Leverage in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “Nothing,” Peabody decided. “Do you want me to run the artists?”

  “Trueheart’s doing that, and we’ll save time if she pins it down to one.” As she drove, ignoring the blasts of ad blimps and the farts of maxibuses, Eve decided it was as good a time as any.

  “Nadine’s taking the rocker to this Hollywood thing.”

  “I know.” Peabody gave a grin and the eye-roll equivalent of hubba-hubba. “He is frosty extreme, and seriously into her.”

  “I don’t want to hear about their sex life.”

  “Not that kind of into. Although . . . Anyway, going as a couple’s a major BFD for Nadine, I think.”

  “Whatever. She’s taking him, but she has room on her transport and in the hotel.”

  “You’re going! You’re going after all?” Peabody bounced in her seat, actually clapping her hands together. “You’re going to walk the red carpet of all red carpets! This is—”

  “Oh hell no. Giant hell no. She’s got room for you and McNab. Feeney cleared it, so you can take off on Friday afternoon, report back Tuesday morning.”

  Peabody said nothing, absolutely nothing. And stared straight ahead.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I . . . I think I stopped breathing for a minute. You’re giving me time off to go to the Oscars? Nadine’s going to take us, and let us stay with her? Her and Jake the rock god?”

  “She’s got room.”

  Peabody kept staring ahead. “We’re in an active investigation.”

  “I’ve got Baxter and Trueheart. And, strangely enough, I managed to close cases before I took you on. You’re not on the roll this weekend anyway,” Eve continued, “so I cut that OT out of my budget.”

  “This is . . . I can’t think of a big enough word. I can’t think straight enough to make one up for it. As long as I can remember I watched the Oscars and all the beautiful clothes, the people.”

  “Free-Agers watch Hollywood?”

  “We’re not like monks, and I bet monks watch the Oscars, too. My granny? Man, she never misses. She has a big Oscar party every year. I still sort of watch it with her and the rest. I set up my home screen, have the family on my tablet so we all watch. Granny’s brutal when somebody wears something she thinks is stupid. It’s the best. And now I’m going to—Oh my God, what will I wear? I don’t have anything that’s Oscar worthy.”

  “Roarke talked to Leonardo, so Leonardo’s covering that, for both of you.”

  “I . . .” Now she turned her head, stared at Eve. “I’m wearing Leonardo to the Oscars?”

  “Why do people say that? You’re not draping a big Leonardo all over you. Christ. Jesus Christ, if you cry the deal’s off.”

  The tears came anyway. “I have to. Just for a minute. I know it’d be like torture for you. But for me? It’s like this amazing dream. I’m not even going to say I wish you were coming because torture. That’s how much this means to me.”

  “If it means so damn much, why didn’t you say so before?”

  “You gave us Mexico. You gave McNab time to recharge when he needed it. I’m not going to ask my partner, my LT, my friend, to do me another solid right on top of that.”

  She let out a breath, scrubbed the tears dry. “Add to it, I never thought about going, not seriously. It’s so . . . beyond. It never really landed that we could.”

  “Well, now you are.”

  The building had its own parking, Eve had the gate scan her badge, followed the instructions for the visitors’ section. Pulled into a slot.

  “Now get your head in the game.”

  “I will.” But Peabody put a hand on Eve’s arm. “I wanted to be a cop. I studied you, and I wanted to be a New York cop. A Dallas-worthy cop.”

  “For Christ’s sake.”

  “Just one minute, okay? When you pulled me into Homicide as your aide, that was the biggest moment of my life. I’ve had other big ones. McNab, making detective, helping take Oberon down. All the bad guys, but her especially because she’s the opposite of what we are. This doesn’t come up to those because they’re life-changing. But outside of life-changing, it’s the biggest. Thanks.”

  “Nadine’s the one hauling you.”

  “She’ll get a whole bunch of thanks, too. And Leonardo, and Roarke. You first.”

  “Okay, good. Now done.”

  They got out, started the walk toward the elevator. “I’ve got to do this one thing.”

  “If you try to kiss me,” Eve warned coldly, “I will mess you up.”

  “I’m not even going to threaten to kiss you, or kiss you in my head—that’s how much this means to me. But I have to—”

  In the garage, Peabody threw her arms in the air, tossed back her head and screamed. The sound echoed, ping-ponged, and made Eve’s ears vibrate.

  “Okay. Whew.” Peabody huffed out another breath. “Now, head in the game.”

  “Every dog in this building is barking. Glass has shattered. Small children are hiding under their beds.”

  “Maybe.” Peabody pressed the call button. “But it had to come out so I could get my head in the game.”

  “It better stay there,” Eve warned and, using her badge to bypass the lobby, called for the Markins’ floor.

  The elevator opened in the center of an area with wide hallways leading to each of four corner units. And each, she assumed, had private, fully secured elevators of their own. She crossed to the southwest facing unit, rang the bell.

  Please state your name and business.

  Clipped and brisk, Eve noted, and answered in kind.

  “Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, NYPSD.” She held up her badge. “We need to speak with Mr. and/or Mrs. Markin.”

  Your identification is being scanned . . . Your identification has been verified. Please state your business.

  “We’ll state our business with Mr. and/or Mrs. Markin. Open the door or we’ll arrange to have one or both of them transported to Cop Central for interview.”

  One moment.

  “Why are comps always so damn nosy?” Eve wondered.

  It took more than a moment, but the double doors opened. Since the woman inside hit about forty, wore what Eve thought of as domestic black, she deduced housekeeper.

  “Lieutenant, Detective, if you’ll wait in the anteroom, I’ve notified Mrs. Markin’s admin. She’ll be with you very shortly.”

  The housekeeper walked away, leaving them outside another set of open doors. The private elevator Eve had assumed stood to the right with fancy, decorative ironwork over a door of dull gold. On the opposite wall wide, sliding doors reflected the same tone. For coats and wraps, Eve assumed.

  Through the open doors, the living area spread big as a ballroom with floor-to-ceiling glass offering the stupendously rich person’s view of the city, the great park, and on this clear day, the Hudson. Staircases swept in fluid curves on either side of the glass.

  An enormous mirror ornately framed in that dull gold ranged over a flickering fireplace with a surround of polished stone the color of tropical seas.

  Sofas, chairs, benches reflected the fluid curves of the staircases, the colors of the surround and the mirror frame. A piano, blizzard white, stood under the curve of the right staircase. It held a large, clear glass ball filled with blue stones and flowers from the palest blue to a purple so deep it read black.

  From the high ceiling hung a many-tiered chandelier formed with hundreds of dripping glass teardrops. Eve decided if it ever fell, it could easily kill a good fifty people standing under its spread.

  A woman came down the right sweep. Dark skin, a curling mass of bronze-tipped dark hair, a voluptuous figure in a suit of poppy red. Early thirties, Eve judged. Not beautiful, but arresting.

  She crossed the wide space on towering heels of blue and green swirls over the poppy red.

  “Lieutenant, Detective, I’m Amelia Leroix.” Her voice carried a faint accent. European, Eve thought, as she shook the extended hand. Probably French.

 
“Mrs. Markin is in a meeting. She’s working from home today, and is still in a meeting. I hope I can help you.”

  “We’ll wait until she’s out of the meeting.”

  “I see. Then allow me to take your coats.”

  “We’re good.”

  “Perhaps I can arrange for coffee? Tea?”

  “You could arrange for us to speak to Mr. and/or Mrs. Markin.”

  “I’ll let Mrs. Markin know you’re waiting. I’m afraid I don’t have Mr. Markin’s schedule. I believe he’s also working from home today, but I’ll have to check.”

  “We’d appreciate it.”

  “Please, come in, sit down. I’ll need a moment.”

  Eve didn’t miss the flicker of resignation on Amelia’s face as she turned toward the left sweep of stairs.

  Different wings, Eve thought. For business meetings, or altogether?

  Peabody wandered over to the glass wall. “That’s one serious view. And the terrace has to add another two hundred square feet of living space in good weather.”

  “Making ankle-breakers pays.”

  “Did you see the assistant’s shoes? I bet those were from the hand-painted collection.”

  While Peabody enjoyed the view, Eve studied the room. Some framed photos—but none of the married couple together. The art struck her as safe and tasteful, and she didn’t see anything wrong with that. Despite the size of the room, it felt comfortable, at least marginally welcoming.

  She turned as the man she recognized as Hugo Markin came down the stairs. He wore a silver-blue sweater to match his eyes and casual, well-tailored black trousers. He wore skids—pricey ones the same color as the sweater. His hair, waves of streaky blond, flowed back from a vid-handsome face.

  His smile held buckets of charm. A blue stone ring shot fire from his extended hand.

  “Lieutenant Dallas, what a pleasure. I’m an enormous fan. In fact, I’ll be in the Highland Center on Sunday, cheering for your Oscar win.”

  “It’s not my Oscar, win or lose.”

  “So modest. Ah, Detective Peabody, another pleasure. Let’s sit, have some coffee, and you can tell me what brings you to see me today.”

  “We can start with Jordan Banks.”

  “Such a shock!” He gestured them to seats by the fire. “Do you know I spoke with him the very night he died? At a party in this building. But then, I’m sure you do know. What can I tell you to help?”

  “How well did you know him?”

  “Not terribly well, really. We did play golf a few times—in a foursome. And would see each other at parties. Mutual friends and acquaintances. I might see him, now and again, if we were both at one of our casinos—my family’s casinos—at the same time.”

  “Did he often frequent your casinos?”

  “I couldn’t say, frankly.” In a picture of ease, Markin draped an arm over the low back of the sofa. “I recall seeing him a time or two. I think he enjoyed roulette, but that’s my best recollection only.”

  “What time did you leave the party?”

  “It must have been around one.”

  “Was Banks still there?”

  Markin shifted as if thinking, but the gleam in his eye told Eve he was amused by the questioning. “I’m not sure. It’s a large apartment. Not as large as this, you understand, but large enough. And it was a very . . . festive gathering. People spread all over. They have two levels rather than our three, but considerable opportunities to spread out, or enjoy a more intimate tête-à-tête. I believe Jordan indulged in an intimate tête-à-tête with my wife the night he died.

  “Ah, here’s our coffee.”

  A man in domestic black wheeled in the tray.

  “Black for the lieutenant, cream with two sugars for the detective.” Markin smiled again. “I told you I was a fan.”

  As the man poured, Delores Larga Markin came down the stairs. Her luxurious red hair spilled over the shoulders of a gray suit, high-necked, military in cut, with a double row of silver buttons down the jacket.

  She wore silver booties with needle-thin heels and a line of red braiding up the sides. Square-cut diamond studs flashed at her ears, her only jewelry.

  “Ah, here’s my beautiful wife. Come meet Lieutenant Dallas and her stalwart sidekick Detective Peabody. Renaldo, another cup.”

  “No, thank you, Renaldo. I have another meeting shortly. I’m sorry I’m so pressed for time today,” she said to Eve.

  “Oh, you can always squeeze out a bit more for interesting company. That will be all, Renaldo. Sit, sit, Dello.” He patted the cushion beside him. “I was just telling our guests about you and Jordan. You know, it occurs to me you must be the last woman to give him a ride before he died.”

  Delores simply stared at him. Then she sat, keeping at least a foot of space between them. “Would you give me the room, Hugo? I’m sure you can make yourself available to Lieutenant Dallas if she needs to speak to you again. You have so much free time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Another couple questions before you leave, Mr. Markin. Your whereabouts this weekend. From Friday night through Monday morning.”

  “That’s quite a length of time. Wasn’t Jordan killed Monday night, or rather early Tuesday?”

  “Can you give us your whereabouts over this past weekend?”

  “If I must. Spot-checking our casinos in the south. Mississippi, Georgia, Florida. I barely made it back in time for Thad and Delvinia’s party.”

  “You have several relatives in the military, active and retired.”

  “Do I?” He sipped his coffee. “I suppose you’re right. After all, we still call my grandfather ‘The General.’”

  “You’re not interested in the military yourself?”

  “Not in the least. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Isn’t that right, Dello?”

  She didn’t spare him a glance. “You’re a man of tactics, Hugo, without a clear strategy to guide them.”

  “Still, I have you, don’t I? I’ll just be upstairs if I’m needed. Absolutely thrilling to meet you both.”

  As he walked upstairs, Delores crossed her legs, let out a breath.

  “You’re here about Jordan.”

  “We’ll start there.”

  “I’m sorry he’s dead. It would be foolish to deny, since Hugo was so helpful. I had sex with Jordan on Monday night, at the party. Thad Trulane’s and Delvinia Otter’s party.”

  “Your husband didn’t seem surprised or overly concerned about your relationship with Jordan Banks.”

  “I wouldn’t call a brief sexual encounter a ‘relationship,’ but no, Hugo’s neither surprised nor concerned. Hugo and I haven’t been intimate in over a year. Our marriage is nothing more than a legal contract at this point.”

  She sat, her back ruler straight, her face calmly composed. Unless, Eve thought, you looked carefully. Then you saw misery beneath the polish.

  “We each go on own way,” she continued. “If you suspect him of killing Jordan out of a jealous fury, that wouldn’t be the case. Frankly, fury’s just too much effort for a man like Hugo. I didn’t particularly like Jordan.”

  “But you had sex with him.”

  “Yes. I went to the party because I like Delvinia, I wanted to blow off a little steam, and because I didn’t know Hugo would be there. I hadn’t seen him for several days.”

  “Is that usual?”

  “Yes. We go our own way, as I said, and generally stay out of each other’s way. When I saw him there, it annoyed me. And I had impulsive, if briefly satisfying, sex with Jordan. Then I left, came home.”

  “And your husband?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know how long he stayed, when he came back, if he came back alone or with someone. That’s how it works for us.”

  “Why?” Peabody shifted. “You don’t like your husband. Why are you living with him?”

  “My parents are adamantly opposed to divorce. They’d be very disappointed to know I’ve had sexual relations outside of marriage, but divorce
would be even more disappointing. Hugo was a mistake, but he’s my mistake. Right now, I’m living with the mistake. He’s well aware why I do.”

  She looked away then, toward the expansive, exclusive view of New York. “I think it amuses him.”

  “How well did he know Jordan?”

  “Well enough. My impression is Jordan set out to seduce me because I was the wife of a friend—however casual a friend. They share some qualities, some interests. Sports, travel, gambling, women.”

  “The stock market?”

  Puzzlement drew her eyebrows together. “The stock market. I couldn’t tell you about Jordan, but Hugo doesn’t trouble himself with that sort of thing, to my knowledge. He has people who trouble themselves on his behalf.”

  “Art?”

  “Jordan, of course. Hugo? Not particularly. Oh, Hugo’s educated and can talk art. But he doesn’t have any real interest in it. In anything really but what gives him pleasure. He’s lazy—a cardinal sin in my family, but he hides it well. I can’t give him an alibi for Jordan, but I can say, killing someone? Far too much effort, and he certainly wouldn’t exert that effort on my behalf.”

  “Where were you all weekend?”

  “Amelia can tell you the details and timing precisely, but on Friday, my mother, sister, and I—and our support staff—traveled to Paris to meet with some accounts. We came back Monday morning.

  “I hope you find who killed Jordan, but I didn’t know him well enough to help you. I’m sorry, but I do have another meeting.”

  When she rose, Eve and Peabody followed suit.

  “Do you know your husband’s family?”

  “Many of them. Hugo’s not like most of them, actually. His grandfather, ‘The General,’ said to me on our wedding day that I’d be the making of Hugo.”

  Her mouth twisted into a tight, bitter smile. “He was wrong.”

  “Is he close to any of them?”

  “It’s hard to say. If someone can be useful, Hugo is clever at exploiting a relationship. Until they’re no longer useful.”

  “Okay, thanks for your time. Do you know if the party hosts are in residence today?”

  “No, they’re not. It was a bon voyage party. Delvinia and Thad left the next day for Turks and Caicos. They’ll be yachting through the spring.”