The In Death Collection Books 16-20 - J. D. Robb [180]
He was cool, she thought. More intrigued than worried or annoyed. And, if she wasn’t mistaking that faint curve of mouth, he was a little amused. “In order to expedite my investigation, I need to check all the names of purchasers, and verify their whereabouts on the night in question.”
“I see. Lieutenant, can I assume this line of investigation is secure and discreet? Having my name linked, however loosely, with a licensed companion and a murder would generate considerable unwanted media attention on myself, on Delegate Evans.”
“The name won’t be made public.”
“All right. Night before last?”
“Between midnight and three.”
He didn’t reach for his book, but instead steepled his fingers, watched Eve over the tips. “My wife and I attended the theater. A production of Six Weeks by William Gantry, a British playwright. At Lincoln Center. We were in the company of two other couples, left the theater at about eleven, then had a post-theater drink at Renoir’s. I believe we left there, my wife and I, around midnight. We’d have been home by twelve-thirty. My wife went to bed, and I worked in my home office for perhaps an hour. It might’ve been a little longer. Following habit, I would have watched about thirty minutes of news, then retired for the night.”
“Did you see or speak with anyone after your wife went to bed?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t. I can only tell you that I was home, tending to my work when this murder took place. I’m confused how buying this paper connects me to this woman, or her death.”
“Her killer wrote a note on that stationery.”
“A note.” Now Renquist’s eyebrows lifted. “Well. That was rather arrogant of him, wasn’t it?”
“He’s not really covered for the time of the murder either,” Peabody pointed out as they walked back to the car.
“That’s the problem when somebody buys it at two in the morning. Most of the suspects are going to claim they were home, innocently tucked into their own beds. They got their own security, or a way around hotel or apartment security, it’s tough to call them a stinking liar.”
“Do you think he is a stinking liar?”
“It’s early yet.”
She tracked Elliot Hawthorne down on the eleventh hole of a private club on Long Island. He was a sturdy, tough man, with a shock of white hair fluttering around under a tan cap, matched by the luxurious white mustache that set off his tanned face. There were lines scored around his mouth, fanned out from his eyes, but the eyes themselves were sharp and clear as he drove the ball off the tee.
He passed the driver back to his caddy, hopped in a small white cart, then signaled for Eve to join him. “Talk fast” was all he said as he sent the cart zipping forward.
She did, giving him the details as Peabody and the caddy followed on foot.
“Dead whore, fancy writing paper.” He gave a little grunt as he stopped the cart. “Used whores from time to time, never kept track of their names.” He jumped out, circled his ball, studied the lay. “Got a young wife, don’t need whores now. Don’t remember the paper. You got a young wife, you buy all sorts of useless shit. London?”
“Yes.”
“August. London, Paris, Milan. I still got my fingers in some business, and she likes to shop. If you say I bought the paper, I bought the paper. So what?”
“It’s tied to the murder. If you could tell me where you were between midnight and three, night before last—”
He let out a bark of laughter, stood from where he’d crouched by the ball and gave her his full attention. “Young lady, I’m more than seventy. I’m fit, but I need my sleep. I play eighteen holes every morning, and before I do, I have a good breakfast, read the paper, and check the stock reports. I’m up every morning at seven. I’m in bed every night by eleven unless my wife drags me out to some shindig. Night before last I was in bed by eleven, and after making love to my wife—a process that doesn’t take as long as it once did—I was asleep. Can’t prove it, of course.”
He brushed her back, turned to the caddy. “Gimme the seven iron, Tony.”
She watched him set, sight, then smack the ball into a pretty