Origin in Death (In Death #21)(33)

"Then she has to ..." Eve leaned over until her face and Peabody's were nearly on a level. And with the pen she'd palmed gave her partner a light jab at the heart.

"Jeez!" Peabody jerked back. "No poking. I thought, for a really weird minute, you were going to kiss me or something. Then you ... Oh."

"Yeah. The angle of the wound. She standing, he's sitting, but with her height factored in, his seated height calculated, she leaned over him. She came from this angle, he turned in the chair-automatically-just like you did. Got the weapon palmed. He never saw it. He's watching her face.

"She shoves it in him, and it's done. He knew her, Peabody. One of his placements, I give you odds. Maybe he even helped her get the fake ID, maybe that's part of the service. She could still be a pro, but it feels less and less like a work for hire."

"The son didn't know her. I'd give you odds on that."

"Didn't recognize is different from didn't know."

Frowning now, Eve circled the room. "Why doesn't he have any data here? Here, where he works two or three days a week. Why doesn't he have any of those coded files in his office, in his power seat?"

"If it's a sideline, maybe he wanted to keep it on the side."

"Yeah." But Eve studied the desk, the file drawers in it had been locked. She had those files now, but that didn't mean they were complete.

The door opened. Will Icove strode in. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Our job. This is a crime scene. What are you doing here?"

"This is my father's office. I don't know what you're looking for here, or why you seem more interested in smearing my father's good name than apprehending his killer, but-"

"Apprehending his killer is the goal," Eve countered. "To do that we have to look at and for things that may not please you. Was the woman who called herself Dolores Nocho-Alverez your father's patient?"

"You've looked through his records. Have you found her?"

"I don't believe we've seen all of his records." Eve opened Peabody's file case, removed the photo of Dolores. "Take another look."

"I've never seen her before." But he didn't look at the still Eve held jut. "I don't know why she killed my father, or why you seem bent on blaming him for his own death."

"You're wrong. I blame the person who put the knife in him for his death." Eve replaced the picture. "It's the why I question, and if he and his killer had a history, that speaks to the why. What was he working on: What had he been working on, privately, for so long?"

"My father's work was revolutionary. And it's documented. Whoever this woman was she was unbalanced, obviously unbalanced. If you rind her, which I've come to doubt you will, she'll be found to be men tally defective. In the meantime, my family and I are in mourning. My wife and children have gone to our home in the Hamptons, and I'll join them tomorrow. We need privacy, a time to retreat and finalize plans for my father's memorial."

He paused, seemed to struggle with his emotions. "I don't know anything about your sort of work. I'm told you're very competent. Trusting that, I'm going to wait until we come back to the city. If at that time, there's been no progress, and you've continued to investigate my father rather than his death, I intend to use whatever influence I have to have this matter transferred to another investigator."

"That's your privilege."

He nodded, moved back to the door. With his hand on the knob, he drew a breath. "He was a great man," he said, and left the room.

"He's nervous," Peabody observed. "Grieving-I don't think he's faking that-but nervous, too. We've pushed on a sensitive spot."

"Sent the wife and kiddies away," Eve mused. "Good time to clean out anything incriminating. We're not going to get that search order in time to stop him, not if he moves right away."

"He wipes data, EDD will dig it out."

"Spoken like an e-groupie." But Eve nodded. "We'll push for the warrant."

She was still waiting for it at end of shift, and as a last resort hauled Nadine's bakery box into the cell-like office of an assistant prosecuting attorney.

APAs, Eve noted, didn't fare much better than cops when it came to work environment.

Cher Reo had a rep for being hungry. Eve earmarked her because if the brownies didn't turn the tide, the prospect of having part in a scandal that would generate days of screen time should.

Despite the sunny sweep of silky hair, the baby-doll blue eyes and curvy pink lips, Cher was known to be a piranha. She was wearing a stone-gray skirt-demurely to her knees-and a simple white shirt. The matching jacket was draped neatly over the back of her chair.

Her desk was covered with files, discs, notes. She drank coffee out of a super-sized to-go cup.

Eve waltzed in, dropped the candy-pink box on the desk. And watched Cher's nostrils flare.

"What?" She had a little Southern in her voice, like a dusting of sugar. Eve had yet to decide if it was genuine.

"Brownies."

Cher leaned a little closer to the box, sniffed. Shut her eyes. "I'm on a diet."

"Triple chocolate."

"Whore." Lifting the box a fraction, Cher peeked, groaned. "Filthy whore. What do I have to do for them?"