Golden in Death(57)

“You’ve been helpful. I can get the rest from the records. But if you do think of names or specifics, contact me.”

“I will. I have to get in touch with my wife. If anything happened … Jay and I weren’t the only ones who pushed back.”

“Understood.” She started for the door, stopped. “Think of staff, too. Teachers, administrators, support staff, anyone who might have been warned or disciplined by Dr. Rufty, anyone who left during the first term, or didn’t come back in the fall.”

“All right. I’ll do my best.”

Eve headed down, wandering a bit as she went.

She found Peabody doing the same on the main level.

“I went up to the dorm floors, had a poke around,” she told Eve. “Since I heard you talking with the guy in the lab, I just poked around on the second level, then down here. I walked into the auditorium. They’re in rehearsals for the musical. They’re really good.”

“Impressions otherwise?”

“Well-oiled machine.”

“I’ve got the same. EDD?”

“Should be done or about. Since we had the warrant, they wanted to pull records from the guidance office, the assistant headmaster—before this one. He retired at seventy-eight in Rufty’s fourth year, and moved to Louisiana, where his granddaughter teaches.”

As Peabody spoke, Myata escorted EDD out of administration.

“Do you have all you need for now?” she asked Eve.

“Detectives?”

“We’ve got copies of all the applicable records,” Callendar said. “And the tablet, Dr. Rufty’s old tablet.”

“If there’s anything else, please contact me.”

When they stepped outside, Eve laid out the plan. “We can’t be sure, at this point, who on staff when Rufty came on might have been on the team undermining Grange. And every one of them might be a tar get. So we’re going to notify all of them—that’s across the board—and issue warnings about receiving and opening deliveries. Peabody, you take the first half, I’ll handle the rest.”

“It’d go faster if we split it four ways.” McNab looked at Callendar, got the nod.

“All right. Peabody, divide it up. I want a list of all, but mark who’s handling who. I’ll drop you off at Central. I’ll head uptown, handle the rich guy interview.”

“I can go with, take the subway back.”

“I’d rather you get on this. Look, send the list to my units—including the in-dash. I’ll start with the first ten while I’m en route. I don’t think anybody’s going to get a damn golden egg tonight, but we cover it.”

“Got your copies here, too.” McNab handed her a small file bag. “We did separate discs for faculty, for students, for admin, and for support staff.”

“Good work. Let’s get started.”



* * *



Once Eve dropped off the trio and their fizzies (for which they apparently had a bottomless capacity), she headed uptown. Considering the time, the thickness of the traffic, and the potential interview, she calculated her get-home time as late.

She used her wrist unit to send a quick text to Roarke.

Still working. I’ll be late.

She’d battled her way nearly to Midtown when his reply came through.

As will I.

Okay, she thought, that evens it out.

Maybe, considering the day behind her, the day still ahead, she had a wistful moment when she had to veer away from home and toward Riverside Drive.

In the smoky light of dusk, Greenwald’s building was a gilded tower with a swirl of exterior people glides circling the first few floors, glittery glass elevators sliding and slithering along the north and south sides.

She pulled up at the curb of the entrance with its massive, three-story glass wall, and prepared to go toe-to-toe with the liveried doorman who hustled over.

Instead he opened her door before she could, smiled in greeting. “Good evening, Lieutenant. How can I help you?”

Okay, so Roarke owned the building.

“Reginald Greenwald.”

“Of course. I believe Mr. Greenwald is currently at home. Carl at the desk will clear you up. Enjoy your visit to the Hudson Tower.”

“Right.”

He made it to the door ahead of her, hit a sensor that had eight square feet of glass sliding open. She had to admit it was impressive, as was the two-level lobby with its upscale shops, cafés, food marts, bars. She crossed the floor with its mosaic inlays depicting a sweeping river of serene blue, passed a central island of flowers white as snow circling a small blue pool with bright gold fish swimming.

She noted a wide curve of stairs leading to the second level, a bank of interior elevators, also glass—and a lot of discreet security, both live and electronic.

She stepped up to the desk where Carl, a distinguished fiftyish in his spiffy black uniform, beamed smiles.

“Lieutenant, welcome to Hudson Tower. You’re here to visit Mr. Greenwald.”

So the doorman gave the desk guy a heads-up. Efficient, she thought. But that was how Roarke ran things.

“That’s right.”

“Mr. Greenwald is currently in residence. Shall I announce you?”

“No. Just clear me up.”