Forgotten in Death(103)

When he followed her in, he took a look at her board. “Pretty young thing, and a baby, too.”

“Yeah. Problem, Baxter?”

“Not really. Trueheart and I are clear, so if you need any legwork, we’re available.”

She edged a hip on the corner of her desk. He hadn’t needed her office to volunteer. “We’re covered, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“The boy and I, we’re heading out for a brew, maybe some chow. There’s a mosque a couple blocks from where we’re going. We could take that one on the way.”

“All right. Computer, print out sketches A, B, and C from current file.”

Acknowledged. Working …

“And you wanted to come in here to tell me this?”

“The reason we’re heading out for a brew, maybe chow, isn’t just because we’re clear. Trueheart’s girl’s taking a transfer to East Washington—comes with a promotion.”

Baxter slid his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit pants. “He’s bummed about it. They’re making noises about long-distance relationship, but that’s not going to fly long. It’s not everlasting love, but he’s bummed. He could use a little busywork.”

“Tell me he’s not thinking about following her down there.”

“Oh hell no. His job’s here, his mom’s here, his life’s here. That wasn’t ever on the table.”

“When does she leave?”

“Left this morning. It’s why he’s low right now. So busywork.”

She handed him the sketches. “Get busy. You were a good trainer to him, and you’re a good partner now. Don’t get him too drunk.”

Baxter grinned. “Just a little drunk. Trust me, it doesn’t take much with my boy.”

She’d been right, Eve thought, to assign the green, earnest, upright Trueheart to Baxter. And Baxter had the way of systematically rubbing off the green without losing too much of the earnest and none of the upright.

Eve looked back at the board. “I’m right about you, too. Just need a little more time.”

She gathered what she needed to take some of that time at home. The rumble of thunder and the lightning flash outside her window reminded her to grab the topper on her way out.

She ran into Mira on the glide.

“Leaving on time?”

“Looks like it. You, too.”

“Sternly scheduled. I’m meeting Dennis and some friends for drinks. Just a few blocks from here, so I planned to walk.”

She smiled as more thunder rolled. “Not anymore. I’m calling my car service. I’d never get a cab in this.”

“I’ll give you a lift.”

“Are you sure? Do you have time?”

“Yes, and yes. Plus, I can run something by you on the way.”

They switched to the elevators for the garage levels, and Eve found the downside of leaving on time when they squeezed in.

“Interviews in Hudson Valley on my Jane Doe. Elinor Singer and J. B. Singer are both lying.”

“About your victims?”

“They both know something. I’m not sure about Marvinia Singer. She struck as straight, but some lie better than others. I think they both—mother and son—knew about the body, the wall, the cover-up. And may have been part of the murder.”

“Motive?”

“J.B. liked, at least for a stretch of time, young side pieces.”

“Ah.”

“A marital separation, likely more about his mother—she’s a piece of work—went down during the period my victim would have been pregnant, would have been killed.”

“Can’t trust a guy who’ll step out on you,” came the opinion of a female uniform behind Eve. “Take my word.”

“There’s that.” Relieved, Eve muscled off on her level, waited for Mira to exit more elegantly. “He’s got some minor dings—party style. Reckless, stupid shit. The ‘I’m rich so I can do what I want’ shit. It fits him like a tailored suit.”

“Violence?”

“Not really, unless we count a martini olive in the eye. But he’s a liar, he’s a cheat, he’s—what’s that word?—feckless.”

“So.” Mira slid into Eve’s car. “The theory is, a rich older man with a history of extramarital activity has a fling, an affair, a relationship with a young woman—one young enough to be his daughter—resulting in pregnancy. From the personality profiles of the two of them, I’d say fling on his side and the illusion of a relationship on hers.”

“Agreed. Where to?”

“Oh, Du Vin. One of Roarke’s—and one of your earlier crime scenes.”

“Yeah, I know where it is. Maybe she worked for Singer, or he met her at a party, a bar, whatever. Then she’s knocked up. Maybe he makes some promises, gives her money, makes some threats—whatever he thinks will cover him. Covering himself would be priority.”

She pushed out into the hard rain and insane traffic.

“She was nearly full term,” Mira said. “Why would he wait so long?”

That one kept circling around in Eve’s brain.

“Maybe she believed the promises, took the money, or believed the threats. But now reality’s setting in. Pretty soon the baby’s going to be that reality, and she’s practically a kid herself. She wants him to make good on the promises, cough up more money, or she’s going to hit him with threats of her own. Meanwhile, he’s trying to get back with his wife—the timing works. He can’t afford some, you know, indiscretion to get in the way.”