Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(58)

“Hey. I’ve got to head out to the field to interview a suspect in about an hour. Some stuff to clean up here first. Interested?”

“In spending time watching my cop grill a suspect? Always.”

“I’m not grilling him. Yet. Probably.”

“In any case. I’ll meet you in the garage in an hour.”

“Good. Great. And I’m sort of thinking about talking to you about a real estate deal.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Now I’m fascinated. What sort of deal?”

“We’ll talk about it. And thanks for the list.”

“My pleasure. An hour.”

An hour, she thought as she pocketed the ’link. Time enough to clear her head and work on how to handle James Mosebly.



* * *



It took just over that hour for Eve to finish up, and when she scanned her desk for the last time, she compared it with Covino’s pristine workstation.

“Show-off,” Eve muttered, then grabbed her file bag and jacket.

She shrugged into the jacket as she walked. She spotted Santiago and Carmichael in a huddle at Carmichael’s desk. Either working the jumper/throwee case or debating where to grab an after-tour brew. Either way, Eve kept going.

She was already late.

With that in mind, she ignored the elevators. Cops coming on, cops heading home or, like her, back into the field meant packed cars and stops on every damn floor.

She took the glides, jogging down when she hit a clear stretch, then hit the stairs down to her level.

Roarke leaned against her ride, fiddling with something on his PPC.

Possibly buying one of those rings of Saturn.

“Sorry. Took me longer.”

He slid the device back in his pocket. “I occupied myself well enough.” He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. “You look harried, Lieutenant.”

“Maybe a little. I feel like we moved a few steps closer, but it’s not close enough. You drive, okay?”

She climbed in the passenger seat, programmed Mosebly’s address.

“Not far, I see.”

“No, not far. Mosebly, James, Mary Kate Covino’s supervisor and so-called mentor. She’s been missing since June third.”

She gave him the basics as he maneuvered through downtown traffic.

“So she makes three, and this Mosebly fits your profile.”

“Most of it. His place is on your list. They’re in this area, Hobe and Covino. I know it. If you can’t find a street spot—”

She broke off when he hit vertical, did a neat airborne one-eighty, and dropped into a stingy spot between a mini and a glossy sedan.

“Nice. Why does Peabody always go glassy-eyed when I do that?”

“I couldn’t say.” He patted her hand before they slid out. “He’ll be a half block down.” And now, took her hand. “Lovely evening for a walk.”

“If he’s not home, we’ll canvass the neighborhood, so that’ll be a walk.”

Not so many tourists on this stretch, she noted. Mostly the after-work crowd, heading home. Almost all residential, pretty townhomes all in a row, some with window boxes or pots of flowers, some with fancy grids on the windows.

Mosebly’s didn’t particularly stand out. He had flowers, a lot of purple and red and trailing green spilling out of window boxes that gleamed copper.

The whitewashed brick had a soft look, offset by a bold red door and a stylized copper heart as a door knocker.

“Palm plate, code scanner, cam, solid locks. One-way glass on the windows. He can see out, you can’t see in.”

She stepped onto the stoop, one painted to resemble a mat. The scrolled red letters read:

Always Welcome!



“We’ll see about that,” she grumbled, and pressed the bell. “He’s got a full basement under here. Corner lot. And from the windows, he could actually have watched Elder walk to work. He could have watched her from the comfort of his own home.”

“You’re leaning heavily in his direction.”

The house, the location—those pieces fit clean and snug.

“I’m looking at the setup here, and I’m leaning.”

Mosebly opened the door. He still wore his baggy jeans and polo, but had changed into house skids. Hope shined from his face.

“Lieutenant! You found Mary Kate.”

“No, Mr. Mosebly, we’re actively looking. We’d like to come in for a few minutes. I have some follow-up questions.”

Even as the hope dimmed, he stepped back. “Of course, of course, please. It’s nice to finally meet you.” He held out a hand for Roarke’s. “I’ve admired your work, and especially the school you’ve just opened.”

“Thank you.”

“Ah.” Mosebly brushed a hand at his flyaway hair. “Come in, sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”

“We’re fine,” Eve said, and saw why Covino worked well with him.

His living area, both simple and attractive, had nothing out of place. No single-man debris, no clutter. A conversation area, a semicircle sofa in pale gray, a pair of cushy armchairs in a subtle pattern of the same gray with hints of blue, centered around a whitewashed fireplace currently full of flowers and candles.

On the slim mantel over it stood more candles—slim white tapers in squat and colorful blown-glass holders—a photo in a dark gray leather frame of a man and woman holding hands in front of a white, steepled church, and some sort of earth-toned pottery vase or urn.