Leverage in Death: An Eve Dallas Novel (In Death #47)(92)

In this case, Eve accepted the exclamation point. “Good to have you back.”





19

They interviewed three more at places of employment. Two of the three had ready alibies—to be verified for both the weekend of the home invasion and the night of Banks’s murder. The third claimed to have been at home with a cold from Saturday through Monday, and provided the name of the herbalist he’d used for remedies and relief.

“You can fake a cold and a trip to an herbalist,” Peabody commented.

“Yeah, you can. And it’s a squishy alibi to have handy if you’re hiding something. We’ll keep him on the high side of the list. We’ll verify the alibis, check off the herbalist. We’re going to head to the apartment building, knock on some doors of the work-at-homes or not-workings.”

“Can I have coffee now? I drank a gallon of water,” Peabody claimed when Eve gave her a silent stare. “I peed out a gallon when you count I’ve peed at every stop we’ve made. The boost is gone, I swear.”

“If you start talking about puppies I’ll punch you again.”

“Deal.”

Peabody programmed coffee for both of them, drank hers while working her PPC. “We’ve got two still up on the list out of five—once I verify the alibies. I think they’re going to hold. I’ve got Baxter and Trueheart’s update on here. One out of four—and the one’s bumped down a couple notches.”

“Confirming Kinski’s ex is an addict in rehab doesn’t take him off the hook,” Eve considered. “But it does lead me to speculate rather than spousal abuse he may have been defending himself against a juiced-up attack or trying to keep her from using. He still checks the boxes.”

“We talk to some of his friends, coworkers, his Army CO.”

Eve nodded. “Next step on him. Then there’s Markin, because something’s there. The wife says he’s too lazy. Maybe he’s lazy, but it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t go into something like this for the fun of it.”

“Bored rich with a mean streak.”

“Exactly.”

She pulled up in front of the apartment building. The doorman, all courtesy, hustled over to open the car door. “Good morning, Lieutenant. What can we do for you?”

“I’ve got some people to talk to.”

“No problem. Rhoda will get that going for you.”

The efficient Rhoda ran down Eve’s list of names. “Mr. Skinner’s out—dentist appointment. I can let you know if he comes back while you’re here. Mr. Lorimer left just after eight for some outside meetings. He didn’t indicate when to expect him back, but again, I’ll let you know. Both Mr. Abbott and Mr. Prinz left for the gym—they go to the same one and are friendly—they’re usually back by two. Everyone else should be in residence.”

“Good. I have two detectives who’ll be here sometime this afternoon with another list of names.”

“I’ll be happy to clear them.”

“Appreciate it.”

In the elevator, Peabody said, “This is a nice place. Classy.” She lifted her shoulders. “Roarke.”

“Yeah. We’ll start at the top, work down.”

At their first stop, Clinton Wirely welcomed them with considerable enthusiasm. Fit and fifty-ish, with gold-and-silver-tipped brown hair, avid green eyes, he sparkled with delight.

“This must be about The Unfortunate Mr. Banks—it sounds just like a title of a story. Please, sit, sit, sit.”

“You knew Jordan Banks.”

“Not a bit, but I know both of you. I’ll be positively glued to the screen Sunday night. I adore the Oscars, and throw a little gala of my own for friends on the night. I’m just devastated I can’t offer you coffee. I’m a tea drinker. I have fresh, organic papaya juice that’s amazing when mixed with some sparkling ginger.”

Before Eve could refuse, Peabody piped up, “I’d love some juice, thanks.”

“Wonderful. You just make yourselves at home. I’ll be back in a snap.”

He sort of whirled out in his knee-length striped sweater and black skin pants.

“Sorry, I could really use the juice.”

Eve took the time to study the living space. Not as grand as Banks’s, but with that same view out the glass wall. Lots of art, she noted, lots of color. Pillows shaped like birds, curved sofas, fancy dust catchers arranged just so, fresh flowers.

Wirely came back with a pitcher of—as advertised—sparkling juice over ice, a trio of glasses and a plate of thin, frosted cookies, fancy napkins.

“In case you change your mind,” he said to Eve. “I wondered if the police would talk to residents. I’m so excited you are—I know that’s just terrible of me. The poor man’s dead, after all. Not to speak ill of the dead, but he was a bit of a scoundrel, wasn’t he?”

“You said you didn’t know him.”

“I didn’t, but I know of him. I’m an unapologetic gossip,” he added as he poured the juice. “I’m friendly with a number of people in the building. After all, we’re neighbors. And we do love to dish. I can’t say he came up very often while he was still among the living, but since?” He cast his gaze up to the ceiling. “My, my, and my.”