Calculated in Death (11 page)

“It is,” Alexander confirmed. “My father wrote it in when he formed the company. He believes in full accounting.”

“It’s a way to keep your house clean.” Pope cleared his throat. “My mother always says that. She initially joined the firm as an associate, then became full partner. Though she and Mr. Alexander Senior parted ways on a personal level, they remained business partners until their mutual retirement.”

“There’s no need to wave around family business,” Alexander snapped out.

“It’s interesting,” Eve countered. “Has there ever been any problems with previous audits?”

“Absolutely not.” Pope spoke first, then winced as he glanced at his half brother. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but while there have been a few minor issues, immediately resolved, we’re very proud to run that clean house.”

“Any chance I could get copies of those previous audits?”

“Absolutely not.” This time Alexander spoke first, and with an entirely different tone. “Now that’s all the time we can spend on this. Look to competitors. It’s obvious this woman got caught up in something that cost her her life. We’re the victims here.”

“Yeah. You’re the victims. Thanks for your time.”

Eve bared her teeth when she and Peabody rode down to the lobby. “Another asshole.”

“The world’s full of them. You’d never know by looking or listening to the two of them that they’re related.”

“Alexander doesn’t consider them related. He considers Pope a pain in the ass when he’s not considering him a go-fer. And Pope knows it. Alexander’s playing the victim card, and hard—and that buzzes for me. And Pope’s just a little too self-effacing.”

She replayed the interview in her head as they crossed the lobby. “Alexander plays the big deal, but his ’link didn’t ring while we were in there, and you can bet your ass he didn’t order a hold on communications for us. Pope’s pocket ’link hummed two different times.”

“I didn’t notice. I did notice how clear Alexander’s desk was. No work on it.”

“I bet Pope does most of the down-and-dirty work, the inside work, while the other plays big-shot. Doing the down-and-dirty gives you a lot of access.”

“He doesn’t seem the type to steal, cheat, and kill.”

“A lot of people who steal, cheat, and kill don’t, Peabody. That’s why they steal, cheat, and kill until we catch them. Let’s hit the next.”

•   •   •

T
he offices of Your Space spread over a two-level downtown lot. Eve figured a family of four could live there comfortably, particularly as the design reflected a home rather than a work space.

Seating ranged around a sparkling fireplace topped with a mantel holding candlesticks and flowers. A second seating area aimed toward the wide window. In this second space a woman demonstrated something on a tablet to a young couple who appeared to be engrossed.

Rather than security, assistants, or hard-eyed admins, one of the four founders of the firm greeted Eve and Peabody personally.

“Latisha Vance.” The tall, ebony-skinned knockout offered a brisk handshake. “Angie’s with some new clients, but I have some time. We can talk upstairs if you like. Can I get you anything? We have some fresh cookies. They’re deadly.”

“No, thanks,” Eve said over Peabody’s quiet moan. “Are your other partners available?”

“Both Holly and Clare are out on jobs. I expect both of them back before long.” She led them up floating stairs painted candy pink. “You’re here about the woman who was killed, Marta Dickenson.”

“That’s right.”

“I talked to Mr. Gibbons that day, and he explained about the accident, and assured me it wouldn’t cause any delays.”

“Had you ever met or spoken to Mrs. Dickenson?”

“Yes.” Latisha walked them past a bedroom and into a spiffy, organized office where a woman worked at a computer station topped with shelves. “I’m sorry, Kassy, I need the room.”

“No problem. I’ll pick it up in the sitting room.”

Latisha sat on a curvy gray chair as the woman slipped out. “Kassy’s our office manager. Yes, I met Marta. The four of us went into the Brewer offices before we hired them. We like to get a feel for things. We liked the feel there, quite a bit. We liked Marta, and hoped she’d be able to take on our account, but at that time she didn’t have room for us. Jim’s great though, and we’re hoping he makes a full recovery, and quickly. But Mart . . . I just talked to her a week ago.”

“About?”

“Her hiring us.”

“For?”

“We organize. When Angie and I started, just the two of us, we focused on private homes—rooms, really. Going in, designing a system, helping the client purge, and that can be a challenge, redesigning the space if necessary, and so on. It was the Angie and Tisha show for about six months, then Holly and I started talking at the gym.”

Latisha shifted, crossed well-toned legs. “She worked for an interior designer, and was considering going out on her own. Instead, she came in with us. Angie brought in Clare who was, in fact, an office manager. She opened us up to helping organize, reorganize, redesign office spaces. This space was Clare’s idea.”

She gestured to indicate the loft. “Offices don’t have to look like offices to be productive and efficient, and we’d also be able to show clients what can be done, how much productivity and comfort they can pack into their space without clutter.

“Sorry, that was off topic.”

“No, it’s good to know.”

“Marta contacted me. She wanted to surprise her husband, redo his home office space and their bedroom. We’d set up an appointment to go look at the site. Angie and I were to meet her there next Monday.”

“Did you speak with her after she took over your audit?”

“No. I intended to e-mail her the next day, just to touch base. We were all concerned for Jim, and I wanted to give her a little time to acquaint herself with our file. And then . . .”

“You’ve been in business about five years?”

“As we are now, yes.”

“Business is good.”

“It is.” She brightened up again. “Most people don’t know how to get started, how to let go, repurpose, reimagine. That’s what we do.”

“And this audit is due to a potential merger.”

“That’s right. We were approached by a company that designs and makes organizing equipment and tools. They do a nice online business, but haven’t been able to keep up more than a small storefront otherwise. What they need is an influx of cash, and a connection. We’re in talks about merging them into Your Space. Before we move to the next step, we wanted solid figures, ours and theirs, so we insisted on full audits. If we do this, it’s a big step. It would mean expanding, finding a retail and office space for that new end of the business, staffing it. We need to be sure we’re ready, financially, and both parties have to be sure the foundation’s there.”

“Your financial adviser is on board with this?”

“Fully aware, yes, and was working with Jim. I know, too, from the media reports that Marta’s body was found right there, at the new WIN building. It’s . . . disturbing to have so many connections to murder.”

“You work with Jake Ingersol at WIN.”

“Yeah. A lot of energy,” she said with a smile. “Enthusiasm. We always say we feel like we could organize the world after a session with Jake. Angie talked to him just . . . Here she is.”

The compact brunette moved quickly, striding in, sticking out a hand to Eve, then Peabody. “Angie Carabelli. I have to say it’s great to meet you even though it’s terrible. Our goal around here is to organize Roarke World.”

“Angie.” Latisha winced.

“Oh, come on, it’s a fact. We’re all so sorry about Marta. We liked her, and we were looking forward to working with her. What do you need to know?”

“We can get this out of the way if both of you can tell me where you were on the night of the murder, from nine to midnight.”

Angie looked at Latisha. “Don’t you get tired of always being right?”

“No.”

“Tisha said the cops would come, and they’d ask that exact question. I said, They will not. Why? And she said—”

“Connections,” Latisha finished.

“So we talked about it, all of us.”

“To get your stories straight,” Eve said mildly.

“God, that’s just what that sounded like.” Angie let out a choked laugh. “No, just to prepare, especially since the reports said you were in charge, though we still figured you’d just send some other detectives. But I was hoping you’d come because I have this Roarke goal. Professionally,” she added with a smile.

“If it’s in Angie’s head,” Latisha put in, “it generally comes out of her mouth.”

“That’s true. Why hedge? It’s not efficient. And here you are, asking the question. I prepared but it still made my stomach jump.”

“Why don’t I take this?” Latisha suggested. “We were all here—all five of us—until about nine-thirty. We had an after-hours staff meeting, and Clare made Irish stew.”

“She likes to cook,” Angie put in. “Kassy left first. She got married last September and wanted to get home to her honey. Then Holly left to meet this guy she’s been seeing. He was taking her dancing. Nobody takes me dancing. She looked completely iced, didn’t she, Tisha?”

“She did. Angie and Clare left together.”

“We shared a cab. We live in the same building. One of our neighbors was having a party, so we hit that.”

“And I locked up, went home because I currently have no life,” Latisha finished. “I walked. It’s only five blocks.”

“I wish you wouldn’t walk alone at night,” Angie admonished.

“I have a black belt in karate, and I carry Back-Off. I was in bed by eleven. Alone.”

“Your own fault. If you gave Craig another chance, I think—”

“Angie, I don’t think Lieutenant Dallas or Detective Peabody are interested in my lack of sex life at the moment.”

“Everybody’s interested in sex, right?” She grinned at Peabody.

“It’s hard to argue that.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Peabody blinked. “All right.”

“Was it totally surreal investigating the murder of the woman who plays you in the vid? She sort of looked like you, especially in the publicity shots. It had to be really weird.”

In her curvy chair, Latisha just sighed.

“It was strange, yes.”

“And a total scandal, which just adds delicious juice—don’t roll your eyes, Tisha, it
does.
I’d kill to go to the New York premiere. I don’t mean literally,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m actually nervous, and I don’t get nervous. I have no nerves, except now I do. I’ve never been interviewed by the police. And then it’s you, the Icove police. And Roarke’s cop. And God, I’m sorry, but I seriously love your boots,” she said to Peabody.

“Thanks. I do, too.”

Latisha rose, got a bottle of water from a cabinet, handed it to her friend. “Sip, breathe. Breathe, sip.”

“Thanks.” She breathed, she sipped. “We’re some smart, ambitious women who put their heads and talents together and made something. And we’re working on taking that up a level. We do good work, we make a good living, and we have a lot of fun doing it. And we’re really sorry about what happened to Marta.”

Latisha reached over, gave Angie’s hand a squeeze. “That’s about it.”

“Just a couple more things,” Eve put in. “You’re aware of the break-in at Brewer’s company?”

“Yes. Mr. Brewer called us personally, about an hour before you came,” Latisha told Eve. “It feels as if they’re getting slammed over and over.”

“Will the theft of your financial files cause you any problems?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. We’re a relatively small outfit, and what’s in the files would’ve been shared with the reps of the company we’re considering merging with. It’s a problem because it may hold up the merger, but we’re not in a hurry.”

“We want to take our time with that,” Angie added. “It feels like a good fit, but so did those fabulous shoes I bought last week, and ended up giving to Clare after they put blisters on my blisters. You know what I’m saying?”

Peabody had to grin. “Oh boy, do I.”

“In any case,” Latisha continued, “Kassy talked to Jake about it. The upshot is, we’ve been smart and clean, so if the data gets out, it’s all good. And we’ve already changed all our passcodes, alerted our credit companies, and so on. It sounds like someone’s screwing with Brewer more than with us.”

•   •   •

N
ot assholes,” Peabody concluded as she climbed back into the car.

“No, but not assholes also cheat, steal, and kill.”

“I don’t see any motive.”

“Maybe there’s something off with this merger. Maybe one of them’s skimming and the others don’t know about it.” Eve shrugged. “I don’t get a buzz either, but the connections are there.”

“I liked them. I wonder how much they charge. McNab and I could use some organizing at our place.”

At the moment, Eve was more interested in organizing her notes and her brain. “I’ve got a consult with Mira coming up, and I want to put some of this together before we hit the WIN partners again. You start checking alibis, top to bottom. I’m going to reach out to Vegas PD, see what there is to see on this accident that started this ball rolling.”

SHE HAD CONSIDERABLE TO DEAL WITH BACK
on her own turf. Detectives needed to run investigations by her, or update her on the status. She had to read and decipher McNab’s report on the Brewer building security and on his progress on the vic’s desk unit.

Her own board and book required updating. Then she needed coffee and a few quiet minutes to process.

As she added the last photos to her board, Trueheart tapped on her doorjamb.

“Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant. Have you got a minute . . . Hey, I know her.”

“Who?”

He stepped in, tapped Holly Novak’s picture.

Intrigued, Eve gave the photo of the Your Space partner another study. Attractive, mixed race, leaning Asian. A dark wedge of hair around a lively face with light green eyes.

“How and where?”

“I’m looking for it,” he said. “Oh yeah, they hired her—her company—to organize and streamline my mother’s office. I mean, the office where my mother works. I was over there one day, and met her. Is she a suspect?”

“I don’t think so, but give me a take.”

“Friendly, energetic. Ruthless my mom said, but in a good way. Mom liked her, I know that. She said how she wished my aunt would hire her. She’s kind of a pack rat, my aunt. And when she found out I was a cop, out of Central, she said how she bet we could use a good organizer, made kind of a joke about fighting crime through spacial efficiency. I thought it was pretty funny.”

He scanned the board as he spoke. “She and her company are connected to the Dickenson murder.”

“There are a lot of connections to the Dickenson murder.”

“Big business, big money.” At Eve’s questioning look, he flushed just a little. “That’s Young-Sachs and Biden. They get a lot of media, business, and gossip. The new breed of movers and shakers, and that kind of thing.”

“Take?”

“Well, for me spoiled, entitled, and showy. That’s probably not fair since it’s media stuff, and that gets overblown.”

“No, I’d say it’s fair and accurate in this case. And add assholes.”

“I guess that one was my take, too.”

“I’d say that sums it up. What do you need, Trueheart?”

“Oh, sorry, Lieutenant. Nothing really. I . . . just wanted to thank you for giving me a chance at the detective’s exam.”

“You earned the chance, and Baxter made a solid case for you. The rest is up to you.”

“Yes, sir. I won’t let you down. You took me off sidewalk sleeper detail,” he continued quickly. “You brought me into Central and assigned me to Baxter so he could train me. He’s taught me a lot, Lieutenant. A lot about a lot. I’m not going to let either of you down.”

“You do good work, Trueheart. As long as you do, you can’t let anybody down.”

“Yes, sir. All I want is to do good work. And a detective’s shield,” he added with a quick and easy grin.

“Don’t screw up the work, study, you’ll have the shield. Now beat it.”

Alone, she closed her office door, got her coffee. She sat at her desk, propped her feet up. Drinking, she studied the board.

Spoiled, entitled, and showy for one group. She’d define another as pompous, angry, and envious—with a side of timid thrown in.

And the third? Ambitious, tightly woven, and efficient.

But did any of those attributes equal murder?

Your Space. It just didn’t click. Maybe there was something she wasn’t seeing—yet—but she’d set them aside for now.

Young-Biden. They had more than the previous generation, and did less to earn it. Young-Sachs, not only sleeping with his admin, but depending on her for everything. From what Eve could see, he knew dick-all about his own company’s workings, and cared less if he got high during working hours. Maybe Biden knew more, she’d have a look-see on that, but from what she’d taken away from the brief meeting, he enjoyed his expensive suits, expensive lifestyle, and had no problem flinging insults around.

Alexander and Pope. Big-shot reveling in his big-shotiness. Treated his half brother like an underling, which Pope appeared to accept. Eve suspected Alexander treated everyone like an underling. Some Mommy resentment there, too, she thought, as the mommy had had the bad taste to give birth to Pope.

Was it funny or telling that Roarke’s name had come up in each interview?

She’d have to think about that, too.

She rose, rearranged her board. She had fifteen before her Mira consult. Enough time for another hit of coffee and a little more processing.

She didn’t manage to get her ass in the chair before somebody knocked on her door.

“Damn it.”

Peabody poked her head in. “Sorry, Lieutenant, but—”

“I need a moment.” Gennifer Yung pushed in. “I’ve been told all morning you were unavailable.”

Eve signaled Peabody to go out, shut the door. “I’ve been in the field.” She stepped over, started to turn her board around.

“There’s no need for that. I’ve seen a murder board before.”

“Have you seen one centered on a family member?”

“I’m not a novice at this, Lieutenant. Leave it. Please.”

Yung stood, shoulders rigid, back stiff, and stared at the board. “You’ve been busy.”

“Yes, I have. Your sister-in-law’s murder is my top priority.”

With a nod, Yung rubbed at the back of her neck. “I apologize for pushing my way in here. Waiting is misery, Lieutenant, and can be destructive. I made myself be patient regarding the warrant for the files in her office. I know these matters can be delicate, can take time. I’d already pushed, so I told myself to wait it out, to give the process time. And now someone took advantage of that time to steal valuable evidence. Evidence that might have led you to Marta’s killer.”

“Your Honor, you know I can’t discuss the particulars of the case with you, but I will tell you we’re analyzing and processing considerable data, following all possible leads, interviewing those we feel may connect to her death in some way.”

“You sent a unit to my brother’s home.”

“As a precaution after the break-in at your sister-in-law’s office.”

“Yes. All right. It’s easy to become accustomed to being in charge, to having the authority. It’s difficult to find yourself in a situation where you’re not in charge, you don’t have the authority. You have to leave that in the hands of someone else. It doesn’t matter if you know those hands are capable. They’re not your hands.”

She held hers out, looked at them, closed them.

“I went with my brother to see his wife this morning. To see Marta. Of all the things I’ve seen, of all the things that have come through my courtroom, nothing has been as horrible.” She cleared her throat.

“My brother and his family will stay with me and mine for the time being. He thought it would be easier for the children to be at home, with their own things around them. But it’s too painful for them, for all of us. He’ll be with me if you need to reach him.”

“Again, I’m sorry, sincerely sorry, Your Honor, for your loss. When I have something I can share, I’ll let you all know at the first possible opportunity.”

She nodded, then looked back at the board. “Do you think her killer is up there?”

“I don’t know. But I think the reason for her murder is up there. The reason leads to the person or persons.”

“I’ll take that away with me, and let you get back to work.”

As the door shut behind Yung, Eve dragged a hand through her hair. Grief, she thought, always left a weight on the air.

She grabbed the jacket she’d tossed off when she’d come in, and left that weight behind to keep her appointment with Mira.

She put some speed on, unwilling to face a spanking by Mira’s admin if she was so much as a minute late. She zipped up to the dragon’s desk with—according to her calculations—thirty-three seconds to spare.

And still earned a scolding scowl.

“The doctor has a very busy schedule today.”

“That’s going around.”

The admin folded her lips, tapped inter-office comm. “Lieutenant Dallas is here to see you.”

She sniffed. “Go right in.”

Mira stood, drawing pretty teacups from her office AutoChef. She wore a suit in a smoky sort of lavender with plum-colored heels and a trio of silver chains. Her soft brown hair swept back from her face, and her soft blue eyes warmed when they met Eve’s.

“Yes, I’ve made you tea, which you’re not very fond of, but can use. You’ve had a long, difficult couple of days.”

“That’s the job.”

“It is. And still, it’s good to see you look reasonably rested, and very smart today.”

“Roarke put the outfit together. I had to face off with a lot of business moguls.”

“An excellent choice. Powerful but not hard, fashionable but not flashy, authoritative but not threatening.”

“Clothes talk to you, too.”

“They do, and too often say: Buy me. Have a seat.” She chose one of her cozy scoop chairs, passed one of the pretty cups to Eve. “How is Judge Yung?”

“Hanging tough.”

“I like her very much, personally and professionally. I actually met Marta a few times. She struck me as a lovely and loving woman.”

“She’s coming off that way. She’s dead because she drew the short straw.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Everything points to it. Two auditors get banged up, put out of commission. She inherits some of their files. Hours later, she’s dead in what the killers hope we’ll see as a violent mugging. Hours after that, the offices where she works are compromised, her computer messed with, and the files—and the master copies—go missing.

“Short straw.”

“Yes, I see. I agree, insofar as her murder was impersonal and poorly masked. You call it semi-pro in your report. I think that’s very accurate.”

“I’ve got these honchos, okay? Companies I’m taking a hard look at. I’ve got Roarke doing his thing—who knows business and numbers and money better—so he may give me more to take a hard look at, or eliminate some I’m looking at now. But the honchos all have, let’s say, attributes that could have them order the murder of an accountant. She’s just a tool, and the wrong tool at that, which makes her a potential liability.”

“It was rushed. Both the time frame and the profile of the killing were rushed. Still honchos as you say can afford full professionals.”

“Can afford,” Eve agreed, “but maybe don’t see the need to pay. You’ve got security of some kind on the payroll already. Put them on it, give them a little bonus on the side. She’s just a droid, basically, no big deal.”

“Their needs outweigh hers.” Mira nodded as she sipped tea. “They can’t concern themselves with the lives of those who work for them, work under them.” Mira sipped again and considered. “I’d like to read your interview reports from this morning.”

“I’ll get them to you.”

“I would say you’re dealing with brutish, cold-blooded, and physically trained individuals for the actual killing. Those who do what they’re told, but don’t think for themselves. Taking the victim away from her workplace, leaving her body blocks from where she would have been shows a lack of logic.”

“She was supposed to walk to the subway, but they didn’t know that. They, or the one who hired them, may have assumed she’d walk home. Added to it, the location was convenient.”

“An empty building, and one it appears they could easily access.”

“Not worried about the connection, maybe because it’s rushed, it’s convenient. It’s just a mugging, it’s just an accountant.”

“Whoever hired them, if they were indeed hired, also doesn’t consider the long view. It’s immediate, quick gratification rather than careful planning and finesse. The concern is the files, the data, which may be incriminating in some way, not the victim. She is disposable. It’s not cruelty. It’s callousness.”

“It’s business.”

“Yes. It’s business. And how do you run and maintain a successful business when you aren’t inclined to look at the long view, at the details, when you brute your way through a problem?”

Eve sat back. “You inherit it.”

Mira smiled. “Cynical, and in this case high probability. The killers themselves, as I said, brutes. No sexual aspect, no rage, no personal agenda. Though the actual killing is a kind of showing off.”

“Showing off?”

“
I’m strong. See how strong—I can snap a neck with my bare hands
. Quickly and cleanly according to Morris’s report. They have a stunner, which is lethal used on full with contact, but go with brute force. Yes, showing off, and completing the kill with his own hands rather than a weapon or tool. He’s the weapon.”

“Okay.” Eve tried it out in her head. “Yeah. Okay. And maybe he needed to show off since he stunned an unarmed woman in the back, and that’s cowardly. He . . . had to offset that maybe.”

“I believe so. And the source? Impatient, impulsive, accustomed to having what he wants and quickly, with a distinct lack of compassion or attention to those who do the work so that he can live as he lives.”

“That pretty much eliminates four of my suspects.”

Mira smiled. “Which four?”

“Four women, five counting their office manager. Your Space. They didn’t inherit anything, they came from the middle-class pool, and they pay attention to details. It’s part of what they do. They’re organized and they’re efficient. If they’d targeted the vic, I think it would’ve been done right. It would’ve been very tidy, very clean.”