Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(98)

“Count on it.” As she drove, Eve contacted Baxter. “Change of schedule. Move up the stakeout.”

“To when?”

“To now.”





19


Eve figured Linus Brinkman might appreciate a heads-up on being a target of a homicidal, sadistic whack job, even if it interrupted his massage.

She intended to start with him, then work her way through the list of potential targets. Talking to each of them face-to-face about their schedules, their habits, and yeah, their asshole behavior might give her a solid lead toward Darla’s next target, her planned method.

She leaned toward Brinkman anyway, and the evening’s gala.

With parking at a premium and traffic thick, she squeezed into a loading zone, flipped on her On Duty light.

Brinkman lived in an old, well-restored building right on Park, with a doorman, a scattering of terraces, and a pricey view.

The doorman, in steel gray with silver trim, gave her a once-over.

“May I assist you? Are you visiting a resident?”

“Brinkman, Linus.”

“Are you expected?”

“No.” She pulled out her badge. “Brinkman, Linus,” she repeated.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”

“Yes.” She left it at that, moved around him, and would have pulled open the wide glass door if he hadn’t moved nimbly to beat her to it.

“Wynona at the desk will clear you.”

“Okay.”

She crossed a quiet lobby with its white marble tiles, the conversationally arranged chairs in subtle gray, the massive table with its massive floral arrangement.

Wynona—Eve assumed—sat behind a deeply carved counter Eve thought looked as if it had once been a bar. Her hair, scooped back at the temples, fell in burnished brown waves down the back of her simple black suit.

She smiled her practiced smile. “Good afternoon. How can I assist you?”

Eve badged her. “Linus Brinkman.”

“Of course. I’ll let Mr. Brinkman know you’re here.”

“No. I’ll just go up.”

“I’m afraid I just came on twenty minutes ago. I can’t tell you if Mr. Brinkman is in residence. If I could call up—”

“No,” Eve said again, and moved to the elevator. “Clear it.”

“Of course.” Wynona didn’t look pleased, but cleared the elevator.

Eve rode up to the third floor in the silent car with the light scent of a spring meadow scenting the air.

In the third-floor hallway, a table held a slim arrangement of flowers. It held as quiet as the elevator as she walked over soft gray carpet, past wide white doors—all with solid security.

She pressed the buzzer on the corner unit, waited.

Mr. Brinkman and Ms. Gerald are unavailable at this time. You are free to leave a message here or at the desk in the lobby. Enjoy your day.



“NYPSD.” Eve held up her badge. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, on official police business.”

Your identification will be scanned for verification.



“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, and waited again.

Your identification has been verified, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Please wait.



She waited.

A woman in an actual maid’s uniform, complete with frilly white apron, opened the door. Eve judged the woman with her short bob of blond hair, stoic blue eyes, in her mid-forties.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Dallas, Mr. Brinkman and Ms. Gerald aren’t available. Is there something I can do to help you?”

“You need to make them available.”

“But you see, Ms. Gerald is in the master suite with her technicians and consultants.”

“Fine. Where’s Brinkman?”

“I’m not sure he’s arrived home as yet. His technicians and consultants would be in the adjoining parlor area.”

“Let’s go.”

“But—”

“Do I look like I have time to waste?” Eve demanded. “The pair of them can get fancied up after I talk to Brinkman and leave. Show me where.”

Stoic or not, the maid looked nonplussed—and intimidated. She gestured, began to lead the way through a large living area full of fuss and color, past a bar area with oversize leather chairs, and to double doors, where she knocked.

“Is that Linus?” The impatient demand snapped out as the maid opened the door to a bedroom—lots more fuss and color—where another blonde reclined in a salon chair while a team in flowing red lab coats fiddled with her hair—miles of it—her face—currently covered with some sort of pink goo—and her feet.

“No, Ms. Gerald. It’s—”

“Did I say I wasn’t to be disturbed, Hermine? Did I?”

“Yes, ma’am. But it’s the police.”

“I don’t care if it’s God. I’m fricking meditating.”

Eve stepped forward, scanned the woman tucked under a puffy white blanket. “Lieutenant Dallas. Tell me where to find Linus Brinkman and you can go back to meditating.”

“Oh, for— I don’t know, do I?” She opened one annoyed blue eye while the tech massaged the pink goo into her face. “Go away.”