Golden in Death(34)

“Well, we’ll have that swim, then we’ll go up, have a drink and some food. And you’ll tell me.”

Yeah, she thought, she would. Because that always worked, too.

When she sat with him over that meal, she gave him a rundown of her day.

“Difficult, isn’t it,” he commented, “to sit with the newly grieving and ask them questions about the one they’ve lost.”

“It’s part of the job.”

He just looked at her.

“A really hard part of the job,” she conceded. “The upside of it in this case is, unless I’m missing something, the spouse, the family, they’re clear.”

“You don’t miss much.”

“The same with his staff, with the staff and volunteers at Louise’s clinic. There’s just nothing there.”

“Which takes you to your random-specific assassination by a mad scientist.”

“Yeah.” She poked at the pork on her plate. “Which sounds really weird when you say it out loud, but it feels like a good angle.”

“You make a good case for it,” he countered. “From all you’ve said, it’s more logical if the killer knew him, even casually. Your mad scientist theory—”

“Peabody started that one rolling.”

“Well, it fits as well, doesn’t it? You can’t just pop into the corner chemist—pharmacy,” he corrected, “and pick up a handy nerve agent. There’s the black market, of course, or someone deep enough in the military who might be able to access something like. But you spoke of additives and sealants and so on. It sounds homegrown.”

“It does. And it doesn’t feel military or professional. Too many complications and variables for either. It’s cold-blooded, but … it still feels personal. People are always finding ugly ways to kill each other, but if the kill was it, you’d just jab a sticker in him or beat him with a brick. The method matters.”

“What’s the gain?”

There she stuck. Just stuck.

“That’s just it. The spouse gets the bulk, and there’s no evidence they had any marital issues. No side piece on either side, no ripples, and no financial problems. The other bequests just don’t work. Nothing to show Abner knew something he shouldn’t have. There’s no gain I can see. Add a person could die pretty satisfied knowing he leaves behind family, friends, employees, the lot who really loved him. Everything, absolutely everything, points to a man who led a really good life.”

“But you still have the other doctor he dressed down, and the man he reported for child abuse on your list.”

“Yeah, and they’ll stay there until I’m convinced otherwise.”

He topped off his wine, but Eve shook her head before he could do the same with hers. “No, I’ve got a lot of DBs to get through.”

“Which would have most reaching for the wine. What can I do?”

“I need to handle the DBs. It may be I won’t know what I’m looking for until I see it.”

“Why don’t I dig down a little in the snarly doctor’s and the child beater’s financials? Hiring a mad scientist or accumulating the proper chemicals would cost, wouldn’t it? Then there might be some sign of educational skills that play in that don’t show on a standard.”

Frowning, Eve sat back. “Don’t you have a country or two to buy?”

“I can do both. Oh, by the way, I bought Nowhere.”

“What’s that? Some galaxy inside a black hole? Wait.” The light clicked on. “You mean that dive bar that played into the Pettigrew case?”

“Yes, though now I covet a galaxy inside a black hole.”

“It’s a dump. That bar’s a dump.”

“A bit dodgy, yes, and quite a bargain due to just that. There’s potential there with some vision and a bit of wherewithal to turn it into a nice little neighborhood pub.”

“The neighborhood is a bit—what is it?—dodgy, too.”

“A bit. And a dodgy neighborhood needs a good pub.”

She thought of the Penny Pig in Dublin, and the young street thief who’d enjoyed a pint in a pub.

“If you say so.”

“I do, yes. So I’ll look into the two on your list, which is its own entertainment, and play around here and there with a face-lift for Nowhere.”

“Are you keeping the name?”

“Absolutely. Who doesn’t want to go to Nowhere for a pint?”

She had to shake her head, because, despite herself, she could see he was right. And would likely make a killing.

“Did you sell that pit in wherever Nebraska you turned into a postcard?”

Now he smiled, sipped some wine. “It’s in your name, remember? Since the work’s complete, we’re entertaining offers. I’m letting a little bidding war play out, then I’ll have some paperwork for you to sign.”

“It was a bet, and I lost the bet. Why do I get the money?”

“It’s your punishment.”

She rolled her eyes, rose, started to clear the plates, since he’d put the meal together. “I have work.”

“And I have entertainment.” He took his wine, went into his adjoining office.