Golden in Death(78)
She did a quick bob-and-weave with a Rapid Cab and a sedan, then punched through the intersection. “And we could add one more. Both Rufty and Duran had built happy, satisfying lives, enjoyed long-term marital relationships, had a family that loved and admired them. It’s the sort of thing that could stick in your craw if you remain an entitled, unaccomplished, addicted dick.”
“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that angle, but you’re right. Both targets had accomplished a lot, going with personally and professionally again. Nothing on Cosner’s data shows any on either level. So it could be envy, coupled with: Why should they have it all when they’re part of the reason I don’t?”
“We can poke at that, see how sore the spot is.”
Eve hunted up parking, waited on the sidewalk for Peabody and the two-block walk.
“I can do a probability on the next target, factoring those elements in. There’s bound to be another target.”
Eve nodded. “Any staff member listed in the notes and records of lodging a complaint on Grange. The unidentified lover in the photos—as killer or target—the guy she was banging, if different from the one in the photos, when she got caught, and the one who caught her. All potentials.”
Eve made the turn at the corner while a group of office types flowed by, nattering on their headsets.
She pushed through the doors of the steel-and-glass tower where Cosner’s family headquartered their firm, crossed the green-and-white-marble checkerboard floor to the security sign-in. “NYPSD. Marshall Cosner.”
Security gave her badge a look that said he didn’t care either way. “Cosner is twenty-one through twenty-three. Marshall Cosner has his office on twenty-one.”
Easy enough, she thought, and walked to the elevators in a lobby that struck her as fiercely dignified. No frills, no flowers, no moving maps or ornate statuary.
People streamed off the elevators, and she and Peabody streamed on with still others for the stop-and-go ride up.
When the elevator opened on twenty-one, they walked into another dignified lobby. The frills here, if they qualified, hit low-key. The wide, sternly black reception counter was manned by two bright-looking twentysomethings who flanked a woman who might have held her station for decades.
Straight-backed, deep-cushioned chairs—more black—formed a waiting area where no one currently waited.
Eve opted for experience, and walked to the woman with a snowy cap of hair, deep red nails, and a dark suit relieved from austerity by a peacock pin on the lapel.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, NYPSD. We need to speak with Marshall Cosner.”
If the badge and request surprised her, Ms. Experience didn’t show it. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Cosner?”
“No. If he’s not currently available, we can arrange one. At Cop Central.”
She met Eve’s eyes directly, and unless Eve missed the mark, she caught just a hint of amused disdain. “If you’d wait a moment, I’ll check Mr. Cosner’s availability.”
Instead of using the inter-office ’link or her headset, the woman rose, walked to the side door, disappeared through it.
One moment became two, then three, but eventually she came back out with a woman in a short, snug red suit that strained against generous breasts.
This one looked barely legal and had about a yard of tousled waves in guinea gold.
The older woman glided back to her station with the slightest of smirks while the blonde picked her way toward Eve and Peabody on towering red heels.
“I’m Mr. Cosner’s assistant.” Her voice sounded like a woman who’d just had energetic sex and was ready for a snuggle. “He’ll see you now. You can come with me.”
Eve followed, mildly amazed anyone could, well, mince along and still have hips that swayed like a pendulum. It had to be an innate talent.
They moved past cubes.
“Mr. Cosner is very busy this afternoon,” the assistant added as they moved past a few small offices. “But he has a lot of respect for … civil servants,” she finished, obviously digging up the term assigned to her.
The family might have stuck Cosner on the lowest rung of the law firm, but he still rated a corner office.
He had the door open so as to be seen behind his fancy desk, in front of his corner window, pretending to talk on his ’link.
The way he’d angled himself, Eve could actually see the blank display screen.
He had a smooth shock of deep blond hair, perfectly streaked as if the sun had threaded its fingers through it, and the warmly gilded tan of a man who might have spent his winter sailing a yacht in the South Seas.
His eyes, a bold blue, scowled below brows drawn sternly together. The disapproving mouth completed the image of an important man on an important call.
“I need that completed before the end of the business day. No excuses. I have another meeting.”
He set the ’link down abruptly, and the scowl became a bright, charming smile as he rose.
“This is an honor!” He came around the desk, hand extended, a leanly built man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, crisp shirt the same blue as his eyes, a tie of muted stripes that added hints of burgundy.
“The famous Eve Dallas! Muffy, get us some cappuccinos while Lieutenant Dallas and her stalwart partner tell me what brings them here today. Please, please, have a seat.”