the bombing. And from what you’ve learned, the men likely targeted him months before—when news of the potential merger leaked.”
“Exactly.”
“Everything you’ve learned of Rogan, from the contents of his desk, his home, his memo books, from statements from his family, his coworkers, his staff, describes not only a loyal, hardworking employee, a fair-and-balanced team leader, but more key, a devoted family man, a man who loved his wife and daughter. That makes him an excellent target, but it’s hardly a guarantee he’d set off the bomb, taking his own life and the lives of others.”
“They weighed the odds, and gambled.”
“Yes. Well, what did they have to lose? If he refused, they lost nothing but time and effort. They simply walk away.” She paused, sipped. “One did most of the talking, most of the violence on the wife, while the other kept watch on the girl, but didn’t really harm her. Terrorized her emotionally, but not physically.”
“She said he loosened her wrist restraints a little, but the other yanked her hair to make her yell or cry.”
“So the parents, separated from her, would hear and not know what was happening to their daughter. They could’ve done much worse, even to the wife—no sexual assault, but the threat of rape, again to show Rogan what could happen if he didn’t do what they asked.”
“His wife said the one who dealt with them kept asking Rogan what he would do to save his wife and child. What would he do to protect his wife and child. Not their names, but always your wife and child.”
“A constant reminder they were his responsibility. It was his choice. It’s psychological torture, as was separating him from his wife, locking her in a basement room, showing him how helpless and hurt she was. They knew what they were doing, or certainly the one—the more dominant—knew. He may very well have interrogated and/or coerced prisoners before. Your hunch that he’s military seems sound.”
“I’ve brought Roarke in—expert on business, mergers, and all that. He has a theory. The stock of both companies took a dive—his word—after the bombing. Ah, he says the stock market’s emotional.”
“Really? I never thought of that.”
“So it—the market—panics, the stock takes the dive. The unsubs buy a shitload, then wait for the merger to go through, or the announcement that it will, whatever.”
“The stocks climb again, and they make a great deal of money.”
“Roarke says a big profit. I get it, but it’s a complicated, risky, and violent way to play the damn stock market.”
Mira set her tea aside, sat back. “The fun’s in the gamble, isn’t it? Especially when you’ve nothing to lose, and have the money to risk. They’ll have money to risk, so they’ll have accumulated the stake one way or the other. They understand how the market works, know business. They, or one of them, knew enough about business and the merger to plot out the bombing. They have patience—it took months. And it took two days inside the Rogan home.
“The violence against the wife was nothing more than a tool. No real need to physically harm the child, especially as they kept her separated. The separation was enough, particularly with the recordings. So the dominant one may be no stranger to violence, but he uses it as a means.
“Sociopaths,” she continued, “mature with military background, a knowledge of explosives and psychological tactics. They can and did profile Paul Rogan. They’re intelligent, or surely the dominant one is intelligent when it comes to tactics, and trusts his partner. They’ve known each other, have a bond. They might even be related, but there’s trust. They understand family,” she murmured. “They understand that bond, and a father’s love. One or both may have children or a child. And they’re gamblers, ones willing to risk for a big payoff.”
“And arrogant?” Eve leaned forward. “They didn’t kill the wife and kid. I get the no need, but they left loose ends. They just didn’t see it that way because they’re so fucking clever. But the kid heard them talking, and leaving her alive I have more. The wife formed impressions, and same goes. Is it arrogance, overconfidence, or did they see it as keeping their hands clean?”
“The last is interesting, isn’t it? Rogan’s responsibility again? It’s possible, and interesting.”
“It’s one thing to send some guy out with a bomb, another to kill a woman and kid, both bound.”
“It becomes personal, and all the rest is, certainly to them, impersonal. It’s just gambling.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Eve rose. “They could bank a million, maybe a couple million. Maybe it’s all they were after, but gamblers gamble. It worked, as far as they’re concerned.”
With a nod, Mira recrossed her legs. “Yes, they’re likely to try it again, try to find a way to manipulate the market to their advantage. Whatever it entails. The fun’s in the risk.”
“And when the stocks go up, they’ll have a bigger stake.”
“One more thing.” As she considered, Mira tapped a finger on her knee. “From what we have at this point, I’d say if they’re related, one would be the older—older brother, cousin. Father and son is more a stretch as they strike me more as contemporaries. If they worked together, one is more experienced, perhaps a kind of mentor. The dominant one is the older, more experienced, more tactical. And very likely more ruthless.”
“One yanks the kid’s hair, the other one loosens the zip ties so they don’t hurt.”
“Yes. I don’t believe the dominant would have left the child able to get up and cleverly break the window to alert the police. The police would have entered regardless, but it would have taken more time. This cut that down, and was, most likely, simple carelessness.”
“That’s how I see it. Brothers,” Eve mused. “Not necessarily by blood, but closely tied. That’s an angle. Thanks again.”
On her way back to Homicide, she played with the gambling angle. Was it just stocks, the market, or did it extend? Cards, the tables, horses, sports?
Two men, closely tied, who liked to play risk and reward, calculate the odds, had enough of a stake to make it worthwhile. Patient, intelligent, and without conscience.
She tagged Peabody. “Conference room. I’ve got a couple fresh angles.” After another moment’s thought, she tagged Roarke as well. “I’m going to brief the team on a couple new angles. I can fill you in later if you’re into something in the geek lab.”
“I am, but I like angles. I’ll come down, and get back to this.”
“Good enough.”
She moved directly into the conference room, began updating the board with Mira’s profile.
“Dallas.” Peabody hustled in. “Karson’s conscious. She made a statement through her rep—and the Pearson family made one to coordinate. After the personal stuff on both sides—regrets, sympathy, grief—the upshot is the merger’s on. They expect to finalize the deal tomorrow, with the Quantum reps signing with Karson in her hospital room.”
“That’s fast. Contact the hospital, get us cleared to interview Karson.”
“Will do. Baxter and Trueheart are just finishing something up. They’ll be here in a couple minutes.”