Golden in Death(63)
“Probably best all around. And since you got dinner, I suppose I deal with the dishes.”
As she went back to her command center, with coffee, it occurred to her that nobody who didn’t actually know Roarke—who cut paychecks to the population of Uruguay—would ever imagine him hauling dishes into the kitchen.
You didn’t know somebody until you knew them, she thought. Which made her consider Lotte Grange. Her impressions included cold, sexual, ambitious, possibly greedy. But there had to be a solid brain and some definite skills in there, too. Nobody got to the headmaster position in tony schools by sexing their way up the chain. At least not for long.
Since Roarke’s idea—he usually had good ones—of using Whitney’s clout to secure the interview made sense, she sent him a request.
Then she did a run on Kendel Hayward—cheater, bully, high school bad girl. Eve knew her type—it wasn’t exclusive to fancy private academies. It ran rough in public and state schools, too.
It seemed Hayward graduated, did a couple years, general studies, at the University of Maryland, dropped out to work with her mother in event planning.
And now lived and worked in—happy coincidence—East Washington. Her engagement to a congressional aide, who appeared to have money, a family name, and aspirations, had been announced the previous summer.
She’d plan on a twofer, Eve thought, and make the trip down even more worthwhile.
And she culled through Rufty’s notes from back in the day, scanned troublesome students who’d been suspended or been pulled by parents.
She paused at one, as Rufty mentioned a friendship with Hayward. Marshall Cosner. Transferred from Gold to complete his last semester at Bridgeport Academy in Vermont—where his maternal grandparents lived. He’d gone on to study law, making him the fourth generation in his family to do so. But he hadn’t, as his ancestors had, gotten into Harvard.
Cosner currently clerked at his family’s law firm—in New York—and had not yet completed his law degree.
From the looks of it, he had a ways to go. Part of the problem, she thought, might be time off for rehab in a very pricey and exclusive facility. After two illegals busts, with no time served.
Another stint in rehab, physical this time, after he busted himself and his vehicle up while under the influence.
Some addicts liked to cook their own, she considered. Maybe Cosner had learned more chemistry on the street than in the classroom.
She studied a handful of names, paused again on Rufty’s personal notes.
She took a hard look at Stephen Whitt. Hayward’s high school boyfriend, Cosner’s good pal, and according to Rufty, a ringleader of troublemakers.
Like Cosner, he transferred during Rufty’s first weeks, but in his case to—interesting—Lester Hensen Prep. She sat back, let that roll around. He’d transferred to the same school where Grange took over as headmaster.
He graduated in the top 10 percent of his class, went on to study international finance at Northwestern, another family tradition. He worked at his family’s small, exclusive firm on Wall Street while he worked in tandem on his master’s degree.
No criminal that showed which, given his history, she found suspicious.
She wondered if the trio from Gold kept in touch, then glanced over as Roarke came back.
“Miguel Rodriges,” he began. “He’s worked in my system for about two years, and has taken advantage of our program for continuing education. He’s working on his doctorate through MIT online, and should have it by year-end.
“His supervisor considers him a strong asset, a young man with interesting ideas, a flawless work ethic, and serious skills. We recruited him straight out of grad school. He requested the New York location, though we had offered him Madrid, because his family lives here.”
He sat on the edge of her command center. “Again, according to his supervisor, he’s destined to move up. He’s bilingual, steady, currently in mad love with another young engineer, but he’s too shy to ask her out.”
“You got that?”
“We wanted to be thorough. In any case, you’ve only to let me know when you want to talk to him and we’ll have him come into Central.”
“I’ve been working that out. One of the mean girls who ganged up on your guy now lives in East Washington, so we’ll talk to her while we’re there. Then I’ve got two more names that pop for me out of Rufty’s notes, both in New York. And one of them transferred to Grange’s school after Rufty came on board.”
“Isn’t that interesting?”
“Yeah, I think it is. Did he follow Grange, did Grange make a pitch to the parents and their deep pockets? How’d he feel about being shipped off? Another one got shipped off to Vermont, boarding prep school, with his grandparents on watch. Wouldn’t be as much fun. Vermont and the mean girl skimmed by on the education scale. The other got into Northwestern, and is now part of the family finance firm. International finance.”
“What’s the firm?”
“The Whitt Group.”
“I know it, and Brent Whitt, who’s likely your suspect’s father.”
“More of a person of interest at this point, but yeah, that’s the father.”
“The father, grandfather, and an uncle—along with, now, the son and I believe a cousin—form the core of the group. Very exclusive. Their minimum investment to take on a client is, to my recollection, fifty million.”