In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [9]
Rick Estevez was Hispanic, probably Cuban, Camelia guessed. Medium height, stockily built, smartly dressed in a gray suit; a shock of thick silver hair, a permanent tan and intense dark eyes that, Camelia knew, took him in at a glance. No wonder he was Vincent’s right-hand man—Mr. Estevez was one sharp cookie. Not only that, he was sitting in what Camelia knew must be Ed Vincent’s green leather swivel chair, behind the slab of steel that was Ed Vincent’s desk.
Interesting, Camelia thought as he shook hands and took the seat opposite, watching as Estevez settled himself back in the green leather. He looked mighty comfortable there. For a man in the boss’s seat. And, the boss wasn’t even dead yet. Mmm, Camelia thought again, I wonder. . . .
“Bring coffee, Lauren, if you please,” Estevez said, and the receptionist nodded, yes sir.
“An efficient young woman.” Estevez fixed his full attention on Camelia. “But then, if she were not, she would not be working for Ed Vincent.”
“He’s a stickler for efficiency, is he?” Camelia searched his pocket for Winstons, then remembered where he was. He folded his hands in front of him, watching Estevez watching him.
“You might say he’s an efficiency nut.” Estevez smiled, showing, Camelia noted, perfect white teeth. “And I guess you might say that’s how he got where he is today.” He sighed. “And where we hope he will still be tomorrow and forever after amen. This has been a terrible shock to us all, Detective,” he added, leaning earnestly forward, clasped hands on the steel desk, dark eyes locked onto Camelia’s.
“I can imagine.”
Lauren returned with a tray containing a steel coffee flask and two sensible white mugs. They waited while she poured, and Camelia helped himself to three sugars and no milk thanks. Estevez took it black.
Lauren departed and Camelia began with a strong left hook. “You must know who did this, Mr. Estevez. After all, you are the one closest to Mr. Vincent.”
If the blow hit a tender spot, Estevez didn’t show it, and Camelia thought he was either a very good player or an innocent man. Meanwhile, he was as much under suspicion as the unknown Zelda. Business was business, and greed and envy were strong motivations for murder. Especially when the stakes were this high.
“I admit I know Ed as well as, maybe better than, anyone here.” Estevez took a sip of the hot black coffee, pulling a slight face as he did so. “Ahh, when will they learn to make a decent cup,” he sighed. Then he looked Camelia in the eye again. “But you’re wrong if you think I was ever his confidant. We never socialized. I’ve never had dinner with the man, unless it was business, and I’ve never visited his home.”
“Homes,” Camelia corrected. “I understand there is also a beach house near Charleston.” He also took a sip of the coffee. He thought it was pretty good, but then anything with that much sugar would taste good.
“Homes,” Estevez agreed. “And no, I’ve visited neither one.”
“But on a business level, you know everything there is to know.”
Estevez nodded. “Within reason. That is, I know as much as any boss wants to tell his assistant.”
Camelia nodded too; he understood that. A man like Ed Vincent would never trust anyone with the whole of his life story, his life’s work, his business deals. He would always keep something back, hold on to the secrets until he had negotiated his way through the deal.
“Happiness for Ed was a successful deal,” Estevez said. “A new Vincent Tower was— literally—the height of his dreams. And the next one was to be the supertower. He had the architect all lined up, knew exactly what he wanted . . . his dream was about to become reality. Until somebody threw a spanner in the works.”
Camelia sat up. “What works?”
“This is in confidence, you understand.” Estevez glanced around the sun-filled office