Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(89)

She went back to the kitchen. What she knew about cooking wouldn’t fill a teaspoon, but she could gauge the general concept.

She imagined herself back in the kitchen of the farmhouse in Ireland, watching Sinead fix breakfast.

There was an order to these things, she mused

“What would he do first? Take out his supplies, that’s what I’d do. Supplies and tools. Some of the stuff must need refrigeration, so he’d put that in the chiller until he needed it. Put his music on, maybe pour a glass of wine.

“Get everything all organized. Has he worked here before? We’ll want to find out. If he already knew the lay of the land, it wouldn’t take him as long to get set up.”

She opened the oven, studied the fatal chicken. “Roarke said the bird would take a couple hours. It’s probably the longest deal, so he’d do that first.”

“Roarke knows how to roast a chicken?”

“No. He looked it up.”

Peabody poked her head in the oven again, nodded. “A good ninety minutes anyway, less for the veggies, so he’d arrange them in the pot a little later. I actually know how to roast a chicken, but not so fancy. It’s got this sauce, and see he’s trussed it up?”

“Yeah, it’s real pretty. How long to get it in the oven?”

“Hmm. He’s a pro, so maybe not as long as your average. Or maybe longer due to fancy. Maybe half an hour. He’d have to peel and chop the veggies, so that’s a little more time once the bird was in.”

“He’s got this fishy thing in here.” Eve opened the fridge.

Peabody poked in again, sniffed. “It’s like a mousse deal. That probably took some time. And there are artichokes. I guess he was going to do something with them. Caviar, too—mega-fancy. And all those greens over there. It’s too bad they’re all wilted now.”

“Put it all together, and he worked here at least two hours. From the looks of the bottle, he had a couple glasses of wine. ME can confirm.”

“You know what else?” Hands on her hips, Peabody took a long survey. “It’s tidy. No spills, no jumble. When my granny cooks it’s like a hurricane’s been through. So either he or the killer cleaned up.”

“I think we can eliminate the killer. No point, and wiping off a counter or sticking something in the washer isn’t something Moriarity would consider his job.”

But Peabody’s observation helped her see it more clearly. “The pro liked an organized workspace, so he cleaned or had the droid do it. We’re going to feed all this into the computer, get the most probable timing. Which is likely what Moriarity did. Then, with the security down, all he has to do is have the droid drive him away, and wherever he wanted to go.

“Didn’t drive himself here.” Eve shook her head. “He wouldn’t want to deal with two vehicles. Maybe the droid again. Otherwise he’d have to walk, at least for several blocks. So he’d have to disguise himself somewhat. Carting that harpoon in some sort of case or bag. If it went that way, the droid lets him in through the gate, and he sends it out to the car.”

She shoved her hands in her pockets. “That’s just sloppy. Why walk when you’ve got a droid and a stolen car at your disposal, and you’ll be the one with an alibi according to the pattern? He wouldn’t want to waste time.”

“Vehicle gives him cover, saves him the disguise,” Peabody added.

“And there’s a nice safe place to go, just about five-six minutes’ drive from here.”

“Dudley’s primary New York residence.”

“That’s the one. Droid picks him up there, brings him here. He’d figure the vic’s busy in the kitchen, or taking a break in the garden. All Moriarity has to do is walk through the house. If the vic’s in the kitchen, he just has to talk him outside. If the vic’s outside, which he was, having his smoke, Moriarity just walks out, gets the vic in position, and spears him. Puts the mechanism back in the case, bags the wine, walks out, and the droid drives him away.

“The kill didn’t take more than five or ten minutes from the time he came through the gates.”

She circled one last time. “I want the timing locked down, and we’re going to find out where Moriarity was last night, if they have the nerve to start alibiing each other. Let’s go see Dudley.”

“He’s connected to the owners,” Peabody pointed out. “So, sticking to pattern, he’ll have an alibi.”

“Yeah. I want to know what it is. I want to contact them first, the owners. We need to confirm they didn’t hire the vic. The vic’s got to have an admin or assistant. Track them down, get the setup. How he was hired, how it was arranged, how he traveled. And the supplies. Did he bring them with him, and if so, where he got them. Lock down the wine. It’s going to be key.”

“Then what?”

“Then we put it all together, every step, every layer, every angle.” She felt her anger struggle to rise up, and hardened it into sheer resolve. “We’re going to put on a fucking show, Peabody, because we have to convince Whitney, the PA, and anybody else who needs convincing to issue search warrants. I want to tear these bastards’ houses, offices, playgrounds, clubrooms, and pieds-à-goddamn-terre apart.”





It was probably small, and hardly relevant, for Eve to feel such cold satisfaction when she noted Roarke’s house could’ve swallowed Dudley’s whole, then spit it out again.