Calculated in Death (In Death #36)(76)

She jabbed the buzzer.

In under ten seconds, Whitestone opened the door with a welcoming smile. “Lieutenant Dallas, we were just—”

“Ingersol.”

“Jake?” Whitestone stepped back as she strode straight into the spacious lobby that smelled of fresh paint and gleamed with smooth surfaces. The unmanned reception counter formed a central, wide U backed by a shimmering silver wall with THE WIN GROUP in large, fancy script.

“We need to talk to him.”

“He just stepped out. He should be back in a few minutes. Why don’t I give you the tour while—”

“Where?” Eve demanded. “Where did he go?”

Puzzlement edged toward worry. “I don’t know, exactly. We’re getting furniture delivered this morning, some other things. Rob and Jake and I wanted to make sure it all went smooth. Rob’s back in his office, trying to coordinate deliveries. Jake got a call on his ’link and said he had to go take care of something and wouldn’t be more than an hour. He’s only been gone about twenty minutes, maybe a half hour. I didn’t pay attention.”

“Peabody.”

“I’m on it,” she said, and walked away to follow the unspoken order for a BOLO on Jake Ingersol.

“On what?” Whitestone demanded, more agitated. “Is there something wrong? Something to do with Jake?”

“Chaz Parzarri was murdered this morning.”

“What? How? Jesus Christ. Rob!” He turned, moved right, shouting. “Rob, get out here. He was in the hospital, right? Are you sure it was murder? Maybe he was hurt worse than we thought. I just can’t—”

“What the hell, Brad, I’m in the middle of— Oh, sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t know you were here.”

“She says Chaz Parzarri from Brewer—she says he’s been murdered.”

“When? Where? He’s in Las Vegas, or no. God, he was coming back this morning. I talked to Jim Arnold last night. They were coming back this morning. Jim? Is Jim all right?”

“He’s fine. Do you know where your other partner went when he left here?”

“Jake? He had a client with some crisis or problem. He just said he was meeting the client for a quick coffee and reassurance. He’d be back. Why?”

“I need to speak with him. Urgently.”

“Let me just tag him. He’s going to be upset about Chaz. They worked together on several accounts.” Newton pulled out his pocket ’link.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the murder. Just find out his location. I’ll take it from there.”

“It went to v-mail. Let me text him. We have a code when it’s urgent.”

“How did he behave when he was contacted by this client?” she asked Whitestone.

“Ah, I don’t know exactly what you mean. Maybe a little annoyed. We’re really trying to get this place up and running within the next two weeks. The crew finished here, and in my apartment. They’ve just got a few things to do, what they call punch out, in a couple of the rental units. We’re ready to move in.”

“If he was meeting a client for coffee in this area, where would it be?”

“We usually use Express. It’s just a block south.”

“He’s not answering,” Newton reported.

“Stay here,” Eve ordered. “If he contacts you, tell him to stay where he is, and let me know. Peabody.”

“Why won’t you tell us what’s going on?” Newton complained. “If there’s something up with Jake, if something’s wrong, we need to know.”

“I’ll let you know when I know,” she said and strode out.

Halfway to the car she stopped, turned, and stared at the door of what would be Whitestone’s apartment.

“Jesus, could they be that arrogant? That goddamn bold?”

Changing direction, she walked down the stairs, glanced back at Peabody, drew her weapon.

“You really think?”

“It’s right here. Pretty damn convenient. He’s sure as hell not meeting a client for coffee.”

With her left hand, she took out her master, slid it slowly, quietly through the slot. She held up three fingers, two, one.

They went through the door together, fast and smooth.

She saw they could be that arrogant. They could be that bold.

Jake Ingersol lay on the newly finished floor, eyes staring up at the freshly painted ceiling, and his brutalized head swimming in a pool of his own blood.

Eve held up a hand. “We clear it first.”

She didn’t believe they’d find the killer hiding in one of the closets or curled into a kitchen cabinet, but they worked through, room by room before she holstered her weapon.

“Get the field kits, Peabody. I’ll call it in.”

“He beat him with a hammer.” The weapon lay beside the body, covered in blood and gore. “Beat his head to pulp with it. Spatter’s everywhere. Jesus. And look at the blood on the pants. He must’ve kneecapped him with it.”

“Yeah. He put some effort into this one. I’d say he’s starting to enjoy his work.”

16

WHILE PEABODY WENT OUT FOR FIELD KITS, Eve stood studying the scene, the body, the spatter patterns on the freshly painted walls, the gleaming floor.