Forgotten in Death(83)

“No. They’re not going to read us into that. I figure the PA knows, Tibble and Whitney, whoever coordinated with the Marshals Service. I’m going to bet the warden wherever they stick him doesn’t know. It’s smart, and I’m good with it. He’ll never get out, never wear a twenty-thousand-dollar suit again, bang another woman. It closed the book on Delgato, and most of it on Alva.”

“The ex-husband.”

“Yeah, but first I should tell you about Bardov. He came to see me.”

Roarke turned his head toward her. His eyes went ice-floe cold. “He came to you?”

“Came to, not at, so stand down, pal. Very polite—old-school—and … it’s natty, right? Why do people say natty for somebody who wears bow ties and linen suits and shiny shoes?”

“I expect because it fits.”

“But what does it mean? Gnats are annoying little bugs. Spelled different, but still … Doesn’t matter. He comes in—nattily—with his bodyguard. Tried the concerned uncle routine, hoping to get a chance to talk to Tovinski. And put the fear of God into him.”

“Which you’d already done.”

“Yeah. I used a conference room.”

She told him, straight through, pausing only when she saw the pond, the bench. And the wine bottle and glasses on it.

“The pond fairies left wine.”

“So they did. Well now, it wouldn’t do to insult them, would it? Let’s go sit and have a glass while you tell me the rest.”

“Not much more, really. He didn’t like it, then you could see him starting to consider the advantages. Kill him, it’s just over. Life in prison, afraid, never quite sure the shiv’s not going to slide between your ribs? It’s a lot more.”

“And he’s getting soft,” Roarke added as they sat.

“So I keep hearing.”

“His name once struck fear in just the saying of it—I know from before I came to New York and in the circles, we’ll say, I ran. Now, though he’s not one I’d easily turn my back on, he’s considered more of…” He thought it through as he took out the wine stopper, poured two glasses. “An elder statesman in his milieu.”

“Milieu.” She rolled her eyes, took the wine. “He didn’t kill the pregnant woman, or order it. He says, and he means it, a pregnant woman’s sacred.”

“Hmm. I can believe that. I don’t know a great deal of him, not in the last decade, we’ll say, as he’s been moving toward that elder statesman for some time. But it’s definitely well-known he’s a family man—not just the mob family. His family.”

“I won’t have any trouble with him, and he won’t have any from me unless he crosses my line.”

“No need for the jet-copter then.”

“I still need to talk to the Singers—the father, the mother, the grandmother. They may know something. Hell, they may have shot the woman, built the wall, poured the concrete.”

Roarke smiled, tapped his glass to hers. “Good luck there.”

“Garrett Wicker comes first. He’s coming to New York, meeting me at Central at nine sharp. He thinks, to pick up Alva’s books from when they were married. One cop doing another cop a little favor.”

“Is that how you played him?”

“Didn’t have time to read the books, case broke fast, blah blah. Feels like he should have those. Siblings are entitled to her personal effects, but and so on.”

She took a long drink. “He was easy to play because it’s all about him. Just him. He never asked how she was killed. He’s a cop, the ex, but he never asked how she died. Never asked what she was doing in New York, nothing. Not a single question about her.”

She drank again, looked at the fat white flowers floating on the water. “I’ll close Alva’s book tomorrow. Then I’m going to hound DeWinter until she gives me something on Jane Doe.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll make her work faster.”

“Shut up.” She elbowed him, then leaned her head on his shoulder. “I met her kid today—DeWinter’s.”

“Did you?”

“She’s a little scary. I mean, most kids are, as I see it, but this one bumps it up a few levels. She’s beautiful—I mean like wow, is-that-a-real-kid beautiful. And she’s full of questions. She read the Icove book. She’s just a kid.”

“As I remember her from the few times we met—some time ago—some of that scary comes from brains. She’s terrifyingly smart and, with the work her mother does, I imagine understands much of the world already. The Icove story would likely fascinate her.”

“Tell me about it.” She sipped more wine. “This is nice. It’s nice to just be here.”

He joined their free hands. “Let’s just be here awhile longer.”

After a while longer, they took the wine with them as they walked back to the house.

And Eve thought of the Marriage Rules.

“You should tell me about your day and stuff.”

“No, I really shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it consisted of meetings, negotiations, progress reports, a small, easily fixable manufacturing glitch out of Cincinnati, a less easily but still fixable data drop in Tokyo, considerable revisions to the Sea and Space Museum on the Olympus Resort, a preview of the presentation for the rollout of the remodeled and redesigned Typhoon All-Terrain and other ’62 vehicles, some key staff adjustment issues in Detroit—and on Vegas II—and so on.”