Apprentice in Death (In Death #43)(49)

The doorman hustled to the lady with the dog, took a safari’s worth of shopping bags from the driver. The doorman glanced toward Eve as she pushed out of the A-T, started to speak.

He stopped, gave a brisk nod as he juggled bags and hustled back to the door. “Lieutenant Dallas, I’ll be right with you.”

“I don’t need you,” she said, beating the lady and dog to the door, striding straight through.

“Charlie,” the woman said, “will you just have everything sent up? Mimi is exhausted.”

“Absolutely, Ms. Mannery. Lieutenant.”

“Nadine Furst, expecting me. Leave my vehicle where it is.”

Eve walked away from him, then realized she didn’t have a clue.

Ground level soared toward vaulted ceilings where vines twined around white beams. Light sparkled on white marble floors from huge chandeliers fashioned from twists of that aged silver and balls of rich blue glass.

At a scan she spotted a bank, three boutiques, restaurants, a bakery and a gourmet food mart, a business center.

“Security will clear you right up.” Charlie the doorman, still buried in shopping bags, hurried up to her. “Ms. Furst’s penthouse can be accessed from elevator bank C—any car.”

Eve headed to C, past a translucent wall of falling water that fell musically into a narrow pool banked with lush red flowers.

Eve stepped into the elevator, scowled when a disembodied voice proclaimed: Two occupants cleared for Penthouse A. Please enjoy your visit and the rest of your day.

“Yeah, because it’s been a fucking day at the beach so far.”

“We know where they’re not, so that’s something,” Peabody muttered as she worked on her PPC. “Okay, got the assistant manager at Boomer’s, one Alyce Ellison.”

“Have her brought in,” Eve snapped as the elevator doors open. “I want her in protective custody now.”

“Who?” Nadine demanded, standing in a wide foyer flanked by matching pedestal tables holding blue orchids.

Eve had said no cameras, but as usual, Nadine Furst stood camera ready in a sharp suit of bold red, her streaky blond hair swept back from her foxy face. Eyes of clever green held Eve’s gaze.

“Now, Peabody.”

Behind Nadine the living area spread—sparcely furnished as yet, with glossy floors the color of the roasted chestnuts that had scented the street. A wall of windows opened the living space to a wide terrace, and a spectacular view of the city.

“I don’t have much time,” Eve began.

“Nice to see you, too.”

“Nadine.”

“Not much time, understood, but since you’ve been dodging me all day, I’d like a little room.”

“Not dodging you. Dodging media period, and for a reason. I’m here now because I’m going to be part of a media conference in about an hour. I don’t have much room to give.”

“Got room for coffee while we do this?”

“God, yes.”

“Follow me.”

Nadine moved briskly—Eve noticed she wore house skids with the suit—across the living space, through a dining area with a long, slick black table centered with a big glass basket in orchid blue and surrounded by black chairs with blue seat cushions. Into a silver-and-white kitchen, complete with breakfast nook in a window alcove and a massive center island.

“You don’t even cook.”

“I can if I have to, and why not have a fabulous space for catering? It so happens I have Dallas blend stocked.”

“What blend?”

“Don’t you even know what you drink?” Nadine asked as she slid open a black panel to an AutoChef.

“Roarke’s coffee.”

“Which has several blends. Yours is Dallas.”

“Huh. Peabody, can you use that wall screen?”

“Can do.”

“Put up the ID photos while we get this coffee.”

Nadine’s fingers paused on the controls of the AutoChef. “You’ve ID’d the shooters?”

“Coffee, program coffee,” Eve ordered, now fairly desperate for a hit. “Former Tactical Officer Reginald Mackie and his daughter, Willow Mackie, age fifteen.”

“Holy shit.” Nadine yanked open a drawer for a notebook, a recorder.

“No recorder, not yet. Suspects are still at large.”

Not one to stand on ceremony where coffee was concerned, Eve opened the AC herself when it signaled, took out a white mug of black coffee.

“They’ve vacated Mackie’s known residence. The minor suspect’s mother, stepfather, and half brother are in protective custody.”

“How did you ID the suspects?”

“Good police work. Look, you’ll get what I can give you now; you’ll get what I can give generally at the media conference.”

Eve gulped down coffee, felt her system revive. And paced. “Pictures on screen, Peabody.” Nadine passed Peabody a coffee regular. “You can take notes, Nadine, but no recordings until the official conference.”

Quickly, succinctly, Eve outlined what she could, still pacing, still gulping coffee.

“You believe Willow Mackie is a willing participant in the killings.”

“Here’s some off-the-record until I clear it.” Eve waited for Nadine’s nod. “I think she’s the shooter, and I believe—bullshit,” she corrected. “I know she has a secondary hit list of her own. For whatever reason, his own physical or emotional state, or the fact he’s a twisted, vengeful lunatic, I think Mackie’s given his daughter the green.”