Delusion in Death (In Death #35)(61)

“And how did Joe get along with the rest of you, the others in the office?”

“Joe? He was a go-to guy. If you needed an answer, an opinion, a little help, you could count on him.”

“No problem with you coming in, snagging a corner office?”

“Joe wasn’t like that.” He spread his hands. His wrist unit—platinum, she’d bet her ass—winked. “Listen, some people might think I got a leg up, but the fact is I’m good at what I do. I’ve proven myself.” He leaned forward now, exuding sincerity. “I don’t flaunt my connection with the top. I don’t have to.”

“This major campaign, no problems with you taking point? Making the presentation solo.”

“Like I said, I brought in the client. I don’t look for special treatment, but I don’t step back when I’ve earned something. I don’t understand what this has to do with what happened to Joe.”

“Just getting a feel for the dynamics around here,” she said easily. “You’d understand that, getting a feel for how people work—alone and together. What they look for, what they want, how they work to get it.”

His smile came back. “I’m in the wrong business if I don’t. It’s competitive, that’s the nature of the beast and what keeps things vital and fresh. But we know how to work together to create the best tools for the client.”

“No friction?”

“There’s always a certain amount of friction. It’s part of being competitive.” He glanced toward Roarke. “We’re one of the top marketing firms in New York for a reason. I’m sure Roarke would agree that a certain amount of friction brings the fire needed to create and satisfy.”

Roarke spared Vann the briefest glance, said, “Hmmm.”

“Were you and Joe friendly outside work?”

“We didn’t really travel in the same circles, but we got along well. Our boys are about the same age, so we had that in common. His kid …” He trailed off a moment, looked away. “He’s got good kids. A nice place in Brooklyn. I took my son, Chase, to a cookout there last summer. The boys hit it off. God.”

“And Carly Fisher?”

“Nancy’s girl.” He looked down at his hands. “I didn’t really know her. To speak to, of course, but she’d just been promoted, and we hadn’t worked together yet. Nancy’s just sick about what happened to her.”

“Anyone else you’re friendly with here—outside the office?”

“If you mean romantically, that’s sticky. I try to avoid tangling work with relationships.”

“Okay.” Eve got to her feet. “We’ll finish up in the conference room.”

“I hope I was helpful. I want to help—anything. All of us want to help.”

Eve kept her eyes level with his. “I’m sure you do.”

12

Weaver and Callaway had their heads together when Eve walked back in. They each gave a quick, guilty start, then shifted in their chairs.

“Don’t get up.” Eve flicked a hand, then chose a seat at their end of the table. “A couple of questions. Was it Joseph Cattery’s habit to stay later at the bar, alone?”

“I … Not that I know of,” Weaver began, glanced to Callaway.

“We grabbed after-work drinks there now and then,” Callaway stated. “Sometimes he stayed on, sometimes we left together. He was friendly with some of the regulars, so he might stay, hang with someone else.”

“You left last, Mr. Callaway. Was he with anyone else, or talking to anyone else?”

“The bartender. They always got into sports. But I didn’t notice him ‘with’ anyone, if that’s what you mean. We blew off some steam. I left. I was beat. I think I told you yesterday, he wanted another drink, made some noises about going for food, but I just wanted to get home and crash. I wish I’d taken him up on the dinner idea. We wouldn’t be here now.”

“There was nothing odd in his behavior when you left him?”

“No.” He shook his head, picked up a glass of water but didn’t drink. “I’ve thought and thought about those last few minutes, trying to remember all the little details. It was just usual, just another day. It was all small talk and shop talk. He was tired, too, but he just wasn’t ready to go home.”

She reached in her file bag, pulled out Macie Snyder’s photo.

“Did you see this woman at the bar?”

“I don’t …” His brows knitted together. “I’m not sure. She looks familiar.”

“I saw her.” Weaver took the photo. “I’ve seen her in the bar a few times. I’m sure I saw her in there yesterday.”

“Must be why she looks familiar.”

Vann angled his head. “Oh yeah. She was at a table with another woman and a couple of guys. Lots of laughing and flirting going on.”

“Okay. How about this woman?”

She offered the photo of Jeni Curve.

“Jeni,” Nancy said immediately. “She delivers for Café West. She’s up here nearly every day for someone. Was she—”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“God.” Breath hitching, Weaver squeezed her eyes shut. “Dear God.”