by Robb, J. D.
“Of course. Different areas, but we teachers know each other. You’ve spoken to Jay? He’s at Columbia now, or was when I last spoke to him.”
“When was that?”
“In December. Some of us still get together for a little holiday cheer.”
He doesn’t know, Eve thought. “Mr. Duran’s wife was killed this morning.”
“What?” He pushed off the stool, shock lurching him to his feet. “But— How? Wait. No. The same? The same?”
“Yes.”
Standing, he pressed his hands to the sides of his head. “This is horrible.”
“Who was here, student or staff, during the end of Grange’s tenure and the start of Rufty’s who resented the change, who had an aptitude for what you teach?”
“My God, I don’t know. I can’t think who … Jay’s wife—I can’t think of her name now—she had nothing to do with the school.”
“Mr. Duran complained about Grange, complained about the cheating, the bullying, and so on.”
“So did I, so did many of us. What does that…”
Sharp mind, Eve saw as it clicked for him.
“My wife, my family.”
“I’d advise you to tell your wife, your family not to open any packages. You can report any delivery to me.” She dug out a card, set it on the counter. “We’ll have it scanned.”
“I don’t understand how anyone could … I’d know if anyone used my labs. I’d know if anyone accessed the chemicals, the equipment. There were some issues, in the last year or so of Grange’s rule, and in the first few weeks of Martin’s.”
“Such as?”
“Accessing swipe cards or cloning them, using the lab and supplies to make stink bombs, smoke bombs, flash bombs.”
“Do you have names?”
“I couldn’t identify them. I didn’t have evidence to point fingers. Suspicions, and I wanted to have meetings with the students I thought might have been a part of it, or who might know who did. Grange vetoed it. I couldn’t be sure, so she wouldn’t have students, and their parents, embarrassed.”
“Protecting the bottom line?” Eve suggested.
“I believe that absolutely,” Rosalind said without hesitation. “Martin took a different route. When it continued after he came on, he held a full assembly, gave notice. Any student involved would face automatic suspension. Any student covering for one involved would lose privileges—no sports, no school activities.”
“Did it stop?”
“Not right away, no. But a case in point. Before Grange left, one of the students was physically assaulted because he refused to cheat. His parents brought him in, and Grange dismissed it because the boy was afraid to name names. But they came back in after Martin took over. He had a private meeting with them, and with other parents and students with complaints. At the end of the day, eleven students were suspended. There was hell to pay from parents. Martin kept it contained, but we all knew, hell to pay. Several of those students didn’t come back.”
“Names?”
“God, I’m not clicking right on them—my mind is spinning. We’d have records.”
“I’m getting them now. Do you recall if any of those students had an aptitude for chemistry?”
“The boy who’d been attacked—Miguel … I’ve lost the last name. But he ended up in my advanced class. He was here on scholarship, and went to—damn it—I think MIT, earned several scholarships. Kendel Hayward—spoiled young woman, and one who liked to humiliate others. She came back, seemed to settle down.”
“Was she involved in the beatdown?”
“I don’t think so. The gossip was it was two boys—maybe three?—who wanted him to cheat for them. She likely ran with them though,” Rosalind mused. “She ran with a rough crowd. My impression was Kendel’s parents gave her an ultimatum. She did satisfactory work in my class, before and after. But after, she stopped mouthing off. There were others. Damn it, I’m sorry. Kendel was tight with one of the boys. Maybe more than one.”
“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 target. 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 buil
ding.
“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.”
“Of course.” Carl didn’t miss a beat. “Mr. Greenwald has the fifty-sixth floor. Let me escort you to the proper elevator to reach that level.”
He came around the counter, led her to a small, second lobby where glass tubes angling from a mirrored wall held strangely beautiful flowers of pale, pale pink and lavender.
Carl used a swipe to access one of the three elevators.
“Greenwald,” he ordered. “Main entrance.” Then he smiled at Eve again. “Enjoy your visit. Please let me know if you need anything else.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
The doors closed silently on an elevator that was, thankfully, not glass. Or not transparent glass, as the walls had a glassy sheen of quiet gold.
She appreciated the fact it rode smooth, and didn’t stop until it reached the top floor.
Greenwald residence, the comp announced as the doors opened.
Here the carpet ran thick and silvery gray. She saw the car had opened in a central location, a few feet from double white doors—with enough security to protect a major stash of gold bullion.
She walked to the door, pressed the bell.
Mr. Greenwald does not accept unannounced visitors. Please return to the main lobby to request admittance.
“I’m not a visitor.” She held up her badge for scanning. “I’m a cop, and this is police business.”
One moment please.
She continued to hold up the badge as the scanning light ran it, as the door cam recorded her. And as, she imagined, the security comp notified Greenwald he had NYPSD at the door.
Your identification has been verified, Lieutenant Dallas. Please wait.
Eve waited until the door opened.
The woman hit mid-twenties. She had milk pale, flawless skin, a sleek fall of hair the color of warm honey, eyes of Arctic blue, a wide mouth dyed as pale a pink as the flowers fifty-five floors below.
“Please to come in. Thank you for waiting.”
The careful English held an Eastern European accent. The diamond studs at her ears flashed fire as she stepped back into an entranceway flanked by statues of arty naked women who looked very stern.
“I am Iryna, Mr. Greenwald’s personal assistant.” She gestured with one graceful hand toward the living area. It had three conversation areas, all quiet, dignified colors with tables and chests of clear or mirrored glass. Heavy drapes fell over what Eve assumed would be glass doors leading out to a terrace. The art, interspersed with fancy mirrors, ran to more dignity in still lifes of vases or bowls of fruit.
It had the feel of a space rarely used.
“If you would please to sit. Mr. Greenwald will be shortly with you. Shall you have refreshment?”
“No, thanks.” Personal assistant, my ass, Eve thought. Unless they were talking very personal. “Do you live here? On the floor?”
“Yes. I am available to Mr. Greenwald at all times.”
I bet.
“How long have you worked for him?”
“It is now three years.”
“About the same amount of time you’ve been in the country?”
“Yes. I should—”
“Do you know Mr. Greenwald’s ex-wife? Lotte Grange?”
“I am sorry. I do not.” Relief washed over her face as Greenwald walked in. “Lieutenant Dallas, Mr. Greenwald.”
“Yes, Iryna, that’s fine.”
The little pat he gave her said, clearly, her assistance was very personal. It was meant to.
He held a lowball glass in one hand, offered Eve the other. “Roarke’s cop.”
He had a boom of a voice, almost jocular, that suited his waving mane of pewter hair, the amused dark eyes, the perfectly trimmed goatee.
A well-built man of about six-two, he’d dressed for an at-home evening in trousers and a sweater a few shades lighter than his hair.
He took a seat on a high-backed sofa in quiet gray, gestured for her to sit, then sat back at his ease. As if amused, he patted the cushion beside him for Iryna.
She sat primly, and obviously ill at ease.
“And what brings Roarke’s cop to my door?”
“I’m the NYPSD’s cop, Mr. Greenwald, and murder brings me to your door.”
Iryna let out a little mouse squeak; Greenwald lifted his eyebrows. “Whose?”
“Kent Abner, Elise Duran.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know either of those unfortunate people.”
“Both individuals were killed with a home-brewed chemical agent. You deal in chemicals.”
His brows went higher, then lowered again as he took a casual sip of his drink. “I deal in cleaning supplies. I hardly think you’re visiting everyone in the city who has some association with chemicals.”
“Both victims also had a connection with your ex-wife.”
“Which?” He smiled a bit. “I have two.”
“Lotte Grange.”
“Lotte? Well, this is interesting. Is she a suspect?”
“You and Dr. Grange were married when she served as headmaster at the Theresa A. Gold Academy.”
“For a few years, yes. We’ve been divorced longer than we were married.”
“When is the last time you saw or spoke to her?”
“That would be the day our divorce was finalized, with our lawyers present. As far as I know she lives in East Washington. The simple fact is, my marriage to Lotte was a small blip in my life. While we didn’t part in a friendly manner, I stopped giving her a thought once that blip ended.”
“You ended it.”
“Yes, I did. Iryna, my sweet, why don’t you freshen this for me?”
“Of course.” She popped right up, took the glass, hurried away on heels that showed off excellent young legs.
“Can you tell me where you were last night and the night of April twenty-seventh? Between ten and eleven P.M.?”
“My.” The eyebrows arched again, but the eyes beneath them hardened, just a little. “So official. I’m tempted to contact my lawyer, but at the moment, I’m still entertained. Last night we entertained. A dinner party here, for six guests. We sat down to the meal at eight. I believe the last guest left sometime after eleven. On the twenty-seventh…”
For this he took a small book out of his trouser pocket. “Ah yes. We were in Chicago, the second night of a two-day business trip.”
“‘We’?”
“Iryna and I.” He smiled. “She’s invaluable to me.”
“I’m sure. Do you ever visit your company labs, Mr. Greenwald?”
“On occasion. I try to make an appearance now and then in all departments. It’s good for interpersonal relations. After all, my grandfather founded the company. And before you ask, I do know a little of chemistry, just as I know a little about organic solutions. Why do you suppose
I’d kill people I don’t know?”
“Kent Abner was the spouse of Martin Rufty. Dr. Rufty replaced your ex-wife as headmaster.”
“Rufty, of course. Of course.” Interest lit on his face again. “I never actually met him, but I leaned toward liking him, as Lotte didn’t like him at all.”
“Is that so?”
“My sense is that he was very critical of her.” He took the glass Iryna brought in, patted the cushion beside him again. “Lotte didn’t—I assume still doesn’t—take criticism well. Of course, at the time Lotte and I had our own … issues.”
“What were they?”
“Perhaps I should not be here,” Iryna began.
“Don’t be silly.” And Greenwald laid a hand, possessively, on her thigh. “Lotte and I married on a whim. A sexual whim. She was, again I assume still is, a highly sexual creature. I enjoy sexual creatures. She was also striking physically, intelligent, ambitious. Money wasn’t a particular issue, as she had her own. I had more, considerably more, and that appealed to her.”
Lifting his glass, he half toasted, then sipped. “We had an arrangement. If either of us opted to engage in sex outside the marriage, we would be discreet, and we would clear such activities with the other party before going forward.”
“And she broke the agreement.”
“She did. I received an envelope with, we’ll say, compromising photos of Lotte.”
“With who?”
“I can’t tell you. The man’s face was turned away, or conveniently obscured. When I confronted her, she shrugged it off. What difference did it make? All the difference, for me. She broke the agreement. Clearly, we would end the marriage, but we agreed to do so, well, discreetly.”
He drank again. “She put out feelers for another position. She lived here for a few months, but we lived separately, you understand. She wanted a generous settlement; I wasn’t inclined to give her one. We argued about that, but something was off. She was shrill, edgy, and it finally came out one of the instructors had walked in on her with another instructor. Compromising. Apparently it was quite a scene.”
“Names?”
“I don’t have them.” He lifted his hand from Iryna’s thigh, waved the question off. Placed his hand back on the thigh, just a bit higher.