Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(100)

“I don’t know. For heaven’s sake, he doesn’t tell me his every move. He needed to go out, he went.”

“He went after you came back from Interview, after you told him what we discussed, after receiving a message that I wanted him to come into Interview. Smells, doesn’t it, Peabody?”

“Very fishy.”

“He’s upset. We’re upset. Please just go—” She actually made a shooing gesture. “All this is disrupting our classes, our sessions, our residents. Just go, and I’ll make sure he contacts you the minute he’s back.”

“Not good enough. I want to take a look at his quarters.”

“Why? What do you think? He’s hiding bodies in there?”

“Show me. Prove me wrong.”

“This is so insulting.” But she turned on her heel, strode to the next turn of the stairs, and clipped her way up.

A few doors were open a crack, and Eve imagined ears and/or eyes pressed close.

Total drama, as Quilla said.

Philadelphia produced a swipe card from her pocket, used it on a small security panel, then tapped in a code.

“Worried the residents will sneak in?”

“If they’re not tempted, then they can’t make a mistake.” She stepped inside.

“Here. We share this living area and kitchenette.”

Eve judged it modest, nicely appointed, but anything but fussy. She couldn’t claim, from the looks of it, they funneled donation money into elaborate living.

“I have a bath, bed, and sitting room on this side, and Nash has his on that side. Both close off with panel doors if more privacy is wanted. As you see, they’re open, as they usually are.”

“I see.” Eve started toward Nash’s part.

Philadelphia rushed after her. “I don’t want you touching his things.”

“Then stick around, make sure I don’t touch.”

Cheeks pink, eyes fired, Philadelphia fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m going to want an apology from you, both of you, and your immediate supervisor. In writing.”

“Yeah, we’ll get right on that.”

His sitting room held two chairs, a small desk with a minicomp, a couple inexpensive pictures on the wall, a carpet that showed considerable wear.

The bedroom mimicked the Spartan style. A simple bed, another small chair, one dresser with a photo of his sister—younger—flanked by him and their younger brother, standing outside the HPCCY building.

“Is that his ’link?” Eve asked, gesturing toward the dresser.

“What? I . . . oh. He left his ’link. That explains it. I tried to contact him when Matron told me you were here, but it went to his v-mail. He forgot his ’link.”

“Uh-huh.” Can’t trace ’link transmissions if you don’t make any, she thought. Can’t triangulate your location with it if it’s sitting on your bedroom dresser.

“Look in his closet.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“Look in his closet,” Eve repeated with more patience than she thought the woman deserved, “see if anything’s missing.”

“Of course nothing is missing. It’s ridiculous.” Incensed, Philadelphia pulled open the narrow closet. “You act as though he’s in flight or . . .”

“What did he pack?”

“I-I didn’t say he packed anything.”

“Your face did.”

“I never . . . Matron, would you go down, make sure the children are— Please, go downstairs.”

“I’ll be right downstairs if you need me.” Shivitz gave Eve the fish eye. “If you need anything.”

Philadelphia nodded, then walked over, sank into the little chair. “Something must have come up.”

“So everyone’s saying. What did he take?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not. It’s just . . . he kept a small suitcase in the closet, as I do in mine. For quick trips. It’s not there. He must have been called away, suddenly.”

“And took off without telling you, without telling his assistant, without his ’link?” As Roarke would say, she thought, bollocks to that. “You’re not a stupid woman. He’s running. Peabody, get that BOLO out.”

“He’s not. I swear to you. I swear on my life, he’s done nothing wrong. He couldn’t.”

“Where does he keep his cash?”

“What?”

“Everybody keeps a little cash hidden, for that rainy day. I say it’s raining. Where does he keep it?”

Pressing her lips together, Philadelphia rose, walked to his dresser, opened the top left drawer. Carefully, she lifted some folded socks, then simply stared.

“It’s gone.”

“He may have moved it. He generally keeps some cash here. I don’t understand. He’s a good man.” She turned back, her hands linked together as if in prayer. “I don’t say that just because I’m his sister. I work with him, every day. I know him. He’s a good man.”

“Where would he go?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“Where do you go to relax, to get away for a few days?”

“Oh, Lieutenant, we haven’t had a vacation in five years. Or six. I’m not sure. We’ve both gone on short retreats but they’re work related. What you might consider a conference of peers and coworkers.”