Born in Death (6 page)

She felt wonderfully sleepy again, as she imagined Galahad might if he came across an unexpected bowl of cream and gorged himself.

“Guess you never know where you’ll find the fun.”

His lips brushed her hair, then he shifted, drawing her back against him again. “I do.”

Snuggled against him, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

When she woke, Roarke was in the sitting area of the bedroom, scanning the morning reports as was his habit. She smelled coffee, but headed in to shower first.

When she stepped out of the shower, the scent struck her again. Sniffing like a hound she turned and saw a thick mug of it sitting on the counter by the sink.

It made her smile, and go a little soft inside just as she had as she’d drifted into sleep. She took the first glorious hit of coffee naked and dripping, then left it to use the drying tube and pull on a robe.

Carrying the mug with her, she came out, went directly to him. Bending down, she gave him a kiss nearly as strong as the coffee.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I did consider joining you and getting your blood moving in a different manner, but I’m already dressed.” Still looking at Eve, Roarke shot out a finger to his left, and warned Galahad as the cat tried to belly his way toward a bowl of berries. “You look fairly well rested.”

“Sleepy sex then six solid. Not shabby.”

“Said with a smug smile, just to finish off your alliteration.”

“Hah. You’re a sharp, sexy son of a bitch. See, I finish my own alliterations.”

He had to laugh. “Now that you have, sit and have some breakfast, and I’ll tell you what I learned of your top accountants from a business associate.”

“What associate?” She lowered the coffee she’d started to drink. “When?”

“You wouldn’t know him, and shortly ago.”

“Tell me while I get dressed.”

“Eat.”

She heaved a sigh, but dropped down and scooped some of the berries into a smaller bowl. “Spill.”

“Jacob Sloan founded the firm with Carl Myers, the father of the current Carl Myers on the letterhead. Sloan has a very small handful of accounts he continues to oversee personally. He does, however, according to my source, take a very active part in the running of the firm.”

“His ball, he wants to watch where it bounces.”

“I’d say so, yes. Myers handles domestic, corporate, and individual—as did his father—more of the very top individual accounts. Robert Kraus—who was made partner about a decade ago—heads up the legal department, and oversees some of the cream of the foreign and international.”

Roarke nudged a bowl of what looked suspiciously like flakes of tree bark toward her.

“Does he, your associate, know how active any or all of them are in the day-to-day?”

“He tells me very. While they are a layered and multifaceted firm with various departments, department heads, and so forth, they hold a weekly partners’ meeting—that would be only the three of them—a daily briefing, and there are quarterly account reports and employee evals, which each partner is copied on. Very hands on.”

“And if so, difficult for one to slip something shaky by the other two.”

“It would seem, but difficult isn’t impossible or even improbable.”

“Sloan’s the top dog,” Eve muttered. “Probably the hardest for an account exec to get to, one-on-one. And the one who’d make the most sense to try to seek out if you hit on something that seemed off. At least if you believed he wasn’t in on it.”

“And if you did, or weren’t sure, a reason to try to gather as many facts and as much evidence as possible before you went to the authorities.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She ate some of the tree bark without thinking about it. “Bio data I got on Sloan is that self-made stuff. Worked his way up, took risks, beat his own drum, built his firm and rep brick by brick. One marriage—and she has some family dough and prestige—one male offspring, conservative bent. Got a second home in the Caymans.”

“Makes excellent sense, tax-wise,” Roarke said. “And a good way to shelter income. He’d know all the ins and outs there.”

“Copperfield handled foreign accounts. Might be she stumbled on something he was into. Guy founds a firm that takes on a big shine over the years, puts all that time and effort into it, he’d have a lot of pride in it—and a lot at stake.”

She pushed up. “Well, I’m going to go see what I think of him.” Leaning over, she kissed him. “If I need help interpreting some of the numbers, are you up for it?”

“I could be.”

“Good to know. Later.”

She had Peabody and McNab meet her in the lobby of the building that housed the accounting firm. As ordered, four uniforms with banker’s boxes for transporting items were already in place.

McNab wore a coat that looked as if it had been used as a canvas for fingerpainting by a hyperactive toddler.

“Couldn’t you just try to look like a cop?”

He only grinned. “We get up there, I’ll wear a really stern expression.”

“Yeah, that’ll make a difference.”

She strode across the lobby, flashed her badge and the warrant at Security. He was already wearing a stern expression, and kept it in place as he scanned IDs and paperwork.

“My orders are to have you escorted up.”

“See these?” Eve tapped both badge and warrant. “These override your orders. You want to hitch onto the elevator with us, no problem. But we’re going up now.”

He signaled quickly to another guard, then fell in step behind Eve as she crossed to the elevators. They rode up in silence. When the doors opened there were two suits, one of each gender, waiting.

“Identification and authority, please.” The woman spoke snippily, then studied the three badges and the warrant. “These appear to be in order. My associate and I will accompany you to Ms. Copperfield’s office.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Mr. Kraus is on his way. If you’ll just wait—”

“Did you just read this?” Eve lifted the warrant again. “It doesn’t require me to wait.”

“Simply courtesy—”

“You should have thought about courtesy before you held my investigation hostage for more than twenty-four hours.” Eve headed off in the direction she and Peabody had taken the day before.

“Privacy matters,” the woman began as she quickened her pace to match Eve’s stride.

“Yeah, so does murder. You bogged me up. Kraus wants to talk to me, he can talk while we’re getting the files and electronics.” She swung into Natalie’s office. “This warrant authorizes me to confiscate any and all data, disc, and hard copy, any and all files, notes, communications, personal property—hell, let’s cut it down. I’m authorized to take everything inside this room. Let’s load it up,” she said to Peabody and McNab.

“Our client files are highly sensitive.”

In a flash, Eve rounded on her. “You know what else is sensitive? The human body. You want to see what was done to Natalie Copperfield’s?” Eve made a move to reach into her file bag.

“No, I don’t. And we’re very distressed about what happened to Ms. Copperfield and Mr. Byson. We’re very sympathetic to their families.”

“Yeah, I slapped up against your distress and sympathy a few times yesterday.” Eve pulled open a desk drawer.

“Lieutenant Dallas.”

The man who entered was well turned-out, middle fifties in a stone-gray suit and blinding white shirt. He had a prominent nose and dark eyes in a strong face with an olive complexion. His hair was ink black, brushed back in waves that made wings out of the silver he’d either let come into his temples or had put there for effect.

She recognized him from the ID shot she’d accessed as Robert Kraus.

“Mr. Kraus.”

“I wonder if I could impose on you for a short time. If your associates could continue to deal with this business, my partners and I would like to speak with you in our conference room.”

“We’ve got Byson’s office to do next.”

He looked just a little pained, but nodded. “Understood. We’ll try not to keep you long.”

Eve turned to Peabody. “Everything. Boxed and labeled. Uniforms to transport if I’m not back before you’re done. I’ll find you.”

“First let me apologize for the delay,” Kraus began as he gestured Eve into the corridor. “Ethically and legally we’re obliged to protect our clients.”

“Ethically and legally I’m obliged to protect the rights of the victims.”

“Understood.” He walked past the bank of office elevators to a private car. “I knew both Natalie and Bick, and they had both my professional and personal respect. Kraus to sixty-five,” he said into the speaker.

“Did either of them speak with you about a potential problem, personal or professional?”

“No. But it would have been highly unusual for either of them to do so, certainly if it was personal. If there was a problem or question with one of their accounts, they would have gone to their department head, who—if necessary—would have reported to me or one of the other partners. Certainly, the partners would expect a report or memo on such a circumstance, even if it was resolved.”

“And did you receive such a report or memo?”

“No, I did not. I’m puzzled why you believe or suspect that what happened to them has anything to do with Sloan, Myers, and Kraus.”

“I haven’t told you what I believe or suspect,” Eve said evenly. “Investigating all areas of their lives, their movements, their communications, is standard and routine.”

“Of course.”

The car stopped, and once again he gestured Eve ahead of him.

Here was the power center, she realized. As was so often the case, power—like heat—rose to the top.

A wall of glass with a pale gold sheen let in the city with a gilded light that made statements of industry and wealth. Plush carpeting of deep red was bordered with dark, thick wood. There was no reception area here, no waiting alcove. Eve imagined any client worthy of this floor would never be expected to check in or cool heels.

Instead there was a seating area of lush sofas, thick tables, obviously arranged for informal or personal chats. It boasted a small, stylish bar where she assumed the tony clients could request their drink of choice.

Space and silence were the watchwords here. Office doors were few and distant, and all were dominated by an inner wall of that golden glass. Kraus escorted her over to the wall, subtly waving a hand in front of a small security eye. Glass whisked open to reveal the large conference room behind it.

With the city rising behind them, the other two partners sat at a mile-long table.

The younger, Carl Myers, rose. His black suit was softened by a thin silver chalk stripe. There was a black mourning band around the left sleeve. His hair was a wavy, medium brown brushed high off his forehead. His eyes, a soft hazel, met Eve’s directly as he came around the table and extended his hand.

“Lieutenant Dallas, I’m Carl Myers. We’re sorry to meet you under such tragic circumstances.”

“I meet most people under tragic circumstances.”

“Of course.” He never missed a beat. Handsome, fit, he gestured toward the head of the table where Jacob Sloan sat. “Please, have a seat. Is there anything we can get for you?”

“No, thanks.”

“Jacob Sloan, Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Roarke’s cop.”

It was a term she was used to now, even when it was said with a hint of derision. Still, she tapped the badge she’d hooked on her belt. “This makes me the NYPSD’s cop.”

He acknowledged that with a faint lift of silver eyebrows. He struck her as honed, face and body, as though he whittled himself down to sheer power. His eyes were stone gray, his suit stark black. Like his face, his body, his hands were thin but with a look of steely strength.

He didn’t offer one to Eve.

“You, as a representative of the police department, are infringing on the rights of our clients.”

“Somebody really infringed the hell out of the rights of Natalie Copperfield and Bick Byson.”

His mouth tightened, but his eyes never wavered. “This firm takes both of those difficult circumstances very seriously. The death of two of our employees—”

“Murder,” Eve corrected.

“As you say,” he agreed with a nod. “The murder of two of our employees is shocking and tragic, and we will cooperate with your investigation to the letter of the law.”

“Not much choice there, Mr. Sloan. How about the spirit of it?”

“Please, let me get you some coffee,” Myers began.

“I don’t want any coffee.”

“The spirit of the law is subjective, isn’t it?” Sloan continued. “Your concept of it may very well veer from mine, and certainly is bound to veer from our clients’—who expect, who demand, that we protect their privacy. The circumstances of this terrible thing will reverberate throughout this firm. The concern that sensitive financial data will be viewed by eyes not cleared by this firm to do so will distress our clients. I’m sure as the wife of a powerful, influential, and wealthy man, you understand that.”

“First, I’m not here as anyone’s wife but as the primary investigator of a double murder. Second, the distress of your clients, whoever they may be, isn’t a priority for me.”

“You’re a sarcastic, difficult woman.”

“Having a couple of dead bodies on my hands that were beaten, tortured, and strangled just doesn’t bring out my sunny side.”

“Lieutenant.” Myers spread his hands. “We understand completely that you have a responsibility to fulfill. As we do. And believe me, everyone here wants those responsible for what happened to Natalie and Bick caught and punished. Our concerns on a secondary front are for our clients who trust and depend on us. There are people—competitors, if you will—business adversaries, ex-spouses, the media, who would go to considerable lengths to learn the contents of the files you’re confiscating today.”

“Are you insinuating I’d be open to a bribe by one of these parties to pass on that information?”

“No, no, not at all. But others who lack your integrity may be tempted.”

“Any and all who’ll have access to the information in those files will be hand-picked by me or my commander. You want reassurance that the data will remain secure, you have it. On my word. Unless such information is determined to be the motive behind or connected to the murders of Copperfield and Byson. That’s the best you get.”