Strangers in Death (In Death #26)(38)

Eve thought: Crap.

“They’ve served on several committees together. In any case, when my wife contacted Mrs. Anders to offer her condolences, Mrs. Anders expressed considerable concern over how the current media tone will affect not only her late husband’s reputation, the business, but the charitable programs associated with Anders Worldwide. I’m in the position of asking you to assist in damping down the media.”

“With all respect, Chief Tibble, how do you propose I do that? It’s not Code Blue, and if it was termed such at this point, if we instigated a media blackout now, it would only feed the beast.”

“I agree. Is there any area of your investigation at this point that would give them a different bone to gnaw on?”

“I believe the circumstances under which the victim was found was a setup. But if I toss that bone out, I would jeopardize the investigation, and alert the suspect to the line I’m pursuing.”

“You have a suspect?”

“I do. The widow.”

Tibble let out a sigh, tipped back his head and looked at the ceiling. “Hell. How—” He cut himself off. “Sorry, Jack, this is your area.”

“Lieutenant, explain how a woman who was several thousand miles away at the time of the murder heads the top of your list of suspects?”

“It’s not confirmed she was in St. Lucia, Commander. There was no video on the transmission from the house manager. I’ve sent that transmission and a sample of Mrs. Anders’s voice from an interview this morning to the lab for voice print comparison. Even if that confirms her alibi, she’s involved. She’s part of it. She’s lying, Commander. She’s lying,” she repeated, looking back at the chief. “She tells your wife she’s concerned about the fallout from the media. The fallout revealing her husband engaged in extramarital sex, which included bondage, scarfing, but the widow is the only person interviewed who confirms those allegations.”

“Arguably,” Whitney said, “the wife would know her husband’s sexual proclivities while others don’t.”

“Yeah, and that’s something she counted on. She’s wrong, Commander. I don’t have it solid yet, but I know she’s wrong. The staging’s wrong. It’s too elaborate, too…fussy,” she said for a lack of better. “Whoever did it knew the house, the security, knew Anders’s habits. There were little mistakes, but for the most part, it was well planned. Whoever did it wanted to humiliate him, to open him to the very media frenzy that’s happening. Mrs. Anders is an expert in PR. Just like she knows that if she plays this right, after the jokes about her die down, she’ll come out golden. Who gets the sympathy, the support, the understanding? She’ll be the victim, and she’ll be the one squaring her shoulders and going on.”

“Are you saying she did this for the publicity?” Whitney demanded.

“No, sir, but it’s a side benefit she’d be aware of, and will find a way to exploit.

“It wasn’t a stranger, Commander, it wasn’t a pro, and it wasn’t an accident. That leaves me with Ava Anders.”

“Then prove it,” Whitney told her.

“Yes, sir. I have Roarke on as expert consultant, analyzing all the financials, looking for any hidden accounts.”

“If anyone could find them.”

“Yes, sir,” she repeated. “I intend to run a deeper background check on Mrs. Anders, and interview her first husband, as well as other friends and associates of hers and the victim’s.”

She rose. “Regarding the media, Chief Tibble, Detective Peabody will be appearing on Now this evening. I can’t speak for Nadine Furst, but I do have knowledge she knew the victim and liked him. Respected him.”

“Why Peabody,” Whitney demanded, “and not you?”

“Because, Commander, she needs a shove into the deep end of the pool. And Nadine is very fond of Peabody. That doesn’t mean she won’t push or dig, but she won’t eat her alive. And, in my opinion, sir, Detective Peabody can and will handle herself.”

“If she f**ks up, Lieutenant?” Tibble smiled. “You’ll be the one dealing with my wife.”

“So noted. Actually, it might be helpful for me to speak with her, if you don’t object.”

“Go right ahead. But fair warning. She’s feeling very protective of Mrs. Anders at the moment.”

Varying approaches on interviewing the wife of the Chief of Police occupied her mind all the way back to Homicide. Diplomacy could be key, and that particular key tended to go slippery in her fingers. But she’d hold it steady. Next came the trick of interviewing a cop’s wife—the top cop’s wife—without letting her suspect you suspected the woman she was “feeling very protective of.”

Just have to pull it off, Eve thought. That’s why they paid her the medium bucks.

“Lady! Yo, lady!”

It took her a minute, but she made the voice, and the small package it came from. Coffee-black skin, vivid green eyes, a curly high-top of hair. The boy hauled the same battered suitcase—approximately the size of Staten Island—he’d hauled in December when he’d been hustling the fake cashmere scarves inside it near the splatted body of a jumper on Broadway.

“Didn’t I tell you before I’m not a lady.”