Born in Death (In Death #23)(90)

“Mother, I’m going to ring our solicitor.”

“Go ahead,” Eve invited. “You’ll need one if you’re afraid to tell me your whereabouts on Friday.”

“Calm down, Win. Calm down. This is all so upsetting. We were home all evening. Win and I discussed plans for our spring gala, a fund-raiser the foundation is hosting in April in Madrid. We dined about eight, I believe, then listened to music and played cards. I suppose we retired about eleven. Does that sound right to you, Win?”

He looked down his nose at Eve. “We had lamb cutlets for dinner, preceded by a smoked tomato soup.”

“Yummy. Have either of you ever been to Randall Sloan’s New York residence?”

“Of course.” Madeline kept a firm hold on her son’s hand. “He often entertained.”

“On this trip?”

“No. As I explained before, we were looking for quiet evenings.”

“Right. Do you do any driving in the city, Mr. Chase?”

“In New York.” He gave her a look of mild distaste. “Why would I?”

“Couldn’t say. Well, thanks for your time.” Eve got to her feet. “Oh, your accounts, as overseen by Sloan, Myers, and Kraus will be turned over to the U.S. and British tax authorities—and, I imagine, those same agencies in several other countries.”

“That’s outrageous!” Winfield might have lunged forward, but his mother surged to her feet and kept the reins on him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“There are a number of questions regarding those accounts. Me, I’m a murder cop. What do I know? I’m sure the proper agencies will find the answers.”

“If there are any questions regarding the foundation accounts, they’ll be answered by Sloan, Myers, and Kraus. Robert Kraus…” Madeline paused, laid her free hand on her breast again. “But, no, you said it was Randall who, in actuality, kept the accounts for us. That alone is an outrageous breach of trust. Has he embezzled? Dear God, we trusted them, trusted him.”

She leaned into Chase, and his arm draped around her shoulders. “Was he using us?” Madeline demanded. “Is that why he killed himself?”

“That would be tidy, wouldn’t it? Thanks for your time.”

And that, Eve thought, would give them plenty to think about.

She was grinning darkly when she slid into the car.

“I don’t believe we’ll be invited to the spring gala in Madrid,” Roarke commented.

“Breaks my heart. You get a load of them? They’re like one of those Brit drawing room vids you like—the old-time ones? She thinks on her feet, I’ll give her that. She never figured we’d come knocking on the door, but she was ready for us when we did. He, on the other hand, needs direction, and a short leash. Got a temper, he does.”

“He killed them.”

“Bet your righteous ass he did. Question me, will you? Threaten me? Oh yeah, he did them all, then he came home and told Mommy all about it. Bet they’re pissed off to realize three murders haven’t covered up the accounts after all.”

“They’ll push it onto Randall Sloan.”

“They’ll try. I’ll let the Feds and Global worry about that end. Murder in the First, three counts. Conspiracy to commit, accessory before and after. I’m going to roll them up in a ball on this.”

“I might ask how?”

“He left his DNA on Byson’s fist. So science is going to get him. And my canny investigative skills are putting together enough to get a warrant to compel him to give us a sample of that DNA. Peabody and McNab get lucky, Sloan will have something incriminating on them at his place. I get that one,Win, into Interview, I’ll piss it out of him. Without his mother holding him back, he’ll come at me, and he’ll spew. I can see it in him.”

“They could take off for England, for anywhere, tonight.”

“Could. Won’t. Flight makes them look suspicious. She’s got too much control for that. What they have to play is shocked and outraged. Their pal, their handily dead pal, deceived and abused them. He used their lauded foundation for his own gain. Shame and horror! She’s working that out right now, and she’s calling Cavendish—or one of the contacts on that in England—to give him the lowdown, have them start injunctions, restraining orders, anything they can pull out of the hat.

“Gotta get Cavendish in the box, too. I’ll sweat it out of him inside thirty minutes. He hasn’t got the spine. He’ll flip on them. He knows about the murders, and he’ll flip for a deal that keeps him out of a cage on accessory.”

Roarke stopped at a light, studied her. “Pretty damn wound up, aren’t you, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, I am. It’s falling for me, piece by piece. I’m going to get started on that warrant on Chase, and one for Cavendish.” She dug out her ’link. “I can have them both in the box by morning.”

She interrupted both an APA and her commander’s Sunday night, put them on conference on the dash ’link and was still running the case through when Roarke drove through the gates.

“I need the mandatory DNA sample on Chase,” Eve argued.

Dressed in something slinky, APA Cher Reo scowled on-screen. “Allegedly questionable accounting practices, allegedly overseen by a man who wasnot the accountant of record, and who has left a suicide note confessing to the murders before hanging himself.”