Read Online Survivor in Death by J. D. Robb - Free Book Online
Authors: J. D. Robb
Tags: Suspense
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belly-up.
“I’m catching up,” she said briskly. “You got word on the Swisher case, home invasion?”
“Two kids.” His face, comfortably morose, hardened. “When I got wind, I went to the scene myself. I got a team working on the ’links and data centers. I’m doing the security personally.”
“I like getting the best. What can you tell me?”
“Good, solid home system. Top of the line. Took some know-how to bypass. Camera shows squat after one hundred fifty-eight hours. Remote jammer, with secondary jam as the system had an auto backup.”
He tugged on his earlobe as he read data from another screen. “Visual security shuts down, backup pops within ten seconds, with alarms both in-house and at security center. Compromised the works.”
“They knew the system.”
“Oh yeah, they knew the system. Deactivated camera alarm, lock alarm, motion alarm. I’m going to pin it for you, but my prelim indicated entrance ten minutes after the camera blanked, four minutes after the secondary jam.”
“Ten minutes? That’s a stretch of time. Might’ve held, insurance the system didn’t make the signal, in-house, to the security company. Four after hitting the secondary. Is that as slick as I think it is?”
“Slick enough. They worked fast.”
“Did they know the code?”
“Can’t tell you that yet.” He lifted a mug to his lips that had MINE printed on it in murderous red. “Either knew it or had a first-class code breaker. Couple of kids not safe in their own bed, Dallas, it’s a fucked up world.”
“It’s always been a fucked-up world. I’m going to need all the transmissions, in and out, personal and household. All security discs.”
“You’ll have them. I’m putting weight on this one. Got grandchildren that age, for Chrissake. Whatever you need on this one, you got it.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes narrowed as he sipped again. “That real coffee?”
He blinked, eased the mug out of sight. “Why?”
“Because I can see it on your face. I can see it in your eyes.”
“What if it is?”
“Where’d you get it?”
He shifted. Even with her screen view she could tell he squirmed. “Maybe I swung by your office, to update you, and you weren’t there. And maybe since you’ve got a damn unlimited supply of the stuff I got myself one lousy mug. Don’t see why you have to be so stingy when you’ve—”
“You help yourself to anything else while you were there? Such as candy?”
“What candy? You got candy in there? What kind?”
“That’s for me to know, and you to keep your hands off. I’ll get back to you.”
Thinking of coffee and candy reminded her she’d missed breakfast and lunch. She ordered up data on Grant Swisher, then strode into her office kitchen to grab a nutribar and another hit of caffeine.
Settling, she ordered the data on wall screen, and scanned.
Swisher, Grant Edward, DOB March 2, 2019. Residence 310 West Eighty-first, New York City, September 22, 2051 to present. Married Getz, Keelie Rose, May 6, 2046. Two children of the marriage: Coyle Edward, DOB August 15, 2047, male. Nixie Fran, DOB February 21, 2050, female.
Three of those names would be listed as deceased by end of the day in Vital Records, she thought.
She read through the basic data, requested any and all criminal records, and got a pop for possession of Zoner when Grant Swisher had been nineteen. Medical was just as ordinary.
She dug into finances.
He did well. Family law paid enough to handle the mortgage on the house, a time share place in the Hamptons, private schools for both kids. With the wife’s income factored in, you had a cozy buffer for a live-in domestic, family vacations, restaurants, and other recreational activities—including a hefty golf tab—and enough left over for a reasonable savings or emergency account.
Nothing over the top, she mused. Nothing, from the looks of it, under the table.
Keelie Swisher, two years younger than her husband, no criminal, standard
“I’m catching up,” she said briskly. “You got word on the Swisher case, home invasion?”
“Two kids.” His face, comfortably morose, hardened. “When I got wind, I went to the scene myself. I got a team working on the ’links and data centers. I’m doing the security personally.”
“I like getting the best. What can you tell me?”
“Good, solid home system. Top of the line. Took some know-how to bypass. Camera shows squat after one hundred fifty-eight hours. Remote jammer, with secondary jam as the system had an auto backup.”
He tugged on his earlobe as he read data from another screen. “Visual security shuts down, backup pops within ten seconds, with alarms both in-house and at security center. Compromised the works.”
“They knew the system.”
“Oh yeah, they knew the system. Deactivated camera alarm, lock alarm, motion alarm. I’m going to pin it for you, but my prelim indicated entrance ten minutes after the camera blanked, four minutes after the secondary jam.”
“Ten minutes? That’s a stretch of time. Might’ve held, insurance the system didn’t make the signal, in-house, to the security company. Four after hitting the secondary. Is that as slick as I think it is?”
“Slick enough. They worked fast.”
“Did they know the code?”
“Can’t tell you that yet.” He lifted a mug to his lips that had MINE printed on it in murderous red. “Either knew it or had a first-class code breaker. Couple of kids not safe in their own bed, Dallas, it’s a fucked up world.”
“It’s always been a fucked-up world. I’m going to need all the transmissions, in and out, personal and household. All security discs.”
“You’ll have them. I’m putting weight on this one. Got grandchildren that age, for Chrissake. Whatever you need on this one, you got it.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes narrowed as he sipped again. “That real coffee?”
He blinked, eased the mug out of sight. “Why?”
“Because I can see it on your face. I can see it in your eyes.”
“What if it is?”
“Where’d you get it?”
He shifted. Even with her screen view she could tell he squirmed. “Maybe I swung by your office, to update you, and you weren’t there. And maybe since you’ve got a damn unlimited supply of the stuff I got myself one lousy mug. Don’t see why you have to be so stingy when you’ve—”
“You help yourself to anything else while you were there? Such as candy?”
“What candy? You got candy in there? What kind?”
“That’s for me to know, and you to keep your hands off. I’ll get back to you.”
Thinking of coffee and candy reminded her she’d missed breakfast and lunch. She ordered up data on Grant Swisher, then strode into her office kitchen to grab a nutribar and another hit of caffeine.
Settling, she ordered the data on wall screen, and scanned.
Swisher, Grant Edward, DOB March 2, 2019. Residence 310 West Eighty-first, New York City, September 22, 2051 to present. Married Getz, Keelie Rose, May 6, 2046. Two children of the marriage: Coyle Edward, DOB August 15, 2047, male. Nixie Fran, DOB February 21, 2050, female.
Three of those names would be listed as deceased by end of the day in Vital Records, she thought.
She read through the basic data, requested any and all criminal records, and got a pop for possession of Zoner when Grant Swisher had been nineteen. Medical was just as ordinary.
She dug into finances.
He did well. Family law paid enough to handle the mortgage on the house, a time share place in the Hamptons, private schools for both kids. With the wife’s income factored in, you had a cozy buffer for a live-in domestic, family vacations, restaurants, and other recreational activities—including a hefty golf tab—and enough left over for a reasonable savings or emergency account.
Nothing over the top, she mused. Nothing, from the looks of it, under the table.
Keelie Swisher, two years younger than her husband, no criminal, standard
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