Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(7)

They replaced the field kits, got back in the car.

“We know the TOD, the probable COD. We know, because Brownstone comes off honest and credible, the vic was private about her private life, serious about her work. Supplemented her income by teaching two or three times a week, and was careless with her security.”

“We know,” Eve added, “that the vic’s lover or lovers was or were discreet enough Brownstone can’t confirm she had any. Potentially one or more of her students. Stay after class, have a roll, head out. She’ll have the schedule and a list of students on her comp. Have EDD copy us there.”

As she drove, Eve called in for the name of the nine-one-one caller, and a copy of the recording.

“Gwendolyn Huffman.”

“The same person who texted her yesterday afternoon.”

Considering, Eve tapped her fingers on the wheel. “Isn’t that handy? Let’s hear the call.”

Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?



Oh, God, oh God, she’s dead! She’s dead. There was blood.

Ariel! It’s Ariel. You need to help, send help.

Over the calm, clear voice of the nine-one-one operator, the hysteria rose only higher as the caller spewed out the address.

Hurry, hurry, please hurry. God, God, I’m going to be sick.

The transmission ended.

“Never gave her name,” Eve said. “They got it from the ’link number.”

“She sounded hysterical, start to finish.”

“If she actually saw the body in the West Village, dropped the morning takeout, then went all the way home to the Upper East Side, she had time to bank that down a little. And if she didn’t see the body, how the hell did she know? Let’s see if she’s taken the time to work out the answers.”

The building on the Upper East Side rose high and sleek, steel and glass with the curve of generous terraces on the top floors. On the street, two doormen in silver-trimmed black flanked the wide glass entrance.

Neither of them looked pleased to see Eve’s deceptively unstylish DLE pull to the curb.

As the one on the left approached, Eve got out of the car, flipped up her badge.

“Leave it where I put it.”

“Ma’am—”

She jabbed a finger at him, then at her badge. “Does this say ma’am? No, it does not. It’s says Lieutenant. It says NYPSD. Leave my ride where I put it.”

She strode past him, across the sidewalk, and through the glass that whisked open when she approached—and made her wonder why the hell they needed doormen.

They walked into what Eve thought of as obsessive elegance. Gold and silver abounded with some royal blue tossed in with a few cushy club chairs. Gold chandeliers dripped light; slim silver urns displayed an arrangement of twisted, gold-flecked branches.

The air, hushed and fragrant, whispered discreetly of wealth and privilege.

Two clerks, in royal blue suits, manned a curved, mirrored counter. One continued to work diligently on her comp. The other tossed his best professional smile at Eve.

“Good morning, and welcome to House Royale. How may I assist you today?”

Maybe it was petty, but Eve felt just a tiny bump of satisfaction when she held up her badge and watched that smile drop away.

“We’re here to speak to Gwendolyn Huffman.”

“Felicity?” He looked over at his companion, who’d stopped working to fold her hands on the counter.

“Verify their IDs, Jonathan.”

“Oh, yes, of course. If I could scan your badges, please?”

After he rooted up a scanner, verified, Felicity nodded.

“We cleared two officers about a half hour ago. Clearance was delayed, as Ms. Huffman had a Do Not Disturb on her unit. Ms. Huffman’s fiancé arrived about fifteen minutes before we put through clearance. As Ms. Huffman had updated her DND to exclude him, Mr. Caine went straight up.”

“So you kept cops cooling heels, but let the fiancé go up?”

Felicity remained placid. “I certainly apologize, Lieutenant. However, in lieu of a warrant or a verified emergency, we’re obliged to honor a resident’s DND.”

“What time did you come on the desk?” Eve asked her.

“Eight-thirty A.M. As I told the officers, I haven’t seen Ms. Huffman this morning.”

“We’ll need a copy of the security feed for the last twenty-four.” Eve paused, made it significant. “I can get a warrant.”

“That won’t be necessary. We’re more than willing to cooperate however we’re able. Jonathan, go to security and obtain what the lieutenant requested.”

“Lobby,” Eve said, “elevators, Huffman’s floor.”

He all but popped up. “I’ll get it right away.”

“We’ll pick it up on our way out,” Eve told Felicity. “Clear us up.”

“You’re cleared. Ms. Huffman is 4800, forty-eighth floor, east.”

“Thanks.” Eve walked to the elevators with Peabody. Two gold for west, two silver for east.

“Here’s a thought.” Eve stepped into the car with its gold-veined silvery mirrored walls. “Huffman’s back here when she made the nine-one-one call. It came in at the same time Felicity came on the desk. So Huffman was upstairs, here. She puts on the DND, and buys time.”