Strangers in Death (In Death #26)(52)

“At his death, those fifty-five shares are divided between Ben and Ava. Forty to Ben, giving him controlling interest. But fifteen added to Ava’s original two brings her well up in the world. And there are twenty-eight more shares out there. A smart, resourceful woman should be able to get her fingers on a few of those, particularly when her two closest friends hold small percentages. She could bump that share up to thirty, thirty-five without breaking too much of a sweat. That’s a powerful chunk of a company like this. And you know what, Leo, now that we’re just pals chatting, you don’t seem shocked and surprised by what I’m implying here.”

“If you’re asking if I believe Mrs. Anders killed her husband, no, I don’t. She was out of the country, and the nature…the circumstances of his death are a personal humiliation to her. She’s not a woman who enjoys humiliation. If you’re asking if I’m surprised you’d find her capable of killing, again, no, I’m not.”

“I’m a cop. Nobody’s surprised that I think anyone’s capable of killing. Why do you believe she’s capable?”

Leopold was either relaxed enough now, or interested enough to take a seat. “I don’t like her, on a personal level. I find her ruthless, under a veneer of sophistication, under a guise of good works. The good works—this is my opinion—they didn’t matter to her as much as the attention she gained from them, the media and the accolades. She resents Ben because his uncle doted on him, and I think, because people enjoy and admire Ben. She didn’t love her husband.”

“At last!” Eve slapped a hand on her leg. “Somebody says it. Why did you?”

Leopold’s eyes widened at Eve’s reaction. “I—I honestly don’t know. She was invariably affectionate, even attentive. Patient. But every now and then there was a tone, or a look. I can only tell you that I don’t believe she loved him, but she loved being Ava Anders. Everything I’ve said here is off the record. Everything I’ve said here I’ll deny on the record.”

“We’re just talking here. Anything to add, Peabody?”

“You covered a lot. I was just thinking that one of the quickest and surest ways to gain sympathy and support is to be humiliated by the actions of another. A little red-face might be a reasonable trade-off for all the shoulders, all the ‘isn’t she brave’s. It’s a thought.”

Leopold stared. “She was in St. Lucia.”

“Yeah, she was.” Eve nodded, pushed to her feet. “Still, it’s interesting. You might want to mention to Ben that my partner and I came by and were asking you these interesting questions about Ava. Meanwhile, I’d like to have copies of all the files on all the projects she worked on. With Ben, or otherwise.”

“All? For the last sixteen years?”

“No, all the way back to when she started at the company.” She grinned at the way that previously tight jaw dropped. “Might as well be thorough.”

“There will be hundreds. Hundreds of hundreds.”

“Then you’d better get started.”

“This will take a little time. You may want to wait in the client lounge.”

“We’ll come back. An hour enough time?”

“Yes, that should do.”

In the elevator, Peabody turned to Eve. “How did you know he’d be the go-to guy on this?”

“He’s in love with Ben. Knows it’s hopeless, but he can’t help what he feels. First, anything that has to do with Ben, he’s going to pick up on his emotional radar. Second, I figure somebody who’s got all those repressed feelings recognizes when someone else’s feelings are a sham. Third? We got really lucky, pushed the right button at the right time. Contact Edmond Luce. I’m betting he and his wife are still in New York. I want another talk with him.”

11

LUCE AND HIS WIFE REMAINED IN NEW YORK, in residence in one of the ritzy suite’s at Roarke’s Palace Hotel. Linny Luce—Eve wondered how she felt about ending up with that name—opened the door and introduced herself.

She was what Eve thought of as a solid woman, well-built and compact like an efficient car designed for low maintenance and long usage. Thick brown hair with white wings framed a face more handsome than pretty. She wore a long-skirted black suit with sensible low-heeled boots and exquisite pearls. Her handshake was firm and businesslike.

“Edmond is on the ’link with London. He shouldn’t be long. Please sit. I ordered up tea. It’s quite good here. But I expect you know that, it being your husband’s establishment.”

She sat on the fat cream and white cushions of the sofa, poured out. “Milk or lemon?”

Neither was going to make Eve like tea any more than she did. “Just black, thanks.”

“Detective?”

“Milk, one sugar, thanks.”

“This is a difficult day for us. I hope you’ll understand how I mean it when I say your call was a welcome distraction. Edmond and I…we can’t quite fathom what to do with ourselves. After the memorial…Maybe it will be easier after the memorial, after we go back home.”

She sighed, looking toward the wide windows that opened to the towers of New York. “Life goes on, doesn’t it? It has to.”

“You knew Mr. Anders a long time.”