by J. D. Robb
“No, thanks.”
Eve called the car, stepped on, ordered the twenty-first floor.
“Do you think Roarke knew Anders?”
“Probably.”
“Could be handy.”
“Maybe.” Eve had nearly reached the point where having Roarke know so many damn people wasn’t completely annoying. “The run said Anders is worth about half a billion including his controlling interest in Anders Worldwide.” Hooking her thumbs in her pockets, Eve tapped her fingers on her thighs. “That’s a lot of motives for murder. Add sex, you’ve pretty much got it all. Greed, jealousy, gain, revenge.”
“The guy was practically asking for it.”
Eve grinned. “Let’s find out.” Her face sober again, she walked through the open elevator doors.
Behind a long red counter, three receptionists wore headsets and appeared very busy. Even so, the center one, a dark-skinned brunette, offered a beaming smile. “Good morning! How can I help you?”
“I need to see whoever’s in charge.”
“Which department are you—Oh.” She broke off, blinking rapidly at Eve’s badge when it slapped on the slick red counter.
“All of them. Who’s the top dog under Thomas A. Anders?”
“This is my first week. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Frankie!”
“What is it, Syl?” The man at her left glanced over, then down at the badge. “Is there something I can help you with, ah…”
“Lieutenant. I need to speak with Thomas Anders’s second-in-command, or whoever’s highest in the pecking order and in house now.”
“That would be Mr. Forrest. Benedict Forrest. He’s in a meeting, but—”
“Not anymore.”
“Right. If you could give me a minute to contact his admin. He’ll come down and escort you upstairs.”
“I can get upstairs myself. Tell the admin to get Forrest out of the meeting.” Eve got back in the elevator, rolled her shoulders. “That was fun.”
“Pretty bitchy.”
“That’s what was fun about it.”
As Eve stepped off again, a stick-thin woman in high, stick-thin heels came bolting through a set of glass doors. “Ah, officers! If you’d come with me.”
“You’re the admin?”
“No, I’m the AA. Assistant administrator. I’ll take you to Mr. Walsh’s office.”
“Who would be the administrative assistant, rather than the assistant administrator.”
“Exactly.”
“How does anybody get business done when they have to translate all these titles?”
“Ah, Mr. Walsh is letting Mr. Forrest know you’re here. Apparently Reception didn’t get the nature of the business you’re here to discuss.”
“No, they didn’t.”
The AA opened her mouth, obviously thought better of it, and closed it. They wound their way through a busy hive of offices and cubes, then made a forty-five-degree turn into the efficient space of—his name was engraved on a small onyx plaque beside the door—Leopold Walsh.
His workstation was a long, free-standing counter in sleek black holding the usual necessities of comp, data and communication unit, and little else. A second counter ran along the wall to support a laser fax, a secondary computer. A third counter served as a refreshment center with AutoChef and friggie. A trio of visitors’ chairs ranged together, backless cubes in pristine white.
The only color in the room came from the showy plant with its vivid red blossoms spearing up from the middle windowsill of the generous triple glass.
Supplies, she supposed, and any necessary paperwork would be tucked away in the cabinetry built into the wall.
Altogether she preferred the miserly space and tattered style of her office at Central.
“If you’d like to have a seat, Mr. Walsh should be—” The AA glanced at the door with obvious relief lighting her face. “Mr. Walsh.”
“Thank you, Delly.” He stepped in, an imposing man with dark chocolate skin in a pin-striped suit. His hair formed a skullcap that set off a striking face of sharp angles. Deep-set eyes, the color of good, strong coffee, flicked over Peabody, fastened on Eve. “Leopold Walsh. Lieutenant…”
“Dallas.” For form, Eve presented her badge again. “And Detective Peabody. We’re here to see Benedict Forrest.”
“So I’m told.” He handed her badge back to her. “As you were told, Mr. Forrest is in a meeting.”
“Badge trumps meeting.”
“It would be helpful if you told me what this is in regards to.”
“It would be helpful if I told Mr. Forrest what this is in regards to.”
He wanted to stonewall—she could see it. And couldn’t blame him, as she’d have wanted to do the same.
“Mr. Forrest—” He broke off, holding up a hand as the ear-com he wore blinked blue.” “Yes, sir. Of course. Mr. Forrest,” he began again, “is available. This way, please.”
Benedict Forrest’s office was only steps away from his admin’s, but a world away from it in style. Here, the workstation held the necessary and the efficient, crowded together with what Eve thought of as guy toys—an autographed baseball on a pedestal, a handheld golf game, a couple of trophies, a sponge-weight toy football. Photographs and posters of sports figures or sports products juggled for space along the wall.
Chairs were leather, deep, and looked comfortably worn.
Forrest himself stood about three inches under his admin’s height. He wore a shirt open at the collar, casual khakis, and trendy gel-skids. There was a friendly, just-one-of-the-guys look about him with his tousled sandy hair, easy smile, cheerful hazel eyes.
“You’ve been waiting. Sorry. I had to wrap things up. Ben Forrest.” He crossed the office as he spoke, shot out his hand. Eve shook, studying him as he offered his hand to Peabody.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”
“Have a seat. What can we get you? Coffee, bottled water, a sports drink?”
“We’re fine. We’re hear to speak with you about Thomas Anders.”
Humor danced over Forrest’s expressive face. “Don’t tell me Uncle Tommy’s in trouble.”
“Uncle?”
“My mother’s brother. Please, sit.” He gestured, then dropped down into a chair. “More, really, as he basically raised me after my mother died.”
“How did she die?”
“Eaten by a shark.”
Intrigued, Eve sat. “Really?”
His grin flashed. “Yeah, really. I was about six, and don’t remember her that well, so it’s more interesting than tragic for me. Scuba diving off the coast of Madagascar. Anyway, what about my uncle?”
Sticky now, Eve thought. “I’m sorry to have to tell you Mr. Anders was killed this morning.”
Amusement snapped into shock that leached the healthy color out of his face. “What? Killed? How? Are you sure? Wait.” He rose, dug a ’link out of his pocket.
“Mr. Forrest, we’ve just left your uncle’s home, and his widow.”
“But…we’re going to the Knicks game tonight. We—we played golf on Sunday. He…”
“Ben.” Leopold moved across the room. After taking the ’link out of Ben’s hand, he laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder, eased him down into the chair. “I’m very sorry. So very sorry. I’m going to cancel the rest of your appointments for the day.” He walked to a cabinet, tapped the door. When it opened, he took out a chilled bottle of water, unscrewed the top. “Drink some water.”
Like a puppet, Ben obeyed. Eve made no objection when Leopold ranged himself like a guard behind Ben’s chair.
“What happened?”
“He was strangled.”
“That can’t be right.” Ben shook his head slowly from side to side. “That just can’t be right.”
“Do you know anyone who wished him harm?”
“No. No.”
“Where were you this morning between one and four A.M.?”
“Jesus. Home. Home in bed.”
&
nbsp; “Alone?”
“No. I had…a friend.” He rubbed the cold bottle over his face. “Gatch Brooks. She was there all night. We got up about six, worked out together. She left—we both left around eight. You can check. Just check. I wouldn’t hurt Uncle Tommy. He’s like a father to me.”
“You were close. How would you describe Mr. Anders’s relationship with his wife?”
“Great. Good. Ava’s…you said you’d talked to her. Told her. God. Leopold, get the number where she’s staying. I need to—”
“She’s home, Mr. Forrest,” Peabody told him.
“She…Oh, she came home. She came home when you told her…” Ben pressed his fingers to his eyes. “I can’t think straight. I need to get over to the house, to Ava. I need to—Where is he? Is he still home, or…”
“He’s been taken to the morgue.” He didn’t bother to fight tears, Eve noted. He let them come. “You—your family—will be able to make arrangements as soon as we finish our examination.”
“Okay.” Now he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his thighs. “Okay.”
“Who was your uncle sexually involved with?”
“Huh.” Ben’s eyes, already rimmed with red, lifted to Eve’s face. “Well, Jesus, Ava. I mean they were married for Christ’s sake.”
“Outside of marriage.”
“Nobody.” Anger and insult snapped through the grief, brought color back to Ben’s face. “That’s a hell of a thing to say. He didn’t cheat. He wasn’t a cheater. You don’t know the kind of man he was. He believed in honesty, in good sportsmanship, in playing to win, but playing it straight.”
“Who stands to gain from his death?”
“Nobody,” Ben replied. “His death diminishes all of us. You mean financially. I would, Ava would.” He let out a long breath. “I don’t know how things were set up. There are probably charitable organizations, there’d be something for Greta—the house manager. But what you’re talking about, that would be me and Ava. I need to get over there.”
Even as he rose, the ’link Leopold still held signaled. After a glance at the display, Leopold offered it. “It’s Mrs. Anders.”
Ben grabbed the ’link, turned his back. “Privacy mode,” he ordered. “Ava. God, Ava, I just heard…I know. I know. It’s all right. Yes, the police are here. Yes, that’s right. I’m coming right over. I—” His voice cracked, then firmed again. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t take it in. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
After ending the transmission, Ben turned back to Eve. His expression was simply shattered. “She needs family. I have to go now.”
“We’ll need to see Mr. Anders’s office,” Eve told him. “And we’ll need to access his electronics.”
“All right. Yes, all right. I have to go. Leo, whatever they need.”
Eve waited until they were heading down. “Funny, isn’t it, how Anders’s office—like his nephew’s—is all casual guy, even a little toward man cave with the trophies and the sports equipment everywhere. Nothing polished, fashionable, or edgy. Nothing like where he lives.”
“Well, he sells the sports stuff. And lots of houses more reflect the woman’s taste than the guy’s. Or one partner’s taste over the other’s.”
She thought of herself and Roarke. When it came to decor, she…never gave it a thought, she admitted. Yet, she had her home office, her somewhat shabby—by comparison with the rest—home office that fit what could be called her style.
“Didn’t notice a man cave at the house,” she commented, and shrugged. “How’d Forrest play for you, Peabody?”
“Forrest wins actor of the century award, or he was sincerely shocked when you told him his uncle was dead, and was sincerely and deeply broken up. There just wasn’t a false note. I believe him.”
“Seemed straight enough. We’ll verify his alibi. If Anders stood as daddy since Forrest was six, that’s twenty-five years or so. Funny that Ava said they didn’t have any children.”
“Well, they didn’t.”
“She didn’t even mention him, and doesn’t call to tell him for hours after the house manager notified her. Maybe a false note,” Eve speculated, “maybe just shock and confusion. Forrest comes off as a nice guy—and a nice, well-off kind of guy. Now he’s a really rich kind of guy.”
“I’ll start a run on him. You didn’t mention really cute kind of guy,” Peabody added as they rode down to the underground garage. “He had that easygoing, athletic thing happening. But the admin?” Peabody hissed air in between her teeth. “Sizzling.”
“Sure, if you’re another guy.”
“Huh?”
“Gay, Peabody.”
“Uh-uh. Why?”
“Could be bi.” With another shrug Eve leaned against the wall. “Either way, he’s got a serious man crush on his boss.”
“I didn’t get that. I did not get that.”
“Because you were too busy being sizzled. Myself, I was practically buried in the unrequited love/lust vibes. Sizzling Leopold had them in check, until Forrest fell apart. Must be tough.”
“Maybe the love/lust isn’t unrequited?”
Eve shook her head. “Forrest is clueless to that part of it. Didn’t even notice Leopold’s quick flinch when he mentioned sleeping with the alibi. Let’s run the sizzler, too.” She pushed off the wall as the doors slid open. “Love makes you do the wacky.”
Yes, indeed it did, she thought a moment later when she saw Roarke leaning casually on her we’re-on-a-budget police vehicle. Tall, lean, with a mane of black hair framing a face blessed by the gods, he shifted those killer blue eyes toward her. It was ridiculous, she thought, to feel that burn in the belly, that thump of the heart over a look—but no more ridiculous than a man who owned a fat chunk of the known universe passing the time on his PPC while he loitered in a parking garage.
He slipped the PPC into his pocket, smiled. “Lieutenant. Hello, Peabody.”
“Shouldn’t you be upstairs buying Alaska?”
“I did that last week. I got wind cops were in the house. What can I do for the NYPSD that I haven’t already done?”
Oh yeah, she thought, the voice was another killer, hinting of Ireland’s misty green hills. And she supposed she should have known he’d get wind. Nothing got by Roarke.
“This one isn’t on you, since you’re alibied for the time in question.”
“Pretty solid,” Peabody put in, “sleeping with the primary.” At Eve’s cool stare, Peabody hunched. “Just saying.”
Roarke grinned at her. “And the primary was up and out early as duty called.” He looked back at Eve. “So who’s dead then?”
“Thomas A. Anders of Anders Worldwide.”
The grin faded. “Is he? Well, that’s a shame.”
“You knew him?”
“A bit. Liked what I knew well enough. You’ve been up to his office then, seen Ben—Benedict Forrest.”
“Points for you. How well do you know Forrest?”
“Casually. He’s a casual sort of man. Agreeable, and smarter than a lot take him for.”
“How about the widow?”
Roarke cocked his head. “Seems we’re having ourselves an interview after all. You should’ve come up, and we’d have done this in more pleasant surroundings.”
“I have to get to the morgue.”
“How many men are married to women who say that routinely, I wonder? Well.” He glanced at his wrist unit. “As it happens, I have some business downtown. You could give me a lift, and question me ruthlessly along the way.”
The idea had its merits. Eve uncoded the car. “You can ride as far as the morgue, then you’re on your own.”
“Again, how many are as blessed as I?” He opened the door for Peabody, but she waved him on.
“I’ll take the back. I’ve got work anyway.”
“Track down Forrest’s alibi first,” Eve ordered, then took the wheel.
“How was Anders killed?” Roarke asked
her.
“Give me impressions first. The vic, the widow, anyone else who applies.”
“Anders would’ve been the second generation of the company—taking it over from his father, who I believe died a year or so ago. A bit longer maybe. It does quite well, good quality products at a reasonable price point.”
“Not the business,” Eve said as she wound through the garage. “Not for now.”
“One influences the other. Lived fairly quietly, I believe. Sports mad—both him and Ben—which fits with the fact they sell and develop sports equipment. He enjoyed golf, particularly, I believe, and various other games that feature whacking or hurling a ball about. I gather he preferred, when possible, to conduct his business on some court or green rather than in the office. My impression would be he enjoyed his work, and was good at it.”
Eve streamed through traffic, cutting around a maxibus, then began to hack her way across town. “How about the spouse?”
“Attractive, well-spoken. Ah, involved in some charity work, it seems to me. Anders sponsors sports camps for underprivileged children. I believe she beats the drum for funding. I can’t say I’ve seen them out and about together more than a handful of times, but he had a reputation for avoiding the social scene…as some do.”
She slid her eyes in his direction. “I go to stuff. Impressions of their relationship?”
“Hard to say, as we weren’t chummy. They struck me as a team, appeared affectionate. In synch, I suppose I’d say.”
“Any mumbles about him screwing around on her?”
Roarke’s brows lifted. “None I’ve heard, though I don’t know as I would, either way. Is that basic cop cynicism, or is there reason for you to believe he cheated on his wife?”
“At the time of death, the wife was out of town. That’s verified. Anders’s housekeeper—house manager,” Eve corrected, “found him this morning just after six. Naked, hands and feet bound with black velvet rope. The kind the bondage shops sell by the yard. Another length was wrapped around his neck in what would appear to be an erotic scarfing session gone bad. There were numerous sex aids and toys on the nightstand, and the corpse still sported an impressive hard-on when the primary began her investigation. There was no sign of forced entry, no sign of struggle, no additional visible signs of trauma or violence on the body.”