Memory in Death (In Death #22)(35)

"Good." Peabody's eyes went wide. "That's good. Um, did you have contact with Ms. Lombard after she left your office on Friday?"

"None. The lieutenant and I spent the evening at home on Friday, and she and I hosted a large holiday party on Saturday at our home. We were quite busy throughout the day with preparations. There are also security discs for that period, as we had numerous outside contractors in our home. Captain Feeney will also retrieve those. And, of course, Saturday evening we were among more than two hundred and fifty friends, acquaintances, and business colleagues from approximately eight p.m. until after three in the morning. I'm happy to provide you with the guest list."

"We appreciate it. Did you have any physical contact with Trudy Lombard, at any time?"

His voice remained neutral, but he allowed just a hint of disgust to show on his face. "I shook her hand when we met. That was quite enough."

"Could you tell me why you and the lieutenant were at the West Side Hotel this morning?"

"We'd decided it would be best if the lieutenant spoke to Lombard face-to-face, to inform her that she—my wife—had no desire for further contact, and that neither of us intended to pay for the privilege of choice."

Peabody nodded. "Thank you. Again, we appreciate your cooperation in this matter. Interview end."

She heaved out a breath, went comically limp in her chair. "Thank God that's over."

He reached over to pat her hand. "How'd we do?"

"She'll let us know, believe me, but my take? You were forthcoming, articulate, and gave the details. You're alibied up to your gonads— Oh, sorry."

"Not a problem, I like knowing that part of my anatomy is protected." He glanced over as the door opened. "Now this one may bring out the rubber hoses. But I could learn to like it."

"Why didn't you tell me you'd contacted Feeney?" Eve demanded.

"I believe I just did."

"You could've—never mind. Peabody, let's start those runs, and do a quick check of the other guests at the hotel. I'll be a minute."

"See you later," Peabody said to Roarke.

"I'm going to—"

"Be a while." Roarke finished Eve's sentence. "I can find my way home."

"It's good you did this. Good it's done and out of the way. She could've pushed a little harder, but she got the details, and that's what counts."

"All right, then. About what you owe me? I've got my price."

She pursed her lips in thought. "We've probably got some rubber hoses in the basement somewhere."

And he laughed. "There's my girl. Go by Mira's when you're done."

"I don't know how long—"

"It won't matter. Go talk to Mira, then come home to me."

"Where else would I go?"

"The gifts? They're in the boot of your car."

"That's trunk in the U. S. of A., mick-boy."

"Right." He grabbed her arms, yanked her forward, kissed her good and hard. "I'll be waiting."

He would, she thought. She had someone waiting for her, and that was her miracle.

* * *

At her desk with an oversized mug of black coffee, Eve studied the official data on Lombard, Bobby.

Not Robert, she noted. He was two years her senior, the product of a legal cohab that had dissolved when he'd been two. His father, when she did a cross-run, was listed as Gruber, John, married since 2046, and residing in Toronto.

Bobby himself had graduated from business college and been employed at Plain Deal Real Estate from that time until eighteen months earlier, when he'd gone into partnership with a Densil K. Easton to form L and E Realtors, in Copper Cove, Texas. He'd married Kline, Zana, a year later.

No criminal.

Zana was twenty-eight, originally from Houston. No paternity listed on her record. She'd been, apparently, raised by her mother, who had died in a vehicular accident when Zana was twenty-four.

She, too, had gone to a business college, and was listed as a C.P.A. One, Eve noted, who'd been employed by L and E Realtors almost from the onset.

So she moved to Copper Cove, and married the boss, Eve thought.

No criminal, no previous marriage or cohab.

Officially, they came off as what they seemed, she decided. A couple of simple, ordinary people who'd had some extreme bad luck.

Finally, she pulled up Trudy Lombard.

She skimmed over what she already knew, and lifted her eyebrows at the employment record.

She'd been a health care assistant, a receptionist in a manufacturing firm. She'd applied for professional mother status after the birth of her son, and had worked part-time—reporting an income just under the legal limit to retain that status.

Retail clerk, Eve scanned. Three different employers. Data cruncher, two employers. Domestic coordinator? What the hell was that? Whatever it was, it hadn't lasted either.

She'd also lived in four different places, all in Texas, over a six-year period.

On the grift, Eve thought. That's what the pattern told her. Run the game, wring it dry, move on.

She'd applied for, tested for, and been approved for foster parenting. Had applied and been granted the retention of full pro-mom status under the fostering waiver—make every penny count, Eve thought. Austin area, Eve noted, for a full year, before she'd moved again, applied again, been approved again.