Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(76)

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The Upper East Side home of Frederick Betz had once been a small, exclusive boutique hotel for the ridiculously rich. The ridiculously rich made it a prime target during the Urbans. It hadn’t been razed, but it had been gutted with all the original marble, stone, wood, gilt, crystal, and silver leaf chipped, hacked, pried, and hauled off.

It sat, a sad, graffiti-laced shell, for nearly two decades before Betz—an enterprising soul—bought it for a song and dance right on the edge of the revitalization trend.

He spent fully ten times the cost of the shell to turn it into his personal palace. In spending his millions, Betz proved, beyond a shadow, money couldn’t buy taste.

On the arching front door of glossy red lacquer, fat cherubs in what looked like G-strings cavorted with sly-eyed centaurs and winged horses. Three-headed dogs snarled; fierce-eyed dragons spat fire.

Some of the cherubs were armed with bow and arrow, and looked ready to use them.

Eve couldn’t decide if it was meant to be whimsical or obscene.

“It’s just creepy,” Peabody stated.

“Yeah, that’s the best word. Creepy.”

Eve glanced at the palm plate, noted it attached to the wall of the building with shiny gold fingers, and decided it took all kinds.

Of what, she’d never know. But it took all kinds.

She rang the bell, centered in a tangle of gold vines.

Good morning, the computer intoned in a rich and fruity British accent. Mr. and Mrs. Betz are not currently receiving guests. Please leave your name if you wish one of their staff to contact you.

“Scan this,” she ordered, and held out her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. It’s imperative I speak with Mr. Betz immediately.”


One moment.

The red light beamed out, scanned the badge.


Your identification has been verified, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Regretfully, Mr. Betz is not in residence at this time. If you would like to contact his personal assistant or his administrative assistant—

“I’ll take Mrs. Betz,” Eve interrupted.


Regretfully, Mrs. Betz is not in residence at this time. If you would like—

“Screw this. Who is in residence? I’ll speak to any damn human being in the house.”


One moment.

“Contact his office,” Eve told Peabody, “see if you can talk to a human. I want to know where the hell he is.”

“One moment,” Peabody couldn’t resist saying, stepping out of range as she took out her ’link.

Before Eve decided whether to snicker or snarl, she heard locks disengaging.

“Lieutenant. Detective.”

“Sila. You work here?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The cleaning contractor bobbed her head, stepped back to let them in. “For about six months now. Mrs. Betz, she fired her other cleaning company, and she got our name from Senator Mira. Is something wrong?”

“There might be. I need to find Frederick Betz.”

“Oh, golly, I don’t know where he might be. I know Mrs. Betz said how she was going to their place in Bimini, I think it is, with the baby and the nanny, and the nanny’s helper.”

“The nanny has a helper?”

A little smirk escaped. “Oh, sure. And Mrs. Betz, I think she was taking her personal assistant, too, and maybe Mr. Betz was going—she didn’t say. But we started upstairs, and well, the master suite’s a mess—that’s just usual. But I can’t say if I noticed any of his things gone, like packed up for a trip.”

“Who’s we?”

“Oh, my mama and Dara—my daughter. It takes the three of us two full days to do this house, it’s got so many curlicues and fuss, even though they have a house droid who sees to it daily. We come in twice a month, go top to bottom.”

“Do me a favor, Sila. Stop the others from cleaning anything, for now.”

“I . . . All right.” She pulled a ’link out of her pocket, tapped out a quick text. “Can you tell me why?”

“There’s been another murder, a friend of the senator’s. I’m checking in with other friends.”

“Oh my goodness. Oh my. What should we do? We’ve been working on the bedroom floor for over an hour.”

“It’s all right. Don’t touch anything else. It would help if we could talk to the house droid.”

“Oh. It’s back in the kitchen, in the storage area. I don’t know how to turn it on. Mrs. Betz, she said Mr. Betz would shut it down while they were gone, and would program it by remote to come back on, freshen the house when they planned to come back.”

“If we can’t get it on, we’ll get someone from EDD. Peabody?”

“Working my way up to his admin. Lower assistants either don’t know or won’t say where he is.”

“Keep on it. Would you show us the droid, Sila?”

“I sure will.”

She started back, out of the entrance hall—with its central koi pond and massive gold chandelier with hundreds of . . .

“Curlicues,” Eve repeated and made Sila smile.

“And folderols and gimcracks. I swear they must’ve used two tons of gold paint and a couple acres of silks and velvets. If they could put a tassel on something, they put six.”