Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(14)
Eve pulled into the garage at Central, angled into her slot.
“Why aren’t the sibs in the family business?”
“Looking at that,” Peabody said, working as she climbed out. “The sister—thirty-four—is currently on maternal leave from her position as in-house counsel for Atomic Publishing—offices Lower East—and the brother—thirty—is in East Washington, clerking for—hah, Uma Hagger.”
“Okay, a lawyerly family.” They crossed the garage to the elevator. “Rich, connected. Oldest son hooks up with the daughter of a rich, doctorly family.”
“The American dream.”
“Maybe.” With some relief, Eve noted the elevator was empty. It wouldn’t last, but it was a nice start. “The doctorly daughter is a dozen years younger than the lawyerly son—not enough of a spread to make him a cradle robber, but a spread. He’ll make full partner in a three-generation law firm within a couple years. She socializes, puts in a few hours here and there at her family’s charitable foundation, so no apparent career ambitions.”
“When did you run her?”
“When I was going up to talk to DeWinter, just a quick one.” And here it came, Eve thought, as the doors opened, as cops shuffled in. “She put in three semesters at NYU, and has never worked an actual job. She has an annual income from trust funds that should cover her rent, but probably not much else.”
At the third stop Eve muscled off the elevator.
“I’m guessing her parents supplement her income.” Peabody followed Eve to the glides. “Their son’s off in Vegas, but she’s right here.”
“And engaged to the oldest son of a wealthy, prominent New York family.” Absently, Eve jiggled the loose credits in her pocket as they rode up. “At the tail end of planning what’s bound to be a big, splashy society wedding. She sure as hell doesn’t want it to come out she’s cheating with a moderately successful West Village artist.”
“If it does, it all blows up on her. Still … she’s got the trust fund, and her parents are going to be embarrassed, maybe pretty pissed, but would they cut her off for cheating on her fiancé? Is she going to murder her lover over a possible threat to maybe rat her out?”
“You’re a homicide detective, Peabody, so you know as well as I do people kill people over a shoulder-bump on the sidewalk.”
“Yeah, and I could see her doing it in a fit of passion, in a moment of heat. But the timelines don’t gel.”
“Let’s check that first, go from there. Right now, she’s the one with motive, and she’s the one lying to the cops.”
They turned into the bullpen. Jenkinson, his tie du jour, and his partner, Reineke, weren’t at their desks. Santiago and Detective Carmichael huddled together at hers. Baxter, in one of his slick suits, had his expensive shoes on his desk as he worked his ’link. And True-heart, the young and earnest, worked his comp.
Since nobody jumped up or hailed her, Eve went straight to her office.
“Coffee,” she said as she opened the packet from House Royale and took out the disc.
“Any way I can program something edible to go with that? My stomach says lunch. I can hit up Vending, but—”
Eve just waved a hand as she sat, plugged in the disc.
Peabody perused the offerings on the AutoChef menu. “You got everything in here. How about we split a ham and provolone sub? Because it’s going to be actual pig meat, actual cheese if it’s in here.”
“Whatever.”
Eve increased the speed of the vid feed until she saw Gwen step out of her apartment into the hall-cam range at eleven-sixteen. A pale pink dress, a short, three-quarter-sleeved white jacket, high, skinny heels in pink-and-white stripes, and an enormous pink purse—Eve judged it as meeting-with-wedding-planner attire. She’d done her hair in a loose bun at the nape, wore subtle but impressive jewelry in the diamond studs, a necklace with a pink stone heart outlined in diamonds, a wrist unit with a glittery pink band, a heart-shaped pink stone ring on her right hand, and, of course, her fat diamond engagement ring on her left.
“Classic, sophisticated, rich,” Peabody said as she set half the sandwich on the desk for Eve—with half a side of fries (real ones!).
Eve toggled to the elevator feed.
They followed her progress down in the elevator, where Gwen smoothed her hair in the mirrored wall, checked her lip dye.
A woman with a baby in a stroller got on at twelve. Since the woman wore a gray uniform, Eve concluded nanny.
Gwen didn’t spare either one a glance, then strolled out ahead of them. On the lobby feed, she went straight out the doors.
“She didn’t even smile at the baby, and it’s a really cute baby.”
“Now you don’t like her,” Eve noted.
“I’m just saying. And I’m also saying this ham is the ult.”
Which reminded Eve to pick up her half, take a bite.
She couldn’t disagree.
She stuck with the lobby feed, watched the nanny and baby come out, pause by the desk as Felicity spoke to them, obviously prattled something at the kid, who grinned and waved the rattly thing in his hand.
Eve increased the speed until Gwen walked into the lobby from outside at fifteen-twelve. “She’s got a shopping bag.” Eve enhanced to home in on the shop’s name. “Intimate Occasions. Probably sexy underwear. She didn’t say anything about shopping, did she?”