The In Death Collection Books 16-20 - J. D. Robb [179]
“Lieutenant Dallas, I’m Thomas Newkirk, personal assistant to Mr. Renquist. I’ll escort you from here.”
“Some security you’ve got here, Mr. Newkirk.” She spotted cameras and motion sensors along the corridor. Eyes and ears everywhere, she thought. Who could work that way?
He followed the track of her gaze. “You stop noticing. Just a price to be paid for safety and freedom.”
“Uh-huh.” He had a square face, a jaw so sharp and straight it might have been sliced off with a sword. Very pale, very cool blue eyes and a ruddy complexion under short, bristly sandy hair.
He walked very erect, with a purposeful stride, his arms straight at his sides.
“You former military?”
“Captain, RAF. Mr. Renquist has a number of former military on staff.” He used a key card to access another door, and Renquist’s suite of offices.
“Just one moment, please.”
While she waited, Eve studied the area. Another warren of rooms, most separated by glass panels so that the staffers were exposed to each other, and the cameras. It didn’t seem to bother them as they worked away at keyboards or headsets.
She glanced in the direction Newkirk had taken and saw that it ended in a closed door with Renquist’s name on it.
It opened, and Newkirk stepped out again. “Mr. Renquist will see you now, Lieutenant.”
It was a lot of buildup for an ordinary man, which was her first impression of Renquist. He stood behind a long, dark desk that might have been wood, might have been old, with an East River view at his back.
He was tall, with the kind of build that told her he used a health center regularly or paid good money to a body sculptor. She also figured his build was wasted in the dull gray suit, though the suit had probably cost him a great deal.
He was attractive enough, if you went for the polished and distinguished type. He was fair-skinned, fair-haired with a prominent nose and a wide forehead.
His eyes, a kind of sooty gray, were his best feature, and met hers directly.
His voice was clipped, and oh-so-British she expected crumpets—whatever the hell they were—to come popping out of his mouth along with the words.
“Lieutenant Dallas, I’m very pleased to meet you. I’ve read and heard quite a bit about you already.” He held out a hand, and she was treated to a firm, dry, politician’s shake. “I believe we met once, some time back, at a charity function.”
“So I’m told.”
“Please have a seat.” He gestured, and sat behind his desk. “Tell me what I can do for you.”
She sat in a sturdy cloth chair. Not a comfortable one, she noted. Busy man, can’t have people sitting around in his office taking up too much of his time.
His desk was another hive of industry. The data and communication system with the screen blinking on hold, a short stack of discs, another stack of paper, the second ’link. Among the work was a duet of framed photographs. She could see a slice of a young girl’s face and curly hair—both fair like her father’s—and assumed the other shot would be of his wife.
She knew enough about politics and protocol to at least start out playing the game. “I’d like to thank you, for myself and on behalf of the NYPSD for your cooperation. I know you’re extremely busy and appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”
“I believe strongly in assisting the local authorities, wherever I am. The U.N. is, on an elemental level, the world’s police force. In a way, we’re in the same profession, you and I. How can I help you?”
“A woman named Jacie Wooton was murdered the night before last. I’m the primary investigator.”
“Yes, I heard of the killing.” He leaned back, but his eyebrows lowered. “A licensed companion, in the Chinatown district.”
“Yes, sir. In the course of my investigation, I’ve had reason to research and trace a certain brand of stationery. You purchased this brand of writing paper six weeks ago in London.”
“I was in London this summer for a few days, and did, indeed, buy stationery. Several different types, as I recall. Some for personal use, some for gifts. Am I to understand that this purchase makes me a suspect