Chapter 5

WHITESTONE TOOK THEM INTO A SMALL CONFERENCEroom, apologizing for its size and sparseness.

“It’s one of the reasons we invested in the new building. We need the space. We’ve been moving some things over here and there, so we’re in flux right now.”

“It’s no problem. Business must be good.”

“It is.” His face lit up. “We’ve been growing steadily, building a solid client base, a good reputation. And the building uptown has character, looks important. Perception’s reality in finance.”

“In a lot of things.”

“Let me hunt up Jake and Rob.”

“Before you do, why don’t you give me a little backstory. How long have you been partners?”

“Officially? We’re finishing our fifth year. Rob and I went to college together. We invested in our first property our first year of grad school, this dumpy little retail space on the Lower West Side.”

He relaxed as he spoke, and nostalgia clung to the edges of his tone. “His idea, and he had to talk me into it. I like money,” he said with a grin, “I like the deal, calculating risk and reward, and I was cautious about investing in a little commercial space. Rob wouldn’t give up until I threw in with him. Best decision I ever made, because it jump-started us as a team. We worked like dogs on that place, did most of the work ourselves, and I learned a lot about sweat equity. When we flipped it, made a nice profit, we dumped most of that profit in the market, as partners, played the market together, made some more.”

“It sounds like you worked well together.”

“We did, and do. After college I went to work for Prime Financial, and he worked for Allied, but we’d get together and talk about forming our own company. Rob met Jake at Allied, and the three of us just clicked. The three of us bought another place together. Once we turned it, we had what we called the WIN investment fund. We started this place with it. Jake’s uncle—he’s the Ingersol in Ingersol-Williams Corp—gave us one of his subsidiaries to manage, and my father let us take over the management of a small lead trust and we were off and running.”

“It’s good to work with friends,” Eve said simply. “If you can find yours, we’ll get this done and out of your way.”

“Give me a minute. Oh, help yourself to coffee or whatever. The coffee’s good here.”

Maybe, Eve thought, and decided to check it out by programming a cup for herself and one for Peabody. “He’s enthusiastic,” Eve commented.

“Yeah, but if you’re not excited about your work, life’s crap.”

“He also doesn’t strike me as a moron, which he’d have to be if he arranged or took part in the killing, set it up in what will be his apartment, then, oops, discovers the body.”

“If he wanted the attention, wanted to put himself inside the investigation.”

Eve shook her head. “Not him, and not this murder. This was a hit, not a mission.” She narrowed her eyes as she tried the coffee. “This is Roarke’s blend.”

“Oh God. Our own small miracle.”

“Business is good,” Eve said again.

Whitestone came back in. “Rob’s just finishing up with a client, and he’ll be right in. Jake’s heading back from a lunch meeting. It shouldn’t be long. Do you need me to stay? I’ve got a client coming in, but I can reschedule.”

“I think we have what we need from you for now.”

“All right. Listen, I know it sounds crass, but can you give me an idea when the crew can get back into the apartment? I’m just trying to work out a time line.”

“We should be able to clear it by the end of the day, tomorrow latest.”

“Okay.”

“I’d advise you to change the codes, and to be very careful who you give them to in the future.”

“You can count on it. And here’s Rob. Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, Robinson Newton.”

“A pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.”

He strode into the room covered in an aura of absolute confidence with hints of power. She recognized the combination. Roarke had it—in spades. Robinson Newton cultivated the aura with a meticulously tailored suit in slate gray pinstripes mated with a shirt in a subtly deeper hue, and a bold red tie.

Under the suit he was built like a quarterback, muscled and tough and honed.

He wore his hair in a dark skull cap that brought out the ice-pick cheekbones in a face the color of Peabody’s coffee regular. His eyes, a direct and bold green met Eve’s, then Peabody’s. He offered a hand to each—smooth, firm, dry—then gestured to the conference table.

“We’re a little Spartan at the moment, but please have a seat. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“No problem.”

“I heard about the mugging early this morning. It’s terrible, but when Brad told me you were in charge, I felt better about it. I’ve followed some of your cases, particularly since I read the Icove book. In fact, I just scored tickets to the premiere.” He gave his partner a thumbs-up. “Six, so round up a date. And I apologize,” he said quickly. “You’re not here to talk about Hollywood and red carpets. What can we do to help?”

“You had access to the apartment.”

“Yes. We all have access to every area in the building.”

“Can you tell me where you were last night between nine P.M. and midnight?”

“I can.” He reached in his pocket, took out a date book, keyed into it, then set it on the table in front of Eve. “Dinner with my fiancée and her parents at Tavern on the Green, they like their traditions. Eight o’clock reservations, and we left a little after ten. Lissa and I caught a cab, then met up with some friends at Reno’s Bar, that’s downtown. We didn’t stay all that long. Maybe an hour. Then we cabbed back to our place. We got home about midnight. Are we suspects?”

“It’s routine,” Eve said automatically. “The victim was taken inside the apartment, you have access. It’s helpful to know where you were. I’ll need the names of the people you were with, just for the files.”

“I’ll have my assistant get you a list of names and contacts. But we didn’t even know the victim. Did we?” he asked Whitestone.

“I didn’t. But she worked for one of your clients’ accounting firm. Blacksford.”

“She was with Brewer, Kyle, and Martini? I have three—I think three—clients with them.” He took his book back, slid it into his pocket. “But I don’t remember having any contact with her. I work with Jim Arnold.”

Eve took out Marta’s ID photo. “Do you recall having seen her, having met her?”

“I don’t. I’m sorry. I’ve had lunch with Jim several times, and with Sly—Sylvestor Gibbons, but I never did business with this woman.”

“It would help if you got me the names of any clients you have who cross with the victim’s firm.”

“That’s simple enough. You don’t think this was a random mugging? A random opportunity? I’m sure anyone in that neighborhood knows the building’s being worked on, isn’t tenanted yet.”

“It wasn’t a break-in,” Eve said.

“Maybe the crew left the apartment unsecured.”

“They never do,” Whitestone reminded him.

“Mistakes happen, Brad.”

“We’re investigating all possibilities,” Eve began, then stopped when she heard voices.

“That’s Jake.” Whitestone slipped out, and stepped in again a moment later with his other partner. “My appointment’s on the way up. If you don’t need me—”

“We’ll be in touch,” Eve told him.

“Jake Ingersol, Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody. I’m in my office.”

“What a mess, huh?” Ingersol offered his hand, quick, hearty shakes, then dropped down at the table. “Hell of a thing to happen. Brad’s been sick about it.”

Where Whitestone projected cheerful competence and Newton smooth confidence, Ingersol was like an energetic puppy, all movement and avid eyes.

Like his partners, he wore a good suit, a perfectly knotted and coordinated tie, and shoes with a mirror gleam. Sun-streaked brown hair curled around his face, made him seem very youthful, somewhat innocent. But his eyes, though warm brown, were sharp, savvy.

“Café Diablo,” Newton said mildly.

“What can I say, it’s what the client wants. I start out hyped,” he told Eve, “add a couple of double Diablo Locas and I’m overwired. I’m getting bits and pieces of what’s going on. Brad said they were inside the apartment? Inside?”

“That’s correct.”

“We put in damn good security. I don’t get it.”

“We believe they had the codes.”

He opened his mouth, shut it again, and sat back. “Jesus, Rob. One of Jasper’s crew?”

“We don’t know that,” Newton said quickly.

“Do you have any reason to suspect someone on the construction crew?” Eve asked him.

“Just doing the math.” He rose, grabbed a bottle of water out of the friggie. “Not that many people have the codes. We sure as hell didn’t kill anybody.”

“Jasper and his people worked on my place for six months before they started on the building,” Newton pointed out. “There was never so much as a coffee mug missing.”

“I know, hey, I know, and I like him, too. A lot. I guess somebody didn’t lock up, that’s all, and whoever killed that woman got lucky.”

Eve nudged Marta’s photo toward Ingersol. “Do you know her?”

“No, I don’t... wait a minute.” He shifted a little closer, studied the photo. “Maybe, but I can’t pin it down.”

“She worked for Brewer, Kyle, and Martini,” Newton said before Eve could speak.

“That’s it!” Ingersol snapped his fingers, right hand, left hand—pop, pop. “That’s where I’ve seen her. We coordinate with our clients’ accountants, on taxes, investments, portfolio strategy. I’ve got some clients who use that firm. I work with Chaz Parzarri and Jim Arnold, but I met her awhile back. Just in passing. Wow. I met her.”

“Can you tell me where you were last night, between nine P.M. and midnight?”

His mouth dropped open, briefly. He lifted the water bottle, swallowed. “And another wow. Are we suspects?”

“It’s routine,” Eve said again.

“Well, sure, I was... let me think.” He pulled out a date book. “I had drinks with Sterling Alexander, Alexander and Pope Properties, and that’s one of the clients I share with Chaz. We, ah, met at about six-thirty at the Blue Dog Room. I think he left about seven-fifteen, close to that. He was going out to dinner, I think. I finished my drink, then I hooked up with some friends—a woman I’m seeing and another couple—for dinner. Chez Louis. I guess we left about ten-thirty. Alys and I went back to my place. We stayed in.”

“I’d like a list of names and contact information, for the files.”

“Sure.” He looked at Newton again. “This is really weird.”

“I’ll also need a list of any other clients you have who cross with the victim’s firm.” Done, Eve got to her feet. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

It took some time to get all the names and contacts she needed and the receptionist was chatty.

She learned she’d only copped the job a year before, when the expanding client list had warranted a separate receptionist rather than the assistants riding herd. The partners planned to connect with a small law firm, establishing them in the new building. They hoped, within the year, to take on an associate.

“An interesting mix,” Eve commented when they walked out of the offices.

“I think it works for them. Smooth operator—and slap my ass, is that guy built!”

“I noticed.”

“I love McNab’s skinny ass and bony shoulders, but mama! Anyway, Newton’s the smooth one, Whitestone’s the charisma, and Ingersol’s the hamster.”

“Hamster?”

“On the wheel. Go, go, get it done.”

“Something like that.”

“They’re all alibied up.”

“We’ll run the alibis through, but I expect they’ll hold. Mr. Body probably has the muscle to snap a neck, but he’d be too smart to use his own place for it. Maybe he, or Ingersol, wanted to flick a little dirt on Whitestone—a twofer—but they wouldn’t get their hands dirty. They’re serious suits.”

“But run them anyway,” Peabody said.

“You bet.”

“None of the three of them have a Cargo registered. Not in their names or the company name.”

“Check Newton’s finances, and their families, their family businesses.”

Once more she got behind the wheel. The boost of magic chicken soup wouldn’t last much longer, but she wanted to cover more ground.

“Let’s see if we can have a conversation with Mobsley.”

“Hot damn.”

“And try not to be a dick.”

“I know how to behave,” Peabody huffed. “I’m in a vid, you know. I’ve had a scene with vid stars. I’m going to a major premiere, and I didn’t have to score tickets. They were given to me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Come on, you have to be a little juiced. Mavis said the dress Leonardo designed for you is mag to the extreme.”

She remembered, vaguely, it was magenta—according to Leonardo who’d sided with Roarke when she’d said she already had fancy dresses, and why couldn’t she just wear black anyway.

“I don’t know why they have to make so much fuss over a vid. You go to it, you watch it, and eat popcorn.”

“It’s about us. Plus,” Peabody added slyly, knowing her target, “it’s really important to Nadine.”

Nadine Furst, ace reporter, screen personality, best-selling author—and, damn it, friend. No getting around it. “I’m going, aren’t I?”

“We’re going to look fantabulous, mix with celebrities—and we actually know them—and walk the red carpet. Like stars. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Not in my vehicle. And right now, I’m just a little more concerned with who the hell killed Marta Dickenson than standing around on some stupid red carpet while people gape at me.”

Peabody wisely neglected to mention the pre-premiere prep she and Mavis had already worked out, which included hair and makeup by Trina.

Eve had Trina fear.

“What’s that look for?” Eve demanded.

“It’s my ‘serious about murder’ face.”

“Bullshit.”

“I am serious about murder,” Peabody insisted. And nearly sighed with relief when the in-dash ’link signaled.

“LT.” Detective Carmichael came on screen. “We finished the search at the vic’s residence. Nothing out of line. We went through the vehicle. Same deal. McNab went through their electronics, fine-toothed them. Nada.”

“Figured it. We’re working on a warrant for her office data, client list.”

“McNab said there was some work stuff on her home unit.”

“Is that so?” Eve smiled. “Take it. The warrant covers it. Have him make copies of everything. I want you and Santiago to go have a chat with a Sasha Kirby, designer with City Style. She designed the crime scene, so to speak, and had access.” She checked the time, calculated. “After, I’ve got some alibis for you to run down.”

“You got it.”

Eve clicked off. “Peabody, contact Yung and tell her the residence is clear. See if you can get any kind of ETA on the warrant. We got a little break here,” she murmured. “Could be something relevant on her home unit. Could be.”

···

It was the day for penthouses and the Upper East Side, Eve decided. This time she had no choice but to wade through security, cool heels in the gold and white lobby jammed with flowering plants. As she’d figured on a hassle, she only lifted her eyebrows when security politely cleared her.

“I figured Mobsley would tell us to stick it,” Eve said as they rode up.

“Maybe she’s curious. Or guilty. According to the gossip channel she’s always doing something.”

“Which is why the expected stick it.”

With a shrug, Eve stepped off into a foyer done in sapphire blue and emerald green. More flowers, this time in tall white vases, flanked by candles as tall as she was.

A man in unrelieved black with white-blond hair and nearly as many earrings as McNab stepped out of wide blue doors.

“Please come in. Candida will be with you shortly. We’re serving catnip tea today.”

“We’ll pass on that.”

“I’d be happy to prepare another choice.” He gestured them into a huge space that looked like a small palace under a snowstorm. Every inch was white—sofas, tables, rugs, lamps, pillows. The only spot of color came from the white-framed portrait—their hostess reclining naked on a white bed. Her endless tumble of blonde hair and deeply red lips jumped out of the canvas.

Even the curtains on the wall of windows were filmy white so the city beyond seemed to float on clouds.

But not, in Eve’s mind, in a good way.

Something moved in the snowbank. She realized a huge white cat, its eyes blinking vivid green, stretched on some sort of divan. It watched them while its tail flicked lazily.

She liked cats. She had her own. But this one, like the room, like the filmed windows, gave her the creeps.

“We’re fasting today, so I can’t offer you food. Or caffeine, but we have some lovely water, harvested from snowmelt in the Andes.”

“That’d be great,” Peabody said before Eve could decline for both of them.

“Please be at home.”

“I’d like to see what water from snowmelt in the Andes tastes like,” Peabody said when he left them.

“I bet it tastes like water. Who could live in this place?”

“It’s sort of giving me a headache. It hurts my eyes, and I have to keep blinking to see where things actually are. Oh Jesus, that’s not a pussycat.”

“Huh?” Eve glanced back. No, not just a cat. A cat. Maybe a lion—small scale, but... Or a tiger, or—

“A white panther cub.”

Candida, draped in a white sweater, snug white pants, white diamonds in a hard sparkle, glided in on bare feet. Her hair tumbled around a face as beautiful and as hard as her diamonds.

“Delilah.” She stroked a hand over the cub as she passed by. “Is Aston getting your tea?”

“Water,” Eve corrected. “We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us.”

“Oh well.” She laughed, waved a hand, then curled up on a curvy white sofa, all but disappeared into it. “I spend a lot of time talking to the police, or my lawyers do. I know who you are, and I’m interested. I thought you’d be older.”

“Than what?”

She laughed again. “I’m going to the premiere of your vid.”

“It’s not my vid.”

“I love premieres. You never know who you’ll see, or be seen by. Never know what might happen, and there’s nothing like seeing what nightmare dresses some women wear. Leonardo’s doing yours.”

“I’m not here to talk about my wardrobe.”

“Too bad. I could talk about clothes for hours. There you are, Aston. Will you make sure Delilah has her snack?”

“Of course.” He set her tea on the table beside her, walked over to offer the two glasses on the tray to Eve and Peabody.

“So, why are you here? I don’t have much time. I have appointments.”

“Marta Dickenson was murdered last night.”

Candida stretched her arms, shifted into recline pose. “Who’s Marta Dickenson, and why should I care?”

“She’s the accountant doing your trust fund audit. The one you’ve threatened.”

“Oh her.”

“Yeah, her.”

“If somebody killed her, it doesn’t make any difference to me.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No, I asked Tony, and he said they’d just have somebody else fuck with the audit. But maybe they won’t be such a bitch about it.”

“Who’s Tony?”

“Tony Greenblat. He’s my money guy.”

“One of the trustees?”

She made an ugly, dismissive sound. “He’s not one of those tight-assed old farts. He’s my personal finance manager, and he’s my lawyer, too. One of them. He’s working to get my money from my trust.”

“So Tony advised you it wouldn’t do you much good to kill Marta Dickenson.”

“Yeah. No!” Face sulky now, she angled herself up again. “You’re trying to trick me. I’m not stupid, you know.”

No, Eve thought, you go beyond stupid. “Why did you ask him about her?”

“Well, she’s dead, right? I thought maybe that would work for me. But Tony said it wouldn’t, so...” She shrugged it off, sipped her tea.

“If you didn’t know her, as you stated when I asked, why did you ask Tony?”

Candida’s eyebrows drew together in what Eve assumed was deep thought. “So what? So I knew who she was.”

“So what is you lied to a police officer during a murder investigation. If you’d lie about something as simple as that, I have to believe you’d lie about more important things. Like whether or not you arranged Marta Dickenson’s murder.”

In a bad-tempered move, Candida slapped her white cup down on the white table. “I did not either.”

“You threatened her. You harassed her. You made angry, threatening calls to her, and she responded by informing you to cease and desist or she would inform the trustees and the court. Now she’s dead.”

“So what?” Candida demanded again. “I can say what I want, there’s no law against it.”

“You’d be wrong about that.”

“It’s, like, freedom of speech. It’s, like, the Fifth Amendment or whatever. Look it up!”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Eve murmured. “Since we’re talking about rights, let me read you yours, just so everybody understands.”

Candida went back into sulk mode as Eve recited the Revised Miranda. “Like I haven’t heard all that before.”

“Well, it bears repeating. So you understand your rights and obligations.”

“Yeah, BFD.”

“Why don’t you tell us what you said to Ms. Dickenson when you were exercising your interpretation of your constitutional rights?”

“What?”

“What’s your version of your conversation with Marta Dickenson.”

“Jesus, why didn’t you just say that? All I did was ask her to ease off—it’s my money, and it’s just stupid I have to go begging to those tight asses every time I want more. And I was nice to her. I sent her flowers, didn’t I? I said how I’d give her ten thousand under the table if she’d just clear it. Ten thousand’s a nice chunk for some bookkeeper bitch.”

“You suggested Ms. Dickenson doctor the audit in your favor, and in return you’d give her ten thousand dollars?”

“Yeah. I was nice. And she got pissy about it. So I said fine, fine. Make it twenty, and she’s all ‘I’ll have to report you if you keep this shit up,’ like that.”

“Peabody, your cuffs or mine?”

“Can we use mine?”

“What’re you talking about? You stay away from me.” Candida cringed back on the sofa. “Aston!”

“Ms. Mobsley, you’ve just confessed to offering a bribe to Marta Dickenson in the amount of twenty thousand dollars in exchange for her altering a court-appointed audit. That’s a felony.”

“It is not!”

“Look it up,” Eve suggested as Aston rushed in. “Step back, pal, unless you want to be restrained and charged.”

“What’s the matter? What’s happening?”

“They’re trying to say they can arrest me for being nice to that stupid dead accountant. I just said I’d give her money.”

Obviously, a bit more evolved than his employer, Aston shut his eyes. “Oh, Candida.”

“What’s the matter? What’s the problem? It’s my money. I was going to give her some.”

“Lieutenant, please, Candida didn’t understand the implications. Can we just take a moment, just take a moment? I’ll contact her lawyer. He’ll come immediately.”

“Let’s try this first. Come clean, absolutely clean. Answer questions without the bullshit, and we’ll see.”

“Absolutely. Absolutely. Now, Candida, you need to answer the lieutenant’s questions. You need to tell her the truth.”

“I did!”

“You lied with your first answer. Try again.”

“I didn’t recognize her name at first, that’s all.”

“Peabody. Your cuffs.”

“Okay, okay. Jesus! I was just playing it a little frosty. No big. I admitted I knew who she was, didn’t I?”

“You threatened her.”

“Maybe I said some things. I was upset. It’s the trustees that’re the real dicks. And my grandfather for being such a tight ass. And my parents, for God’s sake, because—”

“I don’t care about the trustees, your grandfather or your parents, though I pity them all. I care about Marta Dickenson.”

“I didn’t do anything. I just said how I’d give her money, like a favor. You do this, I pay you. I pay lots of people to do stuff.”

“Lieutenant,” Aston began.

“Quiet.” She glanced down at a familiar sensation to see the white panther cub rubbing and winding itself between her shins. Weird. “You contacted her numerous times, threatened her if she didn’t cooperate.”

“I was upset! I was nice to her at first, and she was pissy to me. So I got pissy.”

“You were going to make her sorry.”

“Damn right. I know people who’d make sure she was sorry.”

“Is that so?” Eve questioned when Aston moaned quietly.

“I was working on it, too. The tight asses always want me to make wise investments, right? So I’ve been working on buying that stupid place where she works. Then I could fire her ass.”

“Your plan was to buy the firm and fire her?”

“Damn right! Tony said how they weren’t interested in selling, but people always fall in when you hand them enough money. And he said—Tony—that even if they did, the stupid courts would just get another firm for the stupid audit, but it was the principle. I’ve got principles just like anybody.”

“And knowing people like you do, maybe you know people who’d know how to scare her. Rough her up a little.”

“Huh? Like—” Candida mimed punching. “Come on!” Now she laughed. “If I wanted to smack her, I’d smack her myself. But if I smack anybody for another like eighty-one days, I have to take more anger management, and that’s so frigging boring I can’t stand it. Probably she pissed somebody else off. I figured that out when I heard somebody killed her. People who mess with other people’s money piss people off.”

When the cub tried to climb up Eve’s leg, she gave it an absent scratch between the ears, then nudged it away. When it moved away, stretching then curling up in a ball, she concluded it had more brains than its owner.

“All right.”

“All right what?”

“That’s what we need for now. We’ll be in touch if we need more.”

Aston gripped his hands together. “Should I call the lawyer?”

“Not at this time. Sending flowers is nice; bribery’s not nice,” she told Candida. “It’s illegal. Try to remember that. Peabody.”

When they stepped back into the elevator, Eve sighed hugely. “Conclusion?”

“I thought she’d be cagey and canny. I mean all that money, you’d think she’d be smart. But she’s dumb as a brick. Dumber. Too stupid to have arranged murder—or if not, too stupid not to admit it—like she was just paying somebody to do her a favor.”

“Agreed. Buy the firm so she could fire the auditor.” Eve shook her head. “Because she’s got principles.”

“And her Fifth Amendment rights—or whatever.”

“Yeah. She should’ve invoked it instead of incriminating herself on the bribe.”

“But she was just being nice.”

Eve shook her head on a laugh. “So, how was the Andes snowmelt water?”

“Wet.”