Born in Death (In Death #23)(46)

“No.” Sasha took the ball. “Their names never came up. We work directly with Ran. We did meet her, and her fiancé, as I said. At Jacob Sloan’s home. She—Natalie—was friendly with his grandson.”

“Ms. Copperfield handles your sister’s financials.”

“That’s right. When Anna and her friends went into business, I recommended the firm, and spoke with Ran personally on who he thought would be best for them. He assigned Natalie. She and Anna hit it off well—so I’m told—when Natalie flew out to meet with her.”

“Your sister was satisfied with Ms. Copperfield’s work.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints. And I would have.”

“Would you ever,” Lola confirmed. “Anna doesn’t suffer in silence. Are you looking inside the firm for a suspect? I assumed it was something personal and—well—passionate. Like a jealous ex or unrequited love.”

“We’re looking everywhere,” Eve told her, and rose. “If you remember anything or think of something, you can contact me at Central.”

“That’s all?” Lola’s lips moved into a pout of disappointment. “I was hoping we’d get grilled.”

“Maybe next time. Thanks for your time,” Eve added.

She waited until they were outside, hiking back to their vehicle. “Impressions?”

“Straightforward, confident, calm. Business as usual on the date for the dinner with Sloan, and they don’t strike me as the type to cover for an employee—even if they are on friendly terms. There’s Zinka’s sister’s connection to the first vic, but if I go with the gut, I can’t see either or both of them committing double murders, or attaching themselves to same to keep the sister out of a jam. And they’re way rich. If this is about money, they don’t need to cheat to make more.”

“It’s not about need, it’s about greed and power,” Eve corrected. “But I didn’t get any vibe there. If it was the sister’s account that sent up the red flag for Copperfield, and either of them knew about it, they’re damn cool. What do we have on Anna Kerlinko’s whereabouts on the night?”

Peabody took out her memo book as she slid into the car. “Figuring the time difference, she was having breakfast with her current lover when Copperfield was murdered, and in her office by nine, her time. Got wits. She couldn’t have zipped here, done them, zipped back.”

“We move on.”

Using geography as much as her own checklist, she maneuvered the six blocks east to take the New York branch of the law firm representing the Bullock Foundation. They’d been assigned to Copperfield within the last few months, Eve mused, and had yet another connection with Byson representing one of the partner’s nieces.

The firm had its offices in an elegant old brownstone with the outer office as quiet as a church and manned by a woman who sat bathed in the colored light that seeped through the stained glass of the streetside window.

She was a sharp looker with her red hair in a long, swooping curve. Eve badged her and got several surprised blinks in response.

“I don’t understand.”

“Badge,” Eve said helpfully. “Cops. Now you buzz your boss and tell him we need to speak with him.”

“Golly. I mean, I’m sorry, but Mr. Cavendish is in a meeting. I’d be happy to check his schedule with his assistant and set up an appointment.”

“No, no, you’re getting it wrong. Let me repeat. Badge. Cops.” Eve glanced around, saw the straight angle of polished wood stairs. “Offices up that way?”

“Oh, but—but—but—”

Eve left the redhead sputtering and moved with Peabody to the stairs.

The second level changed Eve’s opinion from church to museum. The carpets were old, worn, and expensive. The wainscotting the real deal, and very likely original. Paintings of country landscapes adorned the walls.

A door swung open on the left. The woman who stepped out was older than the girl at the downstairs desk, and twice as sharp.

She wore her jet hair in a no-nonsense twist that complimented a striking, angular face. The pinstriped suit might have been no-nonsense as well, but it had been tailored to mold a very fine body.

“I believe you were told Mr. Cavendish is in a meeting and unavailable at this time. What can I do for you?”

“You can get him out of his meeting and see that he’s available,” Eve returned. “That would be helpful.”

She felt an entertaining little buzz up the back of her spine at the woman’s silent, burning stare. “Got a name, sister?”

“Ms. Ellyn Bruberry. I’m Mr. Cavendish’s administrative assistant. And a paralegal.”

“Good for you. We need to talk to Mr. Cavendish in connection with an investigation.”

“Mr. Cavendish is, as you’ve now been told twice, unavailable. And as you must know, is under no obligation to speak with you without notice.”

“Got me there,” Eve said cheerfully. “We’ll be happy to give Mr. Cavendish, and you, and every one in these offices notice of your obligation to come into Cop Central for formal interviews, which—being a paralegal—you must know could take a few hours to, oh, next Christmas. Or gee, we could just talk to him now, in the comfort of his own office. And probably be out of your hair in under twenty minutes.”