Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(75)

Eve stood a moment, brows knit. “What? What language is that?”

“Sorry, a mental and linguistic trip to that youth. I’m saying he was brilliant, but went mad with it. I can admire the brilliance, and feel that what he ended up doing with it and becoming was a tragedy.”

“Okay.”

“You feel for his daughter, and so do I. Twice victimized, once by her father’s deeds, then by a cunning woman.”

“Mars had to do some work to find out who she was. I can see her—Mars—homing in on Phoebe as a target. She looks soft, easy to intimidate, and obviously has e-skills. Sniffed her out,” Eve said as they crossed the garage.

“Then some background, finds her the only child of a single mother. Pushes a bit on that. Where’s the father, who’s the father?” This time Roarke took the wheel. “But it would take some skill to lever under the false front and pull out Black Hat Derick.”

“Agreed. Missy Lee Durante’s next.” She gave him the address. “If she managed to very successfully create her own false front, that might have given her some skill, some instincts. She finds a couple dots, starts connecting them, finds more.”

“She—Mars again—should have been able to do her own e-shoveling.”

“More fun to have someone else under her thumb. And it gave her a scapegoat. She puts Phoebe on her team, gets information from her. Anything leans south, she tosses Phoebe under the truck.”

“Bus,” Roarke corrected absently. “And if Phoebe claims Mars blackmailed her, gives out about her father, she’s only more fucked. Again, you’d have to say it was bleeding deadly.”

“That’s Irish for smart?”

“Very. A sad girl with a sad story. You’ve heard sad stories all day. It’s not a wonder you look tired.”

“And not one of them goes to the cops, or even to the station head. What are the odds?”

He heard the frustration, sympathized. “I’d say Mars knew her targets well before shooting the first arrow.”

“She aimed at you.”

“Not really, no. She took the arrow out of the quiver, you could say, but didn’t notch it. And was wise enough not to.”

“There had to be other times she backed off, or just missed. And there are going to be others she was busy laying the groundwork on.”

“Which is one more reason I’m sure she has records kept elsewhere.”

Because she agreed, Eve wondered how hard she could push DeWinter. She needed that face. Mars’s true face.

“It’s smart to weave some truth through a false ID,” she speculated. “Maybe she did go to a college in the Midwest, or move around a lot as a kid.” She added, “Her underground accounts used planets, so maybe that’s a pattern that carried over. You’ve got, what, Mercury, Venus, Jupiter.”

“Uranus is always popular.”

“That’s such a lame guy thing.”

“Sadly true. Saturn, Neptune,” Roarke added, “and Pluto depending on your stand there. Trying to find the name of a female of her age that has a connection to a planet—or perhaps a moon or important star—who attended a Midwest college could take … next to forever.”

“You’re supposed to be bleeding deadly.”

Appreciating her, he laughed. “Now you force me to at least play with it, which makes you fecking wily.”

“Really smart?”

“Very sly.”

“I’ll take it,” she said as he pulled up at a dignified old building.

Its redbrick rose unmarred, its windows tall and screened. It stood on its corner quietly, its wide glass entrance doors unmanned.

Until they stopped the DLE at the curb.

The doorman wore unembellished black, with a cap over his square, sober face.

As Roarke stepped out of the car, the doorman nodded and said, “Sir. How can I assist you?”

Before Eve could pull out her badge, make any demand, Roarke spoke smoothly. “We’re here to see Missy Lee Durante. We’re expected.”

“Of course.”

As he stepped back to open the door, Eve noted the doorman discreetly checking a memo book he eased from his pocket.

The lobby was as dignified and understated as the exterior, with a wide, well-lit expanse of black-grained white marble floor and soft gray walls.

Lobby security also wore unembellished black, sans cap.

“Mr. Roarke and Lieutenant Dallas for three five three.”

“Of course.” Security left the desk to lead them to a trio of elevators, swiped them on. “Three five three,” she said. “Enjoy your visit.”

The doors closed silently.

“You didn’t mention it’s your building.”

“I didn’t realize it until we pulled up. I don’t carry the address of every property in my head.”

“It’s a lot different than Nadine’s.”

“Variety is essential to a vibrant city, I think. This is early twentieth century, and though it took some ugly knocks during the Urbans, it survived well intact. A great deal of the interior is original, and what couldn’t be saved or preserved was replaced.”

“How long have you had it?”

“About six years, I think. Might be seven.” He glanced around the car, at the subtle sheen of the walls. “The staff keeps it well maintained.”