Strangers in Death (6 page)

“You’re Lieutenant Dallas?”

“That’s right. Mr. Luce, what can I do for you?”

“You can tell me why the bloody hell you’re smearing the reputation of a good man. Why you’re spreading these salacious and scandalous lies about Tommy. The man’s dead, goddamn it all, and can’t defend himself against this slander.”

“Mr. Luce, I can assure you I haven’t as yet given any statement, officially or unofficially, to the media regarding the investigation into Mr. Anders’s death. Nor have I authorized anyone to do so.”

“Then why in hell is it all over the bleeding screen?”

Eve leaned back. “I’m not responsible for what the media digs out and chooses to air. It may piss me off, but I’m not responsible. You suffered a sudden and shocking loss, so I’m going to cut you a break for coming into my office and blowing off steam. Now that you have, sit down. I have some questions.”

“I suggest you take your questions and—”

“Careful,” Eve said with enough steel in the word to have Luce pausing, narrowing those furious eyes on her face.

“What are you going to do? Lock me up?”

Casually, Eve swiveled back and forth in her chair. “I like the word
detain
myself. Would you care to be detained, Mr. Luce, by the NYPSD for refusing to answer questions in a homicide investigation? I’d be happy to put you in holding until your attorney arrives. Otherwise, you can sit down and you can settle down. I figure you and Anders were more than business associates. You might be upset, sad, surprised by his death if that’s all you were. You might be surprised again, and shocked, fascinated, or angry with the media attention. But rage and grief come from more personal associations. So this is your second, and last break. Clear enough?”

He turned and walked away, but to her window, not out the door. She said nothing as he stood there, his rigid back to her. “I can’t settle down. How could I settle down? Tommy…we’ve been friends for nearly fifty years. He’s godfather to my son. I stood up for him when he married Ava. He was my younger brother, in every way but blood.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Luce, for your loss.”

He glanced back at her. “How many times have you said that to someone, to strangers?”

“Too many. Entirely too many. It doesn’t make it less true.”

He turned now, pressed his fingers to his eyes. “We were to play golf this morning. The indoor nine at Tommy’s club. He’s never late, but I didn’t think anything of it when he was. Traffic is so brutal, and I’d run into an acquaintance. We ended up chatting for some time, until the caddy interrupted to ask if I wanted to cancel or reschedule the tee off.”

“Did you try to contact him?”

“On his mobile—his personal mobile, but it went to voice messaging. So I tried his house.” He did sit now, big shoulders slumping. “Greta, the house manager, told me there’d been an accident. Told me Tommy was…”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Three weeks ago. He and Ava were in London briefly. Tommy and I had a meeting, and we all went to the theater. We played golf at my club—he loves golf—while our wives went shopping, or something. Maybe salon. I don’t remember.”

“When did you get into New York?”

“Yesterday afternoon. My wife and I arrived about two. Our son, Tommy’s godchild, works for the New York branch. We had dinner with Harry and his family. They’ve just remodeled their brownstone, and wanted to show it off, of course. It’s quite lovely, our daughter-in-law…” He trailed off, looked back at Eve. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.”

“When did you last speak to Mr. Anders?”

“On the flight over. We confirmed our golf date. The last thing I said to him, was: Brace yourself, Tommy. I’m going to clean your clock.”

His face reddened, his eyes filled. For the next few moments, he sat breathing hard as he struggled for composure. “Why are they saying such horrid things about him? Isn’t it enough he’s gone, that a good man is gone?”

“No, it’s not, and it won’t be until we know why. That’s my job. Who wished him harm?”

“I don’t know. He could be tough in business, but he was never unfair. He watched the competition, of course, and was a competitive man. But he played by the rules. He believed in rules.”

“And in his personal life? Did he play by the rules?”

The wide face reddened again, but with temper. “I won’t have you implying—”

“I’m not implying anything. Obviously you know something of the circumstances of his death. If you know who had access to his home, his bedroom, I need a name. Or names.”

He leaned forward, fierce as a lion. “Tommy would not cheat on Ava. On anyone.”

“A great many people engage in affairs and sexual activity outside marriage. And a great many of them don’t consider it cheating.” She shrugged. “Just sex, means nothing. Nobody’s hurt.”

His mouth tightened, pure derision. “Perhaps you can live your life by those
standards
. Tommy didn’t.”

“Then who might want me to think he did?”

“I don’t
know
. If anyone harbored such violent feelings toward him, if anyone had threatened him, he didn’t tell me.”

“Would he have?”

“I hope he would.”

“To your knowledge, did he fire anyone, rebuff anyone?”

“By rebuff, you’re speaking of a sexual proposition.” Luce let out a short laugh. “I can’t imagine a woman approaching Tommy that way. But I suppose…He was fit, charming in his way, wealthy. I suppose. But he never mentioned that sort of thing either. Of course, it’s possible he didn’t mention it in order to spare the other party the embarrassment and not to open the door to teasing. I would have teased him,” Luce admitted, “unmercifully.

“As to firing, most terminations would be up to the individual department heads and supervisors. I don’t know of any major dismissals, not recently. Ben would have a better handle on that.”

“Can you tell me who benefits financially?”

“I can and I will because this wasn’t about money. What was done to him…couldn’t have been about money. Both Ava and Ben will receive Tommy’s shares of Anders. Ben will hold the majority, as Tommy did after his own father’s death. Ava will get the house in New York, the estate in the Hamptons, and the pied-à-terre in Paris, and all contents therein unless specifically bequested to others. Ben will inherit Tommy’s yacht, a number of his personal possessions—his collection of golf clubs, but for an antique set he left specifically to me. There’s a house on the coast of South Carolina that will go to him, and the London townhouse. They’ll also divide, in equal shares, his portfolio, after other bequests are made.”

“You know the details.”

“Yes, I know the details. I witnessed the paperwork, and he insisted I read it through first. If you don’t read, you don’t sign—that was Tommy. Lieutenant, I visited both Ava and Ben at the house this afternoon—after…Believe me, they’re in deep mourning. He was loved. Tommy was loved.”

4

TO SATISFY HERSELF, EVE DETOURED TO THE Anders house on the way home. The traffic, as Luce had said, was brutal, but she didn’t mind. The stops, starts, stalls, gave her time to think. The bad-tempered blare of horns, the occasional fist or middle finger shooting out of a window, the snarling or desperate faces of fellow drivers all reminded her why she loved New York even when it was frozen in the bitter, bitter grasp of endless winter.

Glide-cart operators, bundled up like Arctic explorers, worked with their fingerless gloves over smoking grills, and the smoke—if she cracked her window enough to catch it—smelled of chestnuts and soy dogs and grease.

Animated billboards, as they had been all winter, hyped tropical getaways where scantily clad models frolicked in the surf, or families so bright and happy they struck Eve as just a little terrifying built elaborate castles in the sand.

YOU DESERVE IT!! was the battle cry.

To Eve’s mind, people all too often didn’t get what they deserved.

Thomas Anders certainly hadn’t after he’d tucked into bed for the last time, so it was her job to make sure he got what he deserved now. Justice. Maybe he was the paragon of decency his friend and family described, or the secret sexual perv his style of death portrayed. More likely, he’d been something in between. Wherever he landed on the human scale, he was due justice.

She hunted up a parking spot, and hoofed it the half block crosstown to the Anders home. Since the wind bit at every inch of exposed skin, she wondered why Peabody was so juiced about getting dressed up and going back out again. Once home, Eve thought, nobody was prying her out of the warmth.

Outside, she gave the security system another gander. Palm plate, she noted, key swipe, voice recognition, full perimeter camera scans. Basic standards for a high-end system. And the code, she recalled, changed every ten days. No signs of external tampering.

When the door opened, Greta stood on the other side. “It’s after one,” Eve commented.

It took Greta only a moment. “Yes. Yes, it is usually my half day. Mr. Forrest asked if I would arrange to stay through the afternoon, perhaps into the evening. Mrs. Anders needs me.”

“I assume she’s in.”

“She is. She and Mr. Forrest are in the family parlor. If you could wait here, Lieutenant, I’ll let them know.”

“Fine. Greta, who else has been here today?”

“Many police.”

“Other than.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Edmond Luce. Ms. Plowder and Ms. Bride-West, both friends of Mrs. Anders who’d traveled to St. Lucia with her. Naturally, they cut their trip short to come back, to be here for her. There have been many calls of condolence, of course, but Mr. Ben—Mr. Forrest and I are screening those. Several reporters attempted to gain admittance, or to contact the family. They were sent away or refused.”

“Good on the last. You should keep doing that. I’ll wait here.”

Greta moved through the wide room off the foyer, through an archway. Alone, Eve glanced up the stairs. The master suite and some of the second level would be sealed. No one other than a cop with a master could enter the bedroom, or adjoining room by any access until Eve cleared the scene. She wondered why the widow didn’t opt to stay with a friend, or even in an anonymous hotel suite until that time.

Ben came through the archway, crossed to her. Sorrow coated him, Eve thought, like oil that might stain anyone he brushed up against. Eve thought if grief had a face, his fit the bill.

“Lieutenant. Is this necessary? Ava’s…she’s having a very hard time of it.”

“I understand this is difficult. I’m afraid NYPSD will be in and out of the house for some time yet, and several areas will remain sealed. You may want to try to persuade Ms. Anders to stay with friends for the next few days.”

“I’m working on that. I think she feels she’s deserting him somehow, if she doesn’t stay here. Brigit—a friend—offered Ava her guest suite for however long she needs it. I think I’ve nearly convinced her to go. They called from…the morgue. They told us we can’t have him yet.”

“It takes time.”

“We can go there and see him. I thought, if she’s up to it, the sooner we do that, the better.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’d take her. She needs to…We both need to…” He trailed off, shook his head. “Do you know, can you tell me, if you know…”

“It’s very early yet, Mr. Forrest. We’re actively pursuing all lines of investigation.”

“It seems like days. I know it’s only been hours, but it seems like days. Sorry.” He rubbed his fingers over exhausted eyes. “I looked you up. There was something familiar, but I couldn’t think. I just couldn’t think clearly this morning. But I looked you up. Roarke’s cop.”

“The NYPSD considers me their cop.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right.”

“I mean to say, you’re supposed to be the best there is. You solved the Icove case, and you caught that maniac who was kidnapping and mutilating those women. You’ll find who did this to Uncle Tommy.” Now, riding with grief was a plea. “You won’t give up.”

“I don’t give up.” Eve looked past him as Ava came into the room.

“Can’t we have a few hours? Can’t we have any time alone? Must you people be here?”

“Ava.” Ben rushed to her side, took her weight when she slumped against him. “The police are doing their job. We need them to do their job.”

“They’ve made him a joke. They’ve made his death a joke.”

“No.” Ben turned her into his arms, stroked her back. “Ssh, now.”

“Take me to Brigit’s, Ben. Take me away from here. I can’t bear it. I can’t stay here.”

“All right. That’s what I’ll do.” He glanced at Eve, who pointed to herself, then upstairs. Nodding, he led Ava away.

Though she’d have preferred an empty house, Eve walked back to the front door. She imagined the dark, the quality of it in the odd blue glow of the security lights. An efficient killer would have already sealed up, hair, hands, shoes. Extra protection, extra soundproofing with booties over the shoes. No chance of leaving any sort of print.

Directly upstairs, she thought. Down to business—priority business, she decided as she climbed the stairs. No squeaks, she noted, no creaks. Solid construction. Straight to the master bedroom, no detours. The door would be closed, as it was now. Not sealed though, she thought as she used her master to uncode the police seal.

She turned the knob, eased the door open. Again, it was soundless. Privacy shields over the windows, she recalled, and heavy blackout drapes over that. Tommy liked to sleep in his snug cave.

Pitch-black. It would be pitch-black. Even someone knowing the room intimately couldn’t be sure how the victim would be positioned in the bed. A pin light would be enough, she mused. Just a thin beam to show the way.

Because she didn’t want to be disturbed, she closed and locked the door behind her. “Lights on,” she ordered, and took the time to arrange the room as it would have been for the killer. “Lights off,” she ordered when she stood back at the door, and flipping on a pin light, used it to cross to the bed.

Syringe first. Knock him out. Did he stir? Feel that quick little nip over the skin? Count to ten—it doesn’t take long—count to ten, slow and steady.