by J. D. Robb
“I went off to college. I can’t say I shined there, but it was a clean slate. I promised my parents I’d give it two years, and I did. Then I came home, started doing what I realized I really wanted to do. Work with my mom on the business. I’m good at parties, at planning them, at figuring out what the client wants and needs. It meant that I didn’t look back on those years.”
Eve turned another angle. “Your fiancé has political ambitions, and his mother may run for president—that’s the rumor.”
“It is.” And now she showed Eve a damn good poker face.
“You were a teenager, true, but previous bad acts often get unearthed and used, politically.”
“Tell me about it. I told Merritt the works when we got serious. And we sat down with his parents. Patience is a great woman, and she’ll be an amazing president if she chooses to run. She knows it all, or all I could remember. She said she saw me as a case study in early redemption. That’s who she is. I turned my life around. I’ll hate if what I did at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen hurts Merritt or Patience in any way. But I turned it around. I can’t change what I did, only what I do.”
“Do you remember Marshall Cosner?”
“Marsh?” On an exhale, Kendel shook her head. “Now, that’s a ghost from the past. He was one of our gang—because a gang’s what we were for a while. He got pulled out—or kicked out, I can’t remember. I might not have known which. If I was a shaky student, Marsh was worse.”
She smiled when she said it. “He was fun—the kind of fun I was looking for back then. Always good for a laugh. And a score. He could always come up with illegals, booze, an empty house to play in. What did we call him?” She closed her eyes a minute. “The Facilitator. God, we thought we were so clever.”
“When’s the last time you saw him, spoke to him?”
“Years. Ah, I remember a party at his place—his parents were out of town—right after Dr. Rufty came on as headmaster. We were all celebrating, all planning how we were going to slay him and his idiot rules. All drunk or stoned,” she added. “I’m not sure I saw him after that. I must have, but I know it wasn’t more than a couple days after the party, he was gone. That was right before my parents came in to talk to Rufty after I got suspended.”
“Stephen Whitt.”
“Steve? God, God, sexy Steve, another ghost. He was my guy back then. I was madly in love with him, the way you are in high school. He got pulled, too—maybe the same day as Marsh. I think it might’ve been. Before the hammer came down on me, we talked about taking off together. He would come into some of his trust fund when he turned eighteen, and he was nearly there. We’d just blow.”
She closed her eyes. “So careless. So thoughtless, both of us. I might’ve done it, too, just run off with him, because teenage love, and it sounded exciting. But he got shipped off—I think to some school down south. I’m not sure. Everything was jumbled because, you know, my life was simply over. And I couldn’t reach him because no ’link, no communications. I pined for a few weeks. And that was that.”
“So you haven’t communicated with him, either?”
“Not since the hammer dropped. Well—God, I’d forgotten—he tried to reach me once. Right after it all came down. Tagged a mutual friend, wanted me to use her ’link to talk, to make plans for that taking off.”
“And?”
“I had to decide, then and there. If I got caught, boarding school. I wanted to talk to him, but … I told the friend—I can’t remember her name—to tell him I couldn’t. He called me—according to the friend … Annie, Allie? Doesn’t matter.”
She waved it away, took a sip of lemonade. Breathed out. “He called me a stupid, spineless cunt. Steve had a temper when denied. I cried myself to sleep over that.”
“Did he ever contact you again?”
“Once Steve wrote you off, you were off. The end.” She took a cookie, smiled a little before she nibbled at it. “Those days are long over, you know? For all of us. I mean, any of the people I hung with back then could’ve contacted me in the last few years. But none of them have.”
“And you haven’t contacted or tried to contact any of them.”
“No. I put that whole era, you could say, behind me. I’m sure as hell not interested in a reunion. I’m going to get married in the fall to a man I love, a really good man. My parents are proud of me. I’m proud of myself. Why go back there?”
Eve tried a few more names, prodding at Kendel’s memory. Some she remembered, some she didn’t, or not well enough to add anything.
“We appreciate your time, Ms. Hayward, and your candor.”
“Lie, and you have to keep lying. I’m living proof that you’ll eventually get caught, and the lies make it worse. We were bad kids, Lieutenant Dallas, but we were kids. I honestly can’t think of anyone who’d do something like this, not even back then when we looked for trouble. I don’t know anyone who’d commit murder over something from high school.”
I think you do, Eve mused as Kendel walked them back to the car. You just don’t realize it.
* * *
Eve took a big gulp of New York after the shuttle landed. Once behind the wheel in a city that made sense, everything smoothed out.
“Let’s jump into the big, fancy nest of lawyers,” she decided, “and talk to Marshall Cosner.”
“He sounds like he’s still kind of a dick,” Peabody commented as she programmed the address. “Hayward seems like she’s gotten her life together, professionally, personally. But all the reports on Cosner point to him still cruising on his family name and money.”
“Cruising isn’t a motive for murder. Neither is being a dick,” Eve added as she enthusiastically joined the traffic wars. “But you add those to possible continued illegals use, a simmering grudge over being yanked away from his gang of friends, a failure to reach family expectations, and maybe.”
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 cou
nter 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.”
Eve decided to let it play out, sat in one of the navy leather visitors’ chairs.
She noted though he reigned in a corner office, it was still on the small side. The wall shelves held not law paraphernalia but awards and trophies—golf, tennis. He took a seat behind the desk that, while polished and important, held no sign of any work in progress.
No framed law degree because he didn’t actually have one as yet.
“I followed the Icove case very closely, so of course, I read the book, saw the vid. Fascinating—horrifying, of course, but fascinating. More so as my family actually knew the Drs. Icove. Or I should say, thought they knew the Icoves. The masks people wear.”
He shook his head as Muffy picked her way back with a tray.
Eve wondered if her parents had any idea when naming her she’d reflect the name as a walking cliché for a side piece.
“Thank you, Muffy. Be sure to shift my next appointment.”
“You don’t— Oh, yes, Mr. Cosner. Right away.”
She picked her way back out, shut the door.
“Now.” Cosner beamed another smile. “What can I do for you?”
“You can start by telling us where you were on the nights of April twenty-seventh and April twenty-ninth, between nine-thirty and eleven.”
His smile didn’t fade. It just froze. “I’m sorry, what?”
“We’re investigating the murders of Kent Abner and Elise Duran. Your name has come up in the course of our investigation.”
She took a moment, sampled the cappuccino. “Good coffee,” she said, and waited.
17
“This is crazy. My name came up? I don’t know the people you’re talking about. How did my name come up?”
“You attended the Theresa A. Gold Academy?”
“Yes, years ago. What does that have to do with anything?”
“I take it you’re not following this case closely, as you were the Icove investigation. The victims were both spouses of people I think you’d remember. Dr. Rufty, who replaced Headmaster Grange at Gold before your parents sent you to boarding school, and Jay Duran. He taught you language arts in your final term there, and creative writing the years before.”
Nerves just poured off him.
“I hardly remember the names of all the teachers I’ve had in my life. And Rufty—he was only headmaster for a couple weeks before I left Gold. I simply don’t remember them, or their spouses. Why should I?”
Lying, Eve thought. Lying badly over something inconsequential.
“Because they had a part in you being shipped off to Vermont, a boarding school, and away from the circle of—we’ll call them friends—you’d formed for bullying, cheating, disrupting. Then there were the parties, with underage drinking, with illegals.”
“That’s absolute nonsense and exaggeration! My parents felt I would benefit from a finishing term at a very prestigious school out of state. This is ancient history, and it’s insulting to have you come here accusing me of cheating or bullying or—”
“Miguel Rodriges.”
“I have no idea who that is.”
“Just one of the many you and your friends pressured, intimidated to do your schoolwork.”
His eyes looked everywhere but at Eve. “That’s absurd and untrue.”
“That’s documented, Mr. Cosner. Why don’t we go back to your whereabouts on the nights in question?”
“I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.” He rose. “Now, you can leave on your own, or I’ll have security escort you.”
“If you don’t want to answer, that’s your right. You may want to engage an attorney—particularly since you’ve yet to earn your law degree—when we have you brought into Central for formal interview.”
“You can’t compel me to—”
Now Eve rose. “Watch me, and believe me when I tell you your old family friends the Icoves thought the same, and were proven wrong.”
“Just wait. Just wait.” He sat, gestured for her to do the same. “There’s no need for this animosity. You simply took me by surprise. I’m not used to having the police accuse me of crimes.”
“You’ve had some knocks, so you should be. You used and trafficked in illegals.”
“I was young and foolish,” he said stiffly. “Those days are over.”
He reached in his inside pocket, drew out a memo book. “It’s simple enough to check where I was on those dates. On the first,” he continued as he scrolled through, “I attended a dinner party with a number of friends.”
“Names,” Eve said crisply. “Contacts.”
“Oh for…” But as he reeled them off, Peabody noted them down.
“On the second evening I went to a club in the company of friends.”
Peabody dutifully noted tho
se names, and marked the considerable overlap.
“If that’s all—”
“It’s not,” Eve interrupted. “We’ll verify your alibis.”
Jutting up his chin didn’t stop the flood of nerves.
“I don’t appreciate that term. I’ve done nothing, and therefore don’t need an alibi.”
“We’ll verify,” Eve said easily. “In the meantime, we’re aware you and your circle caused considerable trouble during your years at Gold during Headmaster Grange’s tenure. Dr. Rufty changed all that. Suddenly, there were consequences.”
“He was a fucking tyrant,” Cosner exploded. “Storming in there with his new rules, new agenda. He suspended a good third of the junior and senior classes, installed in-school detention, took the word of weasels there on our dime through scholarships over those of us whose families gave generously to keep that school running.”
Button pushed, Eve thought.
“So you do remember him.”
“I remember he walked in there like he owned the place. I know if my parents hadn’t had the good sense to pull me out of there, I might not have gotten into law school because of his tyranny and arrogance. He actually accused me of cheating! And a handful of the substandard instructors, who begrudged the fact my family had wealth and prominence and they were nothing, made wild, baseless accusations.”
“Such as Jay Duran. He made those accusations, he filed complaints against Headmaster Grange for allowing you and your friends a kind of free rein.”
“Headmaster Grange understood a few … hijinks shouldn’t affect a teenager’s future.”
“Hijinks? Is that your word for drinking and using illegals on school property, for cheating, for physical assault, for using intimidation tactics to coerce other students to help you cheat?”
Though he flicked his fingers dismissively, Eve saw the faintest line of sweat over his top lip. “I’d like to see the teen who doesn’t occasionally sneak alcohol or experiment with illegals.”
“So in your opinion, breaking the law is just teenage hijinks. Good to know. It sounds as if you hold a grudge against Rufty and those ‘substandard’ instructors.”