Strangers in Death (In Death #26)(6)

“Do you want to stop by and see—”

“No.”

Peabody rolled her eyes at Eve’s back as they stepped into the huge, glossy lobby with its rivers of flowers, its moving maps, its busy shops. “I just figured since we were right here—”

“Why are we right here, Peabody? And if you roll your eyes behind me again, I’m going to poke them out with a stick.”

“You don’t have a stick.”

“There’s a tree right over there. I’ll get one.”

Peabody sighed. “We’re right here because we’re investigating a murder.”

“And do we think Roarke killed Anders?”

“No.”

Eve stopped at Security, started to badge the guard on duty. And he smiled toothily. “Lieutenant Dallas. You can go right up.”

“I’m not going there. Anders Worldwide.”

He tapped his computer screen. “Twenty-first and-second floors. Reception on twenty-one. You’ll want the first bank of elevators. Do you want me to call up?”

“No, thanks.”

Eve called the car, stepped on, ordered the twenty-first floor.

“Do you think Roarke knew Anders?”

“Probably.”

“Could be handy.”

“Maybe.” Eve had nearly reached the point where having Roarke know so many damn people wasn’t completely annoying. “The run said Anders is worth about half a billion including his controlling interest in Anders Worldwide.” Hooking her thumbs in her pockets, Eve tapped her fingers on her thighs. “That’s a lot of motives for murder. Add sex, you’ve pretty much got it all. Greed, jealousy, gain, revenge.”

“The guy was practically asking for it.”

Eve grinned. “Let’s find out.” Her face sober again, she walked through the open elevator doors.

Behind a long red counter, three receptionists wore headsets and appeared very busy. Even so, the center one, a dark-skinned brunette, offered a beaming smile. “Good morning! How can I help you?”

“I need to see whoever’s in charge.”

“Which department are you—Oh.” She broke off, blinking rapidly at Eve’s badge when it slapped on the slick red counter.

“All of them. Who’s the top dog under Thomas A. Anders?”

“This is my first week. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Frankie!”

“What is it, Syl?” The man at her left glanced over, then down at the badge. “Is there something I can help you with, ah…”

“Lieutenant. I need to speak with Thomas Anders’s second-in-command, or whoever’s highest in the pecking order and in house now.”

“That would be Mr. Forrest. Benedict Forrest. He’s in a meeting, but—”

“Not anymore.”

“Right. If you could give me a minute to contact his admin. He’ll come down and escort you upstairs.”

“I can get upstairs myself. Tell the admin to get Forrest out of the meeting.” Eve got back in the elevator, rolled her shoulders. “That was fun.”

“Pretty bitchy.”

“That’s what was fun about it.”

As Eve stepped off again, a stick-thin woman in high, stick-thin heels came bolting through a set of glass doors. “Ah, officers! If you’d come with me.”

“You’re the admin?”

“No, I’m the AA. Assistant administrator. I’ll take you to Mr. Walsh’s office.”

“Who would be the administrative assistant, rather than the assistant administrator.”

“Exactly.”

“How does anybody get business done when they have to translate all these titles?”

“Ah, Mr. Walsh is letting Mr. Forrest know you’re here. Apparently Reception didn’t get the nature of the business you’re here to discuss.”

“No, they didn’t.”

The AA opened her mouth, obviously thought better of it, and closed it. They wound their way through a busy hive of offices and cubes, then made a forty-five-degree turn into the efficient space of—his name was engraved on a small onyx plaque beside the door—Leopold Walsh.

His workstation was a long, free-standing counter in sleek black holding the usual necessities of comp, data and communication unit, and little else. A second counter ran along the wall to support a laser fax, a secondary computer. A third counter served as a refreshment center with AutoChef and friggie. A trio of visitors’ chairs ranged together, backless cubes in pristine white.

The only color in the room came from the showy plant with its vivid red blossoms spearing up from the middle windowsill of the generous triple glass.

Supplies, she supposed, and any necessary paperwork would be tucked away in the cabinetry built into the wall.

Altogether she preferred the miserly space and tattered style of her office at Central.

“If you’d like to have a seat, Mr. Walsh should be—” The AA glanced at the door with obvious relief lighting her face. “Mr. Walsh.”

“Thank you, Delly.” He stepped in, an imposing man with dark chocolate skin in a pin-striped suit. His hair formed a skullcap that set off a striking face of sharp angles. Deep-set eyes, the color of good, strong coffee, flicked over Peabody, fastened on Eve. “Leopold Walsh. Lieutenant…”