Because the only why she could think of equaled security. The only why made Reva the real target. The killings took her out, deliberately. Unless there was a personal reason to target her, and she'd explore that angle, it was professional.
Any professional motive against Reva brushed a little too close for comfort to Roarke. So she intended to move fast, and get as much locked into Central as she could before moving on to the next stage.
Peabody hurried out again, carrying an enormous take-out bag.
"Got hoagies." With a grunt, she dropped back in the seat.
"What, for the whole squad?"
"And other provisions."
"Because we're going on safari?"
With some dignity, Peabody pulled out a tidily wrapped hoagie and passed it to Eve. "Drinks, and a bag of soy chips, and a bag of dried apricots-"
"Dried apricots, in case the rumor of the coming Armageddon is true."
"And some damn cookies." Peabody's face closed in on a scowl that was edging toward pout. "I'm hungry, and when you're on a roll like this I might not see food again until I'm a withered sack of bones. You don't have to eat, you know." She made a fuss out of unwrapping her own sandwich. "Nobody's holding a blaster to your head."
Eve peeked inside her sandwich and saw something that was pretending to have come from a pig. It was good enough. "In the event of Armageddon, I hope those cookies have some form of chocolate in them."
"Maybe." Slightly mollified when Eve drove one-handed and bit into her sandwich, Peabody opened a tube of Pepsi and stuck it in the drink slot.
By the time Eve got to the Flatiron Building, Peabody had mowed her way through the hoagie and a good portion of chips. As a result, both her mood and her energy were up again.
"This is my favorite New York building," she said. "When I first moved here, I took a day and went around taking pictures of the places I used to read about. This was one of the top on my list. It's so yesterday, you know. But here it is, still standing. The oldest remaining skyscraper in the city."
Eve hadn't known that. Then again she didn't collect that sort of trivia. She supposed she'd admired its unique triangular style now and then, in an absent sort of way.
But for her, buildings simply were. People lived or worked in them, and they took up space, gave the city shape.
She decided against trying Broadway for parking, as this section always had a party going on. Instead she turned onto Twenty-third and crammed her unit into a loading zone.
The next drop-off or pickup was going to bitch, but she flipped up her ON DUTY sign, and climbed out.
"Bissel rented space on the top floor."
"Jesus, that's got to be prime."
Eve nodded as they walked toward an entrance door. "I glanced through his financials, and he could afford it. Apparently that metal crap he built went for big bucks. And he had his own gallery, bought and sold art."
"His connection to Felicity Kade?"
"Apparently. She was a client, according to Reva. So she bought from both Blair and Reva, and she's the one who persuaded Reva to come to the art showing where Reva met Blair."
"Cozy."
With appreciation, Eve glanced at Peabody as they crossed the lobby. "That's right. Too cozy for my liking, too. So why do you figure Felicity puts her lover and her friend together?"
"Maybe they weren't lovers yet. Or maybe she didn't know they'd get serious about each other."
"Maybe." Eve bypassed the security desk and used the code Reva had given her to access the elevator to the top floor. Instead of the doors opening, the computer gave a warning buzz.
You are not cleared for this elevator. Please return to the security and/or information desk for instructions on how to access the public entrance of Bissel Gallery. This elevator is for private use only.
"Maybe she gave you the wrong code," Peabody suggested.
"I don't think so."
Eve walked to the main security station. "Who used that elevator last?"
The young, prim woman in black curled her lip. "I beg your pardon?"
"Don't bother," Eve told her and slapped down her badge. "Just answer the question."
"I'll need to verify your identification." With her nose still in the air, she scanned Eve's badge, then slid over a palm plate. When Eve's ID was verified, she tucked the palm plate away again. "Is this about what happened to Mr. Bissel?"
Eve merely smiled. "I beg your pardon?"
The woman sniffed, then turned to her log book. "Mr. Bissel himself was the last to use that elevator. It goes directly to his studio. His employees and clients use the one to the right. That will go to the gallery."
"You have the code for the studio elevator."
"Of course. It's required that all tenants file their security and passcodes with us."
"What is it?"
"I'm not permitted to give out that data, not without proper authorization."
Eve wondered if stuffing her badge up the woman's snooty nose would qualify as proper authorization. Instead, she shoved her own memo book onto the desk, tapped the screen. "Is this it?"
Once again, the woman turned to her data unit, keyed in a complex series of numbers. She glanced at her screen, then Eve's. "If you have it, why are you bothering to ask me?"
"It doesn't work."
"Of course it works. You just didn't do it properly."
"Why don't you show me how to do it properly?"
Heaving a sigh, the woman gestured to a coworker. "Watch the station," she snapped, then clipped her way over to the elevators on hair-thin heels.
She coded in, and when she got the same result as Eve, coded in again. "I don't understand it. This is the proper code. It's registered. Building security checks all passcodes twice a week."
"When was the last check?"
"Two days ago."
"How long will it take maintenance to bypass?"
"I have no idea."
"Is there access from the gallery to the studio?"
Obviously aggrieved, she marched back to her station, called up the diagram for the top level. "There is. There's a security door between them. I have the passcode for that."
"Which, I imagine, is about as much good as the one you have for the elevator. Give it to me anyway."
Eve pulled out her pocket 'link as she walked to the gallery elevator. "I need you at the Flatiron Building," she said the minute Roarke answered. "Bissel Gallery, top floor. The security codes for the direct elevator to his studio has been changed, so I can't access it. I'm going to try to get through the door between the gallery and the studio, but I'm figuring I'll find the same block."
"Leave it be. If someone tampered with it, using the original code could add another block. I'm on my way."
"What could Bissel have in his studio he didn't want his wife to see?" Peabody wondered.
"Doesn't make sense." Eve shook her head. "Nothing in his file to indicate he's that security savvy. It takes savvy to alter a code without building security sniffing it out. And a guy who risks an affair with his wife's friend, all but under her nose? Why'd he do that? For the sex, sure, but also for the thrill. Look what I can get away with. Why does a man who goes for the thrill take such extensive precautions with his home office unit, his art studio. What does one have to do with the other?"
She stepped off the elevator, into a space filled with sculpture, paintings, both static and animated. In the midst of the softly lighted room, a woman sat on the floor, sobbing her heart out.
"Man," Eve said under her breath. "I hate when this happens. You take her."
Pleased to have a concrete assignment, Peabody approached the woman, crouched in front of her. "Miss."
"We're closed." She wailed into her own hands. "Due to a de-de-death. "
"I'm Detective Peabody." Under the circumstances, she tried not to display too much glee in being able to say just that. "This is my partner, Lieutenant Dallas. We're investigating the deaths of Blair Bissel and Felicity Kade."
"Blair!" She all but screamed it, and threw herself facedown on the floor. "No, no, no, he can't be dead. I can't stand it."
"I'm sorry, this is a difficult time for you."
"I don't think I can go on! All the light, all the air's gone out of the world."
"Oh, Jesus Christ." Since enough was enough, Eve stalked over, took the woman by one arm and hauled her back to a sitting position. "I want your name, your connection with Blair Bissel, and the reason you're here."
"Ch-ch-ch-"
"Suck it in," Eve snapped. "Spit it out."
"Chloe McCoy. I run the gallery. And I'm here, I'm here, because..." She crossed her arms over her heart, as if she were trying to hold it inside her. "We loved each other."
Barely old enough to buy a drink in a legit bar, Eve gauged. Her face was ravaged, swollen and splotchy, with huge brown eyes still busily pumping out the tears. Her hair was ink black and tumbled over her shoulders, over a pair of young and perky breasts shown off in a snug black shirt.
"You had an intimate relationship with Bissel."
"We were in love!" She threw out her arms, then wrapped them tightly around her own body. "We were soulmates. Destined for each other from our first breaths. We were-"
"Did you fuck him, Chloe?"
The crudeness did what Eve had hoped, and the tears magically dried up. "How dare you? How dare you demean something so beautiful?" She threw up her chin, and though it trembled, it stayed so high it nearly pointed at the ceiling. "Yes, we were lovers. Now that he's dead, my soul is dead, too. How could she do it? That horrible, horrible woman? How could she turn out the light on someone so good, so true, so perfect."
"So good and true he was sleeping with her friend and one of his employees?" Eve said pleasantly.
"His marriage was over." Chloe turned her head away, stared at the wall. "It was just a matter of time until it was legally ended, and we'd be together in the sunlight, instead of in shadows."
"How old are you?"
"I'm twenty-one, but age means nothing." She closed her hand over a heart-shaped pendant around her throat. "I'm as old as time now, as old as grief,"
"When's the last time you saw Blair?"
"Yesterday morning. We met here." She brushed her free hand over her brow while she stroked the little gold heart. "To say a sweet goodbye before he had to go on his trip."
"That would be his trip uptown where he snuggled in with Felicity Kade for a couple days?"
"That isn't true." Her puffy eyes took on a mutinous expression. "I don't know what happened, what that horrible woman made it appear, but Blair certainly wasn't involved that way with Ms. Kade. She was a client, and no more."
"Uh-huh" was the kindest response Eve could think of. "How long have you worked here?"
"Eight months. The most vital eight months of my life. I only started to live when-"
"Did his wife come here?"
"Rarely." Chloe pressed her lips together. "She pretended an interest in his work, in public. But in private she was critical, and was draining his energies. Of course, she had no problem spending the money he made from the sweat of his soul."
"Is that so? He tell you that?"
"He told me everything." She beat her breast, her hand fisted around the locket. Heart tapped against heart. "There were no secrets between us."
"So you have the passcode into his studio."
She opened her mouth, firmed it again before speaking. "No. An artist such as Blair needs his privacy. I would never intrude. Naturally, he would open the door when he wanted to share something with me."
"Right. So you wouldn't know if he ever had visitors in there."
"He worked alone. It was necessary for his creativity."
Dupe, Eve thought. Foolish, gullible, and probably no more than a casual toy for Bissel. She started to turn as the elevator opened again, and Chloe flung her arms around Eve's legs.
"Please, please! You must let me see him. You must let me say goodbye to my heart. Let me go to him. Let me touch his face one last time! You must. You must give me that much."
Eve saw Roarke quirk a brow in a kind of amused horror. Bending, Eve peeled Chloe off her shins.
"Peabody, deal with this."
"Sure. Come on, Chloe." Putting her back into it, Peabody hefted the weeping girl. "Let's go splash some water on your face. Blair would want you to be strong. I've got some questions I need to ask you. He'd want you to help us, so we can see justice is done."
