Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(114)

Eve’s eyes sharpened. “When was this?”

“Just days before. Just days before he left. Nash was absolutely unyielding, so unlike himself, and pushed it all through so quickly. He said Monty had to go, for his own sake. Something about it being the only way, the only choice. He wouldn’t even let me go with them when he took Monty to the transpo center.”

“Was Kyle still here?”

“No. No . . . ah . . .” Little hitches of fear came back to bounce in her words. “I think he’d left a day or two before, but I don’t really remember. It was an upsetting time. I felt we were sending Monty off to strangers, to a place he didn’t know, to try to be something he couldn’t be. But he did so well. Nash was right. He—”

“It was never him. It was Kyle. You didn’t tell me any of this, the argument, the upset about leaving.”

“I didn’t see how our personal upset so long ago pertained. There has to be another explanation for all of this. Nash will explain everything.”

“How long was he gone, supposedly taking Monty to the transpo center? Don’t lie to me now,” Eve said when Philadelphia hesitated. “It won’t help your brother.”

“He didn’t come back for hours. He was gone all day. I was so angry. I accused him of staying away so he wouldn’t have to face me, after what he’d done. It hurt him. I remember how he looked when I said it.”

“What did he do when he got back from taking Monty away?”

“He . . . he went into the Quiet Room. It wasn’t fully set up yet. We were still doing that, but I remember very clearly, as we were both so upset, barely speaking to each other, that he went in there, said he wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“In there,” Eve considered, “where you put the plaque for Montclair.”

“Yes, it’s our meditative, restorative space. Nash stayed in for more than an hour, maybe nearer two. We avoided each other until the next day when we got an e-mail from Monty to let us know he’d arrived safe. And he said how beautiful it was, how it felt like the most spiritual place on Earth. It was such a happy, positive note, I apologized to Nash. I said I’d been wrong. Things went back to normal. We were so busy putting everything in place, getting a new routine.”

“Peabody, the Quiet Room. Start going over it again. This time we’re taking it apart.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?” Philadelphia demanded. “You already searched.”

“We’re looking again. Still setting it up, you said. What does that mean, exactly?”

“I just meant we hadn’t finished the painting or having the benches installed. We didn’t want it to look like a chapel as much as a peaceful, meditative space. We were still putting in the water feature, the wall fountain, the flowers and plants.”

“Okay. You can go about your usual routine. I’ll be with my partner. Nobody comes in there.”

“Lieutenant.” She stood there, the sister between two brothers, looking stricken. “Monty—Monty never went to Africa.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“You think, you actually believe Nash . . . hurt him. He couldn’t. He’s incapable of harming someone. And he loved Monty, deeply. He would never hurt him. I swear it to you.”

“Then where is he? Can you tell me where either of your brothers are?”

“No, I can’t. I pray you find them.”

Eve pulled out her ’link as she left the office and made her way to the Quiet Room.

“Electronics aren’t allowed in there,” Shivitz told her.

Ignoring her, Eve stepped in. Peabody already had the few pieces of art off the walls, running a miniscanner over them.

“Death or incarceration,” Eve said.

“The two things that stop a serial killer.”

“Exactly right. Roarke.”

“Lieutenant,” he said from his ’link to hers.

“I need a favor. Jones’s financials come off balanced, nothing off.”

“Would you like me to take a look at them?”

“No, his sister runs them, so there wouldn’t be anything in there. It’s possible he has another account, one she doesn’t know about. One he’s kept under the radar.”

“Prying into someone else’s money isn’t a favor. It’s fun.”

“I figured you’d say that.”

“I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“I think he might use his brother’s name in it. Maybe look for Montclair as a surname.”

“You’ll only annoy me if you tell me how to play my game.”

“Okay. Have fun.”

She clicked off. “Two ways this goes,” she told Peabody. “Either Jones took baby brother off, ostensibly to transpo, killed him, disposed of the body, which makes it seriously premeditated murder. Or he took him somewhere and had him locked up.”

“Death or incarceration.”

“Yeah. Death, we find Jones and sweat the details out of him. Incarceration? We find out where, because locking someone up takes money and a place that locks people up, and isn’t prison.”

“An institution?”

“Which takes money. Roarke’s looking for the money. Let’s see if Jones left us anything to go by in here.”