Calculated in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “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. H
e’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.”

  CONSIDERING THE TIME, EVE OPTED TO SEND Peabody to interview Jasper Milk. She wanted a follow-up with Alva Moonie. Bradley Whitestone’s date and co-witness might add more insight into the three partners.

  She found Alva at home, not a penthouse this time, but a pretty brownstone on the Upper West.

  Eve approved the security, especially when it didn’t dick around with her. Within moments, Alva opened the door wearing a slim, short purple dress and bare feet.

  “Lieutenant Dallas, what timing. I just got in from work.”

  “Work?”

  “I put time in with a nonprofit group. A family foundation thing. Come in.”

  The foyer boasted walls nearly the same color as Alva’s dress and a tile rug in geometric prints. Alva moved through, to the left and into a wide, high-ceilinged living area that hit somewhere between the Dickensons’ and Candida’s in style. Rich—Eve recognized it in the art, in the fabrics, the scatter of antiques. And comfort in deep cushions, more color, a softly simmering fire in the hearth.

  “I was about to have a glass of wine—long day. Can I offer you one?”

  “Thanks anyway, but go ahead.”

  “Sissy’s getting it. My housekeeper,” she explained. “She was my nanny once upon a time, and she’s still looking out for me. Please, sit down. I expected I’d hear from you again. Have you found out what happened to that poor woman?”

  “The investigation’s ongoing.”

  “Brad got in touch about an hour ago.” Alva sat, curled up her legs. “He said you’d come to talk to him and the others. And that you think she was killed inside the apartment. That she was a specific target.”

  “He saved me time explaining.”

  “Shouldn’t he have told me?”

  “It’s fine.” She glanced over when a tall, attractive brunette came in with a tray holding a bottle of red wine, two glasses, and a little plate of cheese and fruit.

  “Thanks, Sissy. This is Lieutenant Dallas. Cicily Morgan, my rock.”

  “It’s good to meet you.” She spoke in an accent Eve thought of as classy Brit. “Can I pour you a glass of wine?”

  “On duty, but thanks.”