Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(100)

She paused, and pleasure moved onto her face. “And Dallas, as the client hyped this as such a special deal, expense no object, the champagne’s from a limited edition label and vintage. They’re freaking numbered. He took numbers forty-eight, forty-nine, and fifty from the private reserve he kept back for special clients.”

Eve’s smile spread slowly, a reflection of Peabody’s pleasure. “Maybe I do love you.”

“Aww.”

“We find one of those bottles, we’ll nail them with it. Clean that report up. You’ll be presenting that to the ADA and the commander in a couple hours.”

“Oh, jeez.”

“Tag Feeney, and tell him when and where. I want a solid report from him for same. I want everybody ready and in the conference room on time. No excuses. I’ll set the commander and Reo for ten minutes after. Brief Carmichael—both of them. I’ll send you a report on Jonas as soon as I put it in order. Now go away. Shut the door.”

Before it shut, she was contacting Whitney’s office. She locked him in, then Reo, then moved onto Mira. If she’d had time, she’d have cheered when the temp came on-screen.

“Oh, hi, Lieutenant. Gee, the doctor’s in a session right now.”

“I’m going to send her a number of files, starting now and over the next hour. I need her to give them her immediate attention, and report to conference room C, Homicide Division, with her conclusions, at fourteen hundred and fifteen.”

“Oh, well, golly, I think she has an appointment at—”

“This is priority one. Commander Whitney and an ADA will also be attending. Doctor Mira’s presence is mandatory.”

“Oh, gosh. I’ll cancel her appointment, and—”

“Good. If she has any questions, she can contact me.”

Cutting the temp off, Eve shot Mira the report Peabody had written on Delaflote, the reports her other detectives had written on Jonas. She pushed through the ME’s reports, the labs, the prelim from the sweepers.

Then she cleared her head and began to write her own on each.

Twice she rose for more coffee, to check her time lines, to consult the computer on the time required to travel the distances from Dudley’s home to each crime scene—on foot, and by transpo. She brought up her map, studied it, then confirmed with the computer the most direct routes to and from each.

With nearly an hour left, she loaded up everything she could carry to take it to the conference room. She turned out of the office just as Jenkinson turned toward it.

“If you’ve got something, walk and talk.”

“Let me give you a hand.”

“I got it. It’s balanced.”

“Okay.” He fell into step with her. “We checked with the vic—our vic’s—usual car service. They took her to Dudley’s, and she told the driver she’d contact them for a time of return, which was booked to include travel home, then to the park location and back, or—depending on the time—straight to the park. She left it open.”

“Figuring if the party was a dud, she could take off, go home awhile before her appointment. Okay.”

“Yeah, but what she did was cancel pickup altogether, about two A.M.”

Eve felt that slow smile cross her face again. “Because she copped another ride.”

“We checked with every freaking legit cab company in Manhattan. Nobody picked up a fare at that location between two and three A.M. And nobody dropped off a fare between those times at the logical entrance to the park for the Great Hill. We gotta figure—”

“She got a lift,” Eve finished, and jerked her head at the conference room door, “with Dudley.”

“That’s our take.” He opened the door, followed her in. “So far Carmichael and the new guy haven’t hit on anybody, but they’re asking if anybody saw the vic and Dudley hanging together between the two A.M. and the two-thirty mark.”

“Okay.” She dumped her things on the conference table. “She sure as hell didn’t walk from the party to that point in the park in those shoes. No reason to cancel her pickup unless she had alternate transpo, and we’ve covered she didn’t book alternate transpo.”

A lot of other guests at the party, she thought, a lot of other alternatives for a lift. That would be the argument, but she would damn well knock it down.

“We’re going to push for a warrant to search all Dudley’s vehicles for her DNA. We find her prints, a stray hair, it adds more weight.”

“I think the other Carmichael hit something, because he started making those noises in his throat like he does.”

“Yeah, the grunting. Good.”

“Reineke gave Dickhead a shove, and Dickhead came through. It’s an Australian deal—the whip—made out of freaking kangaroo.”

“The hopping things, with the pouches?”

“Yeah. Freaking kangaroo. It’s seven feet long, eleven with the handle or grip, and that’s lead-loaded steel. Dickhead said it had a coating of some sort of leather cream, and he’s working on IDing the brand, and he’s still working on dating it, but says it ain’t no antique or anything. He’s saying the sucker’s handmade. So we’ve got Trueheart checking out Aussie whip makers. Dickhead comes through with the rest, that’ll narrow it.