Leverage in Death: An Eve Dallas Novel (In Death #47)(94)

“That’s a long conversation, two hours.”

“Well, it wasn’t all talk.” He gave Eve a smile as silky as his handkerchief. “We—how to explain delicately—pleasured each other remotely. It’s a five-week tour, after all.”

“I need your friend’s name.”

“Nigel Tudor. He’s adorable, as I said, and would certainly confirm. But I did record our . . . conversation. Audio and video. For the lonely nights? It’s time stamped. I can make a copy if that helps.”

“We’ll just talk to Nigel, thanks. His contact?”

Wirely rattled it off. “Do give him my love.”

“Okay. How about the weekend prior?”

“Well, Nigel left for tour on Saturday, so we had a gathering Friday night for him and Ankah. I suppose we said goodbye to our last guest about one in the morning. Then Nigel and I . . .”

“Snuggled in,” Peabody suggested, and had him beaming at her.

“Yes, we did. My adorable beau and Ankah left at ten sharp on Saturday, and I confess I brooded for the next hour or so—before Pitty and Charo dropped by and dragged me off for a spa day to cheer me up. They’re delightful creatures, and we had a lovely day. We had cocktails afterward, and met some other friends for an early dinner before going to see the most dreadful play.”

He let out a sigh, shook his head. “Don’t go to see Goodbye, Jessica, Goodbye. Trust me. We went down to The Blue Note afterward for drinks and music to cleanse the palate. I don’t think I got home until after three. I did drag myself out to Hildago’s brunch on Sunday, about elevenish? Then I came home and stayed home. Got some writing done, took a nap, that sort of thing.”

“Okay. Thanks for your cooperation.”

“Absolutely my enormous pleasure. I can’t wait to see what you’re both wearing on the red carpet Sunday.”

“Her, not me.”

“Ah, well. I’ll look for you, Detective Peabody. I hope you’ll both come back. Remember, if there’s something I don’t know about someone in the building, I can probably find out.”

“We’ll keep that in mind.”

Eve stepped out, walked toward the elevator.

“You don’t want to check with Milicent and Gary and all the rest?” Peabody asked.

“He’s covered. He’s too smart to lie about something that easy to verify or tear down. And he’s no killer.”

“I liked him.”

“He’s sly, gossipy, and a self-proclaimed ‘old queen.’ I kind of liked him, too.”

They wrapped up three more, none of whom were as interesting or chatty as Wirely. As they headed for the next, Peabody pulled an energy bar out of her bag.

“I need a little . . . lift. Don’t want to say boost. Want?”

“What is it?”

“Ah, Fruity Nut Carbo Burst—with chia seeds and flax.”

“I thought they made sheets and underwear and stuff out of flax.”

“It’s a food and fiber plant.”

“You’re telling me you’re eating something that’s used to make underwear? Why not just gnaw on your own underwear?”

Peabody took a determined bite of the bar. “On days—which is most—we don’t stop for so much as a limp soy fry, it’s tempting.”

Eve stepped off the elevator, said, “Loose pants.”

“That’s an upside. It’s really chewy,” Peabody managed around the next bite of bar. “About three out of ten on the taste scale, but really chewy.”

“Swallow your underwear,” Eve ordered, and pressed the buzzer on the next apartment.

“Trying,” Peabody muttered as Eve studied the apartment security.

Not top grade, she noted, but close. And the comp response came smooth and female.

Good afternoon. Please state your name and the purpose of your visit.

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, NYPSD.” Eve held her badge up for the scan. “Police inquiry.”

Thank you. Your identification has been verified. Mr. Iler will be with you in a moment. Please wait.

Lucius Iler, Eve thought. Age forty-four, third-generation money—antique trade. No marriage, no offspring. Registered day trader. Brother (deceased), uncle, grandmother, two cousins, and a stepsister in the military.

A lot of boxes checked, she mused as she heard the locks disengage.

Vid-star polished, she thought when Iler opened the door. Chestnut waves spilling artfully around an angular face sporting the perfect (and deliberate) amount of scruff. Turquoise eyes heavily lashed, transmitted interest and curiosity as a little dimple winked on the right side of his mouth with his polite smile.

“How can I help you, officers?”

“We’d like to come in and speak with you, Mr. Iler.”

“What about?”

“Jordan Banks.”

“Who? Oh, oh, of course. I don’t know how I can help with that.”

“Can we come in?”

“Sorry, sure.” He backed up. “I’m a little distracted. I wasn’t expecting cops at the door. I guess no one does.”

“Criminals sometimes do,” Peabody said, earning the little dimple.

“I hadn’t thought of that. So . . . I guess we should sit down.”