Strangers in Death (5 page)

“Cleaned up after.”

“No blood in the sink, no trace in the tap, the pipes. It reads like she came prepared, like she maybe sealed up, or changed. Like she had this in mind from the jump. I’ve knocked on women he’s known to have dicked around with, who might be pissed off, but that’s nowhere.”

“Give it another push. I’ll take a look at the file as soon as I get a chance. Fresh eyes.”

“Appreciate that.”

When he left, Eve stepped over to her desk. Her ’link indicated she had eight messages. A chunk of them, she knew, would be from media hounds. A rich guy buys it in his own home, it started the trickle that often became a flood. And the details of how would leak, she knew that, too. Nobody’s finger was big enough to plug the hole in the dike when the flood was that juicy.

“All clear?” Peabody asked from the doorway.

“Yeah.”

“Baxter wanted to talk about the Avenue D case? Trueheart’s run some of it by me,” Peabody continued. “Nothing’s gelling.”

“They’ll go back around, work it again. What’ve you got for me?”

“Benedict Forrest—whose mother really was eaten by a shark. Or severely chewed on by one. He was six at the time, and living in New York under the care of a nanny and numerous servants. Mother was quite the adrenaline junkie, from what I’ve got. Name the life-threatening activity, she gave it a whirl. Thirty-five at TOD, twice divorced, one child. When she ended up the main course for Jaws, Anders applied for custody and guardianship, and as the biological father didn’t contest, same was granted.”

“How much did Anders pay him? The bio dad?”

“Five million, apparently. The guy spends most of his time cruising around hot spots in Europe, hadn’t seen the kid since the divorce—four years plus before the mother died. He’s been married three times since, and is currently living in the south of France. Just doesn’t feel like he plays into this.”

“How much of a financial interest did the mother have in the company?”

“None. She took a buyout from her father in lieu. And she was smart enough—or vindictive enough—to arrange her trust and assets so even if the father took the kid, after her death, he couldn’t touch a penny of the kid’s take. Anders took the kid, supported, educated, and housed him on his own nickel.”

Pausing, Peabody glanced down at her notes. “Forrest came into a nice chunk of change when he turned twenty-one, another portion at twenty-five, another at thirty. He has an MBA from Harvard, where he also played baseball and lacrosse. He worked his way up the ranks at Anders from a junior exec to his current position as Chief Operating Officer.”

“Any criminal?”

“Nada. Pretty regular hits for speeding, and a shitload of parking tickets, all paid up.”

Eve sat back, swiveled in her desk chair. “Give me the wife.”

“Ava Montgomery Anders, who I confirmed was in her hotel suite on St. Lucia when contacted about trouble at home. She booked a shuttle after the transmission. There’s no record of her leaving the island by any mode prior. Born Portland, Oregon, in 2008, upper-middle-class all the way. Previous marriage to one Dirk Bronson in 2032, ended in divorce in 2035. No offspring. Earned degrees in business and public relations from Brown—scholarship—which she put to use as the PR rep for Anders Worldwide—Chicago base, where she relocated after her divorce. Then she transferred to the New York office in 2041. She and Anders married in ’44. She currently serves as the company’s goodwill ambassador, serving on the board of Everybody Plays, Anders Worldwide’s organization founded to provide facilities, training, and equipment for children, ah, worldwide. And serving as chairman of Moms, Too, a program that offers educational seminars, workshops, networking opportunities, and so on to mothers of kids in Everybody Plays. No criminal on her either, and she’s worth about ten million in her own right.”

Peabody lowered her notebook. “I could give you Greta Horowitz, but everything she told us runs true. I was about to start on Leopold Walsh, but I must find food. I can find you food, too.” Peabody smiled hugely. “How about a nice sandwich?”

“How about we find out where the hell some of the reports are, and why they’re not on my desk? I want—” Eve broke off as her computer signaled an incoming. “Morris comes through,” she murmured.

“And while you’re singing the praises of our ME, I’ll go hunt and gather.”

“Computer, display incoming on screen, copy to open file, and print.”

Multitask acknowledged. Working…

As the computer hummed, Eve scanned the toxicology report. “Well, Jesus, Tommy,” she stated, “you didn’t have a snowball’s chance, did you?”

While it printed, she engaged her ’link to harass the sweepers for a preliminary, and because her mind was elsewhere, answered her ’link when it signaled a few minutes later.

“Dallas.”

“You don’t call, you don’t write.”

“Nadine.” Eve didn’t bother to curse herself as she stared into the sharp green eyes of the city’s hottest reporter. The fact that they were friends made it convenient—or inconvenient, depending on the circumstances. “Gosh, I’d just love to chat, but I’m about to do lunch. Then maybe I’ll have a manicure.”

“That’s so cute. You caught a hot one, Dallas, just the kind of case we love to spotlight on
Now
. Tomorrow night. You’ll lead off, a full ten-minute segment.”

“Again, gosh, but I have to have my eyes put out with a hot poker tomorrow night. Otherwise…”

“Thomas Anders’s murder is big news, Dallas.”

“We haven’t determined or announced the death as murder.”

“That’s not what I hear. Strangled, in bed, with considerable kink attached. If not murder, was it accidental death during sex games?”

So the trickle was already a flood, Eve thought. “You know better, Nadine.”

“A girl’s gotta try. He was a nice guy, Dallas. I’d like to cover this right.”

“You knew him?”

“I did a few features on him, his wife, his nephew over the years. That’s not really knowing someone, but what I did know, I liked. Tabloid media—and a lot of other media—is going to pump up the sex, you know this. I can’t avoid it, but I want to be evenhanded. So help me.”

“Not this time. But I’ll give you Peabody. You won’t screw with her, or the investigation. And she needs to develop her media chops. So you help her.”

“That’s a deal. I’ll have my people get in touch with her, but tell her I need her here, at the studio, by five tomorrow.”

“Nadine, in five words or less, sum up your take on the relationship between Anders and his wife, and Anders and his nephew.”

“With the wife, affectionate and proud. The same for the nephew, but even more so. I remember asking Anders what he considered his finest accomplishment. He turned a photo around that he kept on his desk—one of his nephew. ‘You’re looking at him,’ is what he said. I ended the piece with it.”

“Thanks.” Eve clicked off, glanced over as Peabody clomped in with an armload of food.

“We got your pretend-I’m-turkey wraps, soy chips, and these cute little tubs of veggie hash. I got you a tube of Pepsi.”

Eve watched while Peabody set food on her desk, tidily organizing debris to make room. “What are you angling for, Peabody?”

“Angling? Just making sure you don’t forget to eat. You’re always forgetting to eat, which is why you’re skinny as a snake. Which looks great on you.” Peabody’s gaze darted up and away while she added a napkin and plastic fork. Then her breath huffed out as Eve continued to give her the fish-eye. “Okay, okay. Maybe I was hoping, if we’re not on the tail of some hot lead or whatever, you could find it in your big, generous heart to—”

“Cut the crap.”

“I want to leave early, take an hour’s personal time. McNab and I have a date.”

“You and McNab live together.”

“Yeah, well, see, that’s kind of the point.” Peabody dragged the visitor’s chair over, picked up her wrap, and chowed down. “We realized we didn’t want the cohab thing to take the romance out of things. The spark. So we instituted Date Night. Tonight’s the first, so I really want to get home in time to buff myself up. Special, you know? Kick him in the balls special.”

“If you want to kick him in the balls—and I often want to myself—you should stay home.”

“Dallas.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take the hour, buff and polish, kick him in the balls.”

“Thanks. We’re going to this club, and not one of those bump-and-fuck joints,” Peabody added, gesturing with a soy chip before popping it into her mouth to crunch. “But where you actually go to listen to music and dance with each other and stuff. I really want to look extreme, so you know, need that hour.”

“Fine. You’ll be making it up tomorrow. You need to report to Nadine’s studio at Channel 75 at seventeen hundred.”

“Whafo?” Peabody asked with a mouthful of veggie hash.

“She’ll interview you on the Anders case, so make sure you’re—”

“What? On the air? Me?” She choked, whistled out a breath while her eyes wheeled, then glugged down Diet Pepsi. “No.”

“You’ll be representing the department, and this division, so don’t screw it up.”

“But…But people watch
Now
. Practically everybody. I can’t—”

“Screw it up. Exactly.” It was small, it was mean, but Eve couldn’t deny Peabody’s reaction made the pretend turkey almost tasty. “Nadine has respect for cops, and for the process, but she’s still a reporter. She’s sneaky. Don’t forget that. You give the facts I’ll clear you to give, and the feel, your own take, but when she presses you—and she will—on investigative details, you block. Standard, I’m not at liberty.”

Faintly green now, Peabody pressed a hand to her belly. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“You boot on my desk, I’ll throw your gagging body out my window. You won’t have to worry about going on screen.”

“Can’t you do it? You’re used to it.”

“No, I can’t do it, and you need to get used to it.”

“I don’t know what to wear.”

“Oh sweet, suffering Christ.” Eve pressed her fingers against the twitching muscle beside her eye. “Window, Peabody. Headfirst.”

“You couldn’t fit me through that stupid window.”

“Let’s find out.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Now my head’s all screwed up.”

“Unscrew it. We’ve got a few matters just a smidge more important than your date night and on-air debut. The vic was tranqed
twice
.”

“What—who. Wait.” Closing her eyes, Peabody took several deep breaths. “Anders. Okay, I’m back. Anders was tranqed?”

“Pressure syringe.” Eve tapped her finger on the side of her neck. “Heavy dose of barbs, enough to knock out a horse. There were also traces of a sleep aid, standard over-the-counter. Preliminary take is this was ingested, probably three to four hours before TOD. The combo dropped him out. The killer could’ve performed brain surgery on him, and Anders wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Why not just give him a fatal dose? Why the big show?”

“Good question, and one of the reasons I haven’t yet thrown you headfirst out the window. The show was as important as the murder. Disgrace? Revenge? A discarded lover who wanted him to pay? Is it smart, or is it sloppy?”

Peabody considered that over another chip. “If you wanted it to come off as it looked on the surface—accidental death due to erotic asphyxiation—you don’t load him up with barbs. Maybe a mild tranq, sure, to disorient him while you do the bondage. Take your time after that, set the scene, let the tranq wear off some. If you’re going to go to all that trouble, it seems like you want him to suffer. If you want him to suffer, why knock him out so he can’t?”

“More good questions. You’re redeeming yourself. I’m going to send the file to Dr. Mira. I’d like her profile and opinion on this. Could be the killer overdid the barbs. He had a massive dose of erectile enhancer in there, too.

“It feels personal, but let’s run it through IRCCA for like crimes. We’ll start trying to run down the restraints, the tranq. And we’ll do a second level on financials. Forrest and the widow are the most likely to benefit financially. They’ve both got a solid base on their own, but who doesn’t like more? And let’s look for old and current lovers. Guy waits until he’s well into his forties to do the marriage thing, he probably didn’t say I do without banging a few prospects first.”

“I can give EDD another goose, see if we’ve got anything there.”

“I want copies of any transmissions between the vic and his wife, his nephew. Have them round up the ’links from his office.”

“Lieutenant?” Trueheart, Baxter’s young and studly aide, tapped lightly on the doorjamb. “Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but there’s an Edmond Luce out here. He wants to talk to you regarding the Anders case. Seems pretty worked up, and…a lot British.”

Eve dumped the remains of her wrap onto Peabody’s plate, shoved her own into the recycler. “Give me a minute, then send him back.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ditch this stuff, Peabody, then goose EDD, and give one to the lab while you’re at it. Minimum, I want a report of any and all medications and enhancements taken from the scene.”

“On that.” Gathering up the rest of the remains, Peabody headed out.

“Computer, standard bio run on Luce, Edmond, British, with business or personal connection to Anders, Thomas A., of Anders Worldwide. Display only.”

Acknowledged. Working…

While she waited, Eve sent the case file and a quick memo to Dr. Charlotte Mira, the department’s top profiler.

Task complete. Data displayed.

Eve scanned quickly, looking for the quick overview. Luce, London-born, was seventy-six, and served as Anders Worldwide’s CEO, Great Britain. Oxford education, homes in London and in New York. Married, with one previous divorce, three children. One from first marriage.

“Copy data to file,” she ordered when she heard approaching footsteps. “End display.”

Acknowledged. Tasks complete.

She swiveled to face the doorway as it was filled with a big, burly bear of a man with a shock of hair the color of good sterling and eyes of nearly black that sparked off something approaching rage.

He wore khaki trousers with pleats sharp enough to draw blood and a navy V neck over a white shirt. Upscale golf clothes, Eve decided. Anders missed tee time.