Creation in Death (In Death #25)(97)

“Officer?”

“Lieutenant. Dallas.”

“Kenneth Travers.” Since he offered his hand as he crossed to her, Eve took it. “I’m director here. How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for Robert Lowell.”

“Yes, so Marlee indicated. Mr. Lowell lives in Europe, and has for some years now. While he retains ownership of the organization, he has very little actual involvement with the day-to-day operations.”

“How do you get in touch with him?”

“Through his solicitors in London.”

“I’ll need the name of the firm, and a contact number.”

“Yes, of course.” Travers folded his hands at his waist. “I’m sorry, may I ask what this is in reference to?”

“We believe he’s connected to an ongoing investigation.”

“You’re investigating the murders of the two women who were found recently. Is that correct?”

“That would be right.”

“But Mr. Lowell is in London.” He repeated the information slowly, and with what seemed to be a wealth of patience. “Or traveling. He travels quite extensively, I understand.”

“When did you see him last?”

“Five, perhaps six years ago. Yes, I believe it would be six.”

Eve pulled out the ID print. “Is this Robert Lowell?”

“Why yes, yes it is. I’m very confused, Lieutenant. This is Robert Lowell, the first. He’s been dead for, my goodness, nearly forty years. His portrait hangs in my office.”

“Is that so?” Smart, Eve decided. Some smart son of a bitch. “How about this man?” She took out Yancy’s sketch.

“Yes, that’s the current Mr. Lowell, or a close likeness.” His color receded a bit as he looked from the sketch to Eve. “I saw this displayed on screen, on media reports. I honestly never connected it. I—as I said—I haven’t seen Mr. Lowell in several years, and I never…I simply didn’t see him in this until you asked just now.

“But you see, there has to be some mistake. Mr. Lowell is a very quiet and solitary man. He couldn’t possibly—”

“That’s what they all say. I have a team arriving momentarily, with a warrant. We need to go through this building.”

“But Lieutenant Dallas, I assure you he’s not here.”

“It happens I believe you, but we still go through the building. Where does he stay when he comes to New York?”

“I don’t honestly know. It’s so rare…and it wasn’t my place to ask.” Travers’s fingers moved up to the knot of his somber tie, brushed there twice.

“There was a second location on the Lower West Side during the Urbans.”

“Yes, yes, I believe so. But we’ve been the only location downtown for as long as I’ve been associated with the company.”

“How long would that be?”

“Lieutenant, I’ve been director here for almost fifteen years. I’ve only had direct contact with Mr. Lowell a handful of times at best. He’s made it clear he doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

“I bet. I need the lawyers, Mr. Travers, and any other information on Robert Lowell you have. What do you know about his stepmother?”

“His…I think she was killed during the Urban Wars. As she wasn’t, to my knowledge, involved with the business, the information I have on her is very minimal.”

“Name?”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know it offhand. It might be in our records. Well, this is—this is all very disturbing.”

“Yeah,” Eve said dryly. “Murder can just ruin a perfectly good funeral.”

“I only meant—” Color came into his cheeks, then died away. “I understand you must do your job. But, Lieutenant, we have a memorial in progress for one of the women who was killed. I have to ask you and your men to be discreet. This is an extremely difficult and delicate time for Ms. York’s friends and family.”

“I’m going to make sure Ariel Greenfeld’s friends and family don’t end up in your Tranquility Room anytime soon.”

T hey were as discreet as a half a dozen cops could be, with Feeney and McNab tackling the electronics for any data. Eve stood in the basement prep room with Roarke.

“Not much different from the morgue. Smaller,” she noted, scanning the steel worktables, the gullies on the sides, the hoses and tubes and tools. “I guess he got some of his knowledge of anatomy working here. Might have had some of his early practice sessions on corpses.”

“Charming thought.”

“Yeah, well, being as they were already dead—hopefully—it probably didn’t upset them too much. Oh, and FYI? When my time comes, I don’t want the preservatives and the stylist. You can just build a big fire, slide me in. Then you can throw yourself on the pyre to show your wild grief and constant devotion.”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

“Nothing down here for us. I want the second location that was up and running during the Urbans. Any other properties owned by Lowell, in any of his guises or fronts.”

“I’ll get to it,” Roarke told her.

She drew out her communicator, scowled at the buzzing static. “Reception’s crappy down here. Let’s go up. I want to see if Callendar had any luck with the stepmother.