Golden in Death

by Robb, J. D.

  “Then we’ll jump forward to the now. Can you give us your whereabouts on the nights of April twenty-seventh and twenty-ninth, from nine-thirty to eleven?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, Mr. Whitt. We consider murder investigations very serious.”

  “You actually consider me a suspect because of some teacher and administrator from high school? You must be really reaching.” Shaking his head, he scrolled through an appointment device.

  “April twenty-seventh, I took a client and her husband to dinner at Le Jardin. We had eight o’clock reservations. I’d estimate we left around midnight. I escorted them back to their hotel—they were in New York from Belgium—then had the limo take me home. Again, I can’t tell you precisely, but I should’ve been home before twelve-thirty, and didn’t go out again.”

  “We’ll need the names of your clients to verify.”

  “No.” His jaw set; his eyes hardened. “I won’t have you contacting important clients and questioning them. If you have to verify, talk to the restaurant. The maître d’ knows me, as I often take clients there. The servers will certainly remember.”

  “We’ll start there,” Eve agreed. “And the second night?”

  “I went to a club to meet a friend. I’m not sure of the time again, but it would have been nine or nine-thirty when I got there. Marsh was already there.”

  “That would be Marshall Cosner.”

  “That’s right. Obviously you know we went to school together—but for that last semester. Our families are friendly, and Marsh and I remain friends. We get together when our schedules allow.”

  “Funny.” Peabody took out her PPC as if checking data. “Mr. Cosner didn’t mention your name among those he gave us when he told us about his club night.”

  “Probably thinking he’d keep me out of all this nonsense.” He waved that off. “No need. We had a couple of drinks, a few laughs, caught up, scoped out the ladies. Neither of us brought a date. I left about midnight, I think, caught a cab home.”

  “Alone?” Eve asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Have you stayed in touch with Kendel Hayward?”

  “Ah, still a stab to the heart.” He made a mock wince. “No. We were madly in love, of course, at sixteen, seventeen. Then cruelly—I felt at the time—separated. Her parents lowered the boom, it was all so fast. I couldn’t even contact her, as they’d taken her ’link, locked down her comms, and I pined for … two or three weeks?”

  He smiled again. “Such is the depth of love at seventeen.”

  “You did try to contact her once.” Eve noted the faintest tightening around his jaw. “But she wouldn’t talk to you. You didn’t take that well.”

  “Seventeen,” he said again. “She broke my heart. Then there were other girls to ease the pain, then college—and other women, and Kendel became a sweet, vague memory. But she’s not in New York, is she? I know I read she got engaged, some political type in East Washington. I admit I felt a twinge. First loves are potent.”

  “But not potent enough for you to contact her, or try to, after you graduated. Or since.”

  “One must move on. And that’s exactly what I must do now. I can’t help you with your situation. I’m sure this is a tragedy for Dr. Rufty and Mr. Durbin.”

  “Duran,” Eve corrected.

  “Right. It simply has nothing to do with me, and I can’t spare any more time. If you have any more questions, you can take them up with my lawyer. That would be Lowell Cosner—Marsh’s father.”

  He rose. “Best of luck to you.”

  “Thanks for your time.”

  She could all but hear his smirk as they walked out.

  Peabody started to speak when they got in the elevator, but Eve just shook her head. So they rode down in silence with corporate suits and well-heeled clients.

  “Now,” Eve said when they stepped outside. “Because he’s the type that might put an underling on the ride to report any chatter.”

  “I didn’t think of that, and yeah, he’s the type. I was going to say we now have two lying SOSs.”

  “We surely do, Peabody. We surely do.”

  “Still, if the alibis check out—”

  “I’ve got an idea there. Check the addresses for the club, the restaurant, and the dinner party,” Eve said as they walked back to the lot. “Then compare them with the drop points for both packages. Let’s see what we have.”

  “Sure.” Peabody pulled out her PPC.

  “Cosner tagged him, you can bet on it, the minute we left his office. He knew we were coming, had the admin set to try to block us. Knew the names we’d bring up, but had to act like, gee, who remembers? Stupid, really. But there’s always some stupid in there, no matter how smart they are. Or think they are.”

  “And here’s more stupid. The address for the dinner party, that’s a solid twenty blocks from the first drop, but the restaurant where Whitt took his clients? Under two. And the club where Cosner and Whitt hooked up? Three blocks.”

  “They each did a drop. They cover for each other. They never thought we’d get this far, but they think they’ve covered it. Whitt thinks—Cosner’s a follower.”

  Eve got behind the wheel. “Let’s go by the restaurant—we’ve got time. I’m going to have Rodriges come in, give a statement. We’ll hit the restaurant, check out the club, see if we can put some more holes in the lying SOSs.”

  “I’m for that.”

  Eve paid at the gate, drove on. “Whitt didn’t even bother to ask why we’d question him about the spouses being killed. Because that’s his whole point. That’s the reason.”

  “And he’d hold on to blaming Rufty, Duran because he got pulled from a school—by his parents.”

  “There’s more to it. First loves are potent, right? Not love, not really. He’s a sociopath and he doesn’t genuinely feel. But he lost the girl, his hierarchy, and more—there’s more. The girl got engaged—and that got media play, a lot of talk in his social circle, too, believe it. It pisses him off. And Grange, she comes into it. Somehow. Whitt’s parents are divorced, right? Check when.”

  “Just a second. Huh.” Peabody pursed her lips at her PPC screen. “Finalized the same summer Whitt graduated from Lester Hensen.”

  “The wife filed, right?”

  “Yeah. Right after the first of the year.”

  “What do you want to bet Whitt’s daddy’s the one in that blurred photo?”

  Peabody considered. “I think I’ll save my money.”

  18

  The hostess at the uppity upscale French restaurant obviously approved of Eve’s topper, as she greeted her and Peabody with a warm and welcoming smile.

  “Good afternoon! Under what name will I find your reservation?”

  “Under no name, but you’ll find this badge under Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”

  Warm welcome turned to quick alarm. “Oh! Please, will you be discreet? Is there a problem?”

  “Depends. I want you to check back for a reservation under Stephen Whitt for April twenty-seventh. Dinner. Eight o’clock.”

  “Mr. Whitt, of course. Party of three. Mr. Whitt often dines and lunches here.”

  “You were working?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about you step away from your station a minute?”

  “Oh, but … Henry? Would you take over for me for just a moment? Could we step outside?” she asked Eve in a whisper—discreetly.

  “Sure.”

  Once they did, the woman let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, but we wouldn’t want any of our guests disturbed or upset.”

  “Right. What time did Mr. Whitt arrive?”

  “He brought his guests in just a minute or two before eight. He’s always timely. Jordan, the evening maître d’, escorted them to their table himself.”

  “Okay.” Eve played a hunch. “What time did Mr. Whitt step out, maybe to use his ’link?”

  “Oh. I think it was—I’m not sure exactly—but about ten? He’
s very considerate that way, and will step outside if he needs to make or take a call. We discourage ’link usage while dining.”

  “Sure you do. How long was he out?”

  “A few minutes. Five, six. No more than ten. Less, certainly, than ten. He wouldn’t have left his guests for more than a few minutes.”

  “You saw him go out and come back?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “I do. I need your name.”

  “Grace Levin.”

  “Does Mr. Whitt have an upcoming reservation?”

  “I don’t believe so. He often makes one for lunch the day of.”

  “If he does, if he comes in, it’s important you don’t mention this conversation.”

  “But—”

  Eve took out her badge again, pointed to it. “Do you understand important? And discreet, Ms. Levin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Do you know the names of his servers from that night?”

  “Yes.”

  Once she gave them, Eve sent her back inside.

  “He thinks he’s covered himself.” Eve rocked back on her heels. “First, he doesn’t really expect to be brought into it, but you need cover. He has the limo, the clients, a restaurant where he’s known and respected. He fakes the need to use his ’link. Certainly has the limo waiting—just a matter of timing. Gets the package out of the limo because it’s probably quicker to walk. Plus, he doesn’t want to be seen making the drop, using the jammer. It only takes a few minutes. Go back in, apologize for the interruption. Let’s have some frigging brandy or whatever.”

  “Slick,” Peabody agreed as they got back into the car. “But the holes? The servers, the hostess, maître d’, the driver. The clients—and we could get the names if we needed them. Somebody’s going to notice he’s gone out for a few minutes. The car service guy’s going to know he called for the limo, got something out of it.”

  “He’s used to doing what the hell he wants. Even the getting yanked out of school? Not because of his behavior. Because Rufty changed the rules, and his parents weren’t going to let some headmaster claim they had a bad seed.

  “He may sweat it a little now. But even so he’s thinking he’s covered. He’ll convince, or try to convince Cosner they’re both covered. Let’s check the club.”

  They got nothing additional from the club, but for the club itself.

  Eve got back into the car after a brief conversation with a couple of women who’d been mopping the floors.

  “No door cam,” she said. “No man on the door. A single-level club with a single bar, a dingy atmosphere. Not a dive, but closer to that than a trendy place like you’d expect a couple of rich guys to hang in.”

  “But location and lack of security equal a plus if you’re a couple of rich guys planning a murder. Circumstantial,” Peabody added, “but it’s building.”

  “Let’s put a damn roof on it before they send another package.”

  “You think they will?” Peabody shifted to Eve as they streamed through traffic. “Now that they know, have to know, we’re looking at them?”

  “Cosner, maybe not. But Whitt?” Eve powered through a light, switched lanes, and took the next right at the tail end of the pedestrian flood across the intersection. “He’s made of arrogance. If anything he’d push up his schedule now.”

  “I can see that,” Peabody realized. “Those bitches think they scare me? Shit, Dallas.”

  “We issued the warnings, Peabody, and that’s all we can do there. We build it up. If it’s just the two of them, one of them—likely Cosner—has the equipment, the supplies where he lives. They both live alone. Possibly they have a separate workspace, and we’re going to look there.”

  “Also possibly they have that mad scientist on the payroll.”

  “So we look there.” Eve pulled into the garage at Central. “Known associates, old friends—maybe from Gold—employees. Possibly it’s a dealer connection of Cosner’s, so we look there, too.”

  “A lover, maybe? Another addict.” As they got on the elevator, Peabody played with the angle. “They get him or her a decent place to stay, keep her supplied with her drug of choice, and she cooks the agent in exchange.”

  “Not bad. We haven’t found a romantic or sexual relationship with either of them, nothing that sticks. So maybe one they’ve kept buried. We’ll take a closer look at their finances, looking for regular outlays. See if we can find any property they—or either of them—rent or own other than where they live. Investment properties. Who’d look twice normally?”

  She ditched the elevator for the glides. “Let’s get more hands in this. Check and see if EDD can spare McNab or Callendar. If not, we’ll cull somebody from the bullpen.”

  “You really think they’ll hit another target?”

  “In Whitt’s place, with his mind-set? It’s just what I’d do. Tag EDD,” she said as they walked into the bullpen. “I want to write this up before Rodriges gets here.”

  Eve went straight into her office, straight for coffee. After updating her board, her book, she wrote her report, added a list of questions for Mira.

  Since she expected Rodriges shortly, she’d dig into finances later. For now, she put her boots on the desk, angled toward the board to study and think.

  Whitt’s father’s photo on the wall of Grange’s office. The timing of the divorce. Maybe try to talk to the wife, see if they could convince her to confirm the affair.

  Because there’d been one. Maybe still was.

  If Whitt knew Grange had been at least partially responsible for his parents’ divorce, why not strike at her? Didn’t care, she mused. It didn’t really impact his life.

  What had—because she believed him there—was the transfer of schools and cities. He’d lost his base, his standing, his easy road, and had instead been demoted to the new kid.

  Still, Grange might have covered for him, at least partially. Another reason not to strike out. But he’d had the brains as well as the money to make a top-ranked school, and do well.

  So possibly he had focused on his studies. Success could be a form of revenge.

  He’d hooked back up with Cosner, and probably had never completely lost touch. But the girl? He’d definitely lost the girl.

  No contact, not even after they’d both graduated.

  Her eyes narrowed on his ID shot. “How did you know her parents had taken her ’link, locked down her comms? Maybe somebody else from your circle of assholes told you. Maybe. But then she cut you off, too. Chose to follow the line instead of hook back with you. Hmm.”

  Setting the coffee aside, she rose, paced to her skinny window. “You’re not going to contact that bitch after she dumped you like that. Screw her. She didn’t mean that much to you anyway. Just an easy lay, right? Sure, sure. Plenty of easy lays out there for a good-looking rich boy.”

  She paced away, paced back. “Smart girls, too. Girls with more brains than tits who’d be grateful for the attention. Who’d help with college papers.”

  She went back to her desk, checked the date of Hayward’s engagement announcement.

  “Yeah, yeah, you’d read about it. First loves are potent—that’s what you said, and that was pure truth for you, especially when you add first loves who kick you to the curb.

  “Then what does she do? What does she do?” Eve asked herself as she picked up her coffee again. “She goes and hooks another rich guy. An important rich guy from an important family. Fuck me, her future mother-in-law might just be president. That’s a kick in the balls. She gets to flaunt it around the White House? And who’s responsible, who ruined your life so you’re a junior exec at daddy’s firm and the girl who belonged to you gets to marry into political royalty?

  “Rufty, Duran, and the rest of the sons of bitches who screwed up a good thing.”

  She walked to the ID shot. “That’s the trigger. That’s the goddamn trigger. I’d bet my ass on it.”

  She turned, intending to contact Mira’s of
fice and push her way into a quick consult. As she did, her machine signaled an incoming, and Peabody’s clomp came down the hall.

  She glanced at the incoming, gave a quick grunt. She’d been expecting it.

  “Dallas,” Peabody said from the doorway. “Rodriges is here.”

  “Set him up in the lounge. I’ll be right there.”

  She waited until Peabody clomped away before answering the commander’s office.

  Detective Peabody and I are about to interview an individual regarding the current investigation. We will report to Commander Whitney’s office immediately after the interview.

  Grange, Eve thought as she headed out. She hadn’t expected the headmaster to let Peabody’s insults go. So they’d deal with it.

  In the lounge, Rodriges sat at a table, one battered sneaker tapping nervously. He was a skinny little guy with his black hair tied back in a short, curly tail. A pair of soulful dark eyes looked out of a youthful face as Peabody brought him a fizzy.

  He wore a T-shirt displaying the formula for pi, with the caption:

  THERE’S ALWAYS AN EXTRA SLICE OF PI!

  Eve imagined a personality like Whitt’s had delighted in bullying him.

  “Here’s Lieutenant Dallas. Lieutenant,” Peabody continued, and handed Eve a tube of Pepsi, “Miguel Rodriges.”

  “Thanks for coming in, Mr. Rodriges.”

  “That’s okay.” His smile flitted off and on, never reached those soulful eyes. “My, ah, supervisor said I kind of had to. That you had to talk to me about Dr. Rufty’s husband and Mr. Duran’s wife. It’s … it’s awful.”

  “You remember Dr. Rufty and Professor Duran?”

  “Oh yeah, sure. I should’ve said professor. He wasn’t when he was at TAG, but … I went to the memorial before work this morning. I didn’t really know Dr. Abner, but I wanted to go, just for a few minutes. I’m going to go to Ms. Duran’s memorial, too. It’s important to pay your respects.”

  He took a gulp of fizzy. “I’m pretty nervous because I don’t know why you want to talk to me.”