Calculated in Death (In Death #36)(23)

Like his partners, he wore a good suit, a perfectly knotted and coordinated tie, and shoes with a mirror gleam. Sun-streaked brown hair curled around his face, made him seem very youthful, somewhat innocent. But his eyes, though warm brown, were sharp, savvy.

“Café Diablo,” Newton said mildly.

“What can I say, it’s what the client wants. I start out hyped,” he told Eve, “add a couple of double Diablo Locas and I’m overwired. I’m getting bits and pieces of what’s going on. Brad said they were inside the apartment? Inside?”

“That’s correct.”

“We put in damn good security. I don’t get it.”

“We believe they had the codes.”

He opened his mouth, shut it again, and sat back. “Jesus, Rob. One of Jasper’s crew?”

“We don’t know that,” Newton said quickly.

“Do you have any reason to suspect someone on the construction crew?” Eve asked him.

“Just doing the math.” He rose, grabbed a bottle of water out of the friggie. “Not that many people have the codes. We sure as hell didn’t kill anybody.”

“Jasper and his people worked on my place for six months before they started on the building,” Newton pointed out. “There was never so much as a coffee mug missing.”

“I know, hey, I know, and I like him, too. A lot. I guess somebody didn’t lock up, that’s all, and whoever killed that woman got lucky.”

Eve nudged Marta’s photo toward Ingersol. “Do you know her?”

“No, I don’t . . . wait a minute.” He shifted a little closer, studied the photo. “Maybe, but I can’t pin it down.”

“She worked for Brewer, Kyle, and Martini,” Newton said before Eve could speak.

“That’s it!” Ingersol snapped his fingers, right hand, left hand—pop, pop. “That’s where I’ve seen her. We coordinate with our clients’ accountants, on taxes, investments, portfolio strategy. I’ve got some clients who use that firm. I work with Chaz Parzarri and Jim Arnold, but I met her awhile back. Just in passing. Wow. I met her.”

“Can you tell me where you were last night, between nine P.M. and midnight?”

His mouth dropped open, briefly. He lifted the water bottle, swallowed. “And another wow. Are we suspects?”

“It’s routine,” Eve said again.

“Well, sure, I was . . . let me think.” He pulled out a date book. “I had drinks with Sterling Alexander, Alexander and Pope Properties, and that’s one of the clients I share with Chaz. We, ah, met at about six-thirty at the Blue Dog Room. I think he left about seven-fifteen, close to that. He was going out to dinner, I think. I finished my drink, then I hooked up with some friends—a woman I’m seeing and another couple—for dinner. Chez Louis. I guess we left about ten-thirty. Alys and I went back to my place. We stayed in.”

“I’d like a list of names and contact information, for the files.”

“Sure.” He looked at Newton again. “This is really weird.”

“I’ll also need a list of any other clients you have who cross with the victim’s firm.” Done, Eve got to her feet. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

It took some time to get all the names and contacts she needed and the receptionist was chatty.

She learned she’d only copped the job a year before, when the expanding client list had warranted a separate receptionist rather than the assistants riding herd. The partners planned to connect with a small law firm, establishing them in the new building. They hoped, within the year, to take on an associate.

“An interesting mix,” Eve commented when they walked out of the offices.

“I think it works for them. Smooth operator—and slap my ass, is that guy built!”

“I noticed.”

“I love McNab’s skinny ass and bony shoulders, but mama! Anyway, Newton’s the smooth one, Whitestone’s the charisma, and Ingersol’s the hamster.”

“Hamster?”

“On the wheel. Go, go, get it done.”

“Something like that.”

“They’re all alibied up.”

“We’ll run the alibis through, but I expect they’ll hold. Mr. Body probably has the muscle to snap a neck, but he’d be too smart to use his own place for it. Maybe he, or Ingersol, wanted to flick a little dirt on Whitestone—a twofer—but they wouldn’t get their hands dirty. They’re serious suits.”

“But run them anyway,” Peabody said.

“You bet.”

“None of the three of them have a Cargo registered. Not in their names or the company name.”

“Check Newton’s finances, and their families, their family businesses.”

Once more she got behind the wheel. The boost of magic chicken soup wouldn’t last much longer, but she wanted to cover more ground.

“Let’s see if we can have a conversation with Mobsley.”

“Hot damn.”

“And try not to be a dick.”

“I know how to behave,” Peabody huffed. “I’m in a vid, you know. I’ve had a scene with vid stars. I’m going to a major premiere, and I didn’t have to score tickets. They were given to me.”