The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [17]
The idea made her twitchy.
“Let’s go through it, level one then two,” she decided. “Check all ’links for transmissions, in or out, last seventy-two hours. Take a look at e-mail, voice mail, any personal notes. We’ll let the boys in EDD dig deeper, if necessary.”
Space, Eve thought as she got to work, and height. The rich seemed to prize both. She wasn’t thrilled to be working on the sixty-fifth floor with a wall of windows the only thing separating her from the crowded sidewalk a very long drop down.
She turned her back on it and took a closet while Peabody took drawers. Eve found three expensive topcoats, several jackets, six scarves—silk or cashmere—three black umbrellas, and four pairs of gloves—two pairs black, one brown, one gray.
The first-floor ’link offered a call from his granddaughter asking for his support in campaigning for a puppy, and a transmission from him to his daughter-in-law, doing just that.
Upstairs, Eve found that what she had assumed to be a sitting room or second guest room behind pebbled glass walls was in actuality the master bedroom closet.
“Jeez.” She and Peabody stood, staring at the huge space organized with shelves, cupboards, racks, revolving rods. “It’s almost bigger than Roarke’s.”
“Is that a sexual euphemism?” Peabody cocked her head, and this time it was Eve who snorted. “This guy really liked clothes. I bet there are a hundred suits in here.”
“And look how they’re all organized. Color, material, accessories. I bet Mira’d have a field day with somebody this compulsive about wardrobe.”
In fact, Eve thought, she might consult the psychiatrist and profiler on just that. Know the victim, know the killer, she decided.
She turned, saw that the back of the glass wall was mirrored, with an elegant grooming station fit into it.
“Appearance,” she said. “That was a priority with him. Personal, professional. And look at his living space. Nothing out of place. Everything color coordinated.”
“It’s a beautiful space. Perfect urban living—upper-class urban living.”
“Yeah, beauty and perfection, that’s our guy.” Eve walked back into the bedroom area, opened the drawer on one of the nightstands. She found a disc reader and three book discs, several unused memo cubes. The second nightstand was empty.
“No sex toys,” she commented.
“Well, gee,” Peabody said, and looked slightly mortified.
“Healthy male, attractive, with another forty on his average life span.” She walked into the master bath. It held a large jet tub, a generous shower stall tiled in pristine white with a detached drying tube, and slate gray counters with a little garden of bright red flowers in shiny black pots.
There were two sculptures, each of tall, slender nudes, fair of face.
One entire wall was mirrored. “Guy liked to look at himself, check himself out, make sure everything was thumbs-up.” She went through cupboards, drawers. “Upscale enhancements, lotions, potions, standard meds and pricey ones for youth extension. He’s concerned with his own appearance. We might even say obsessed.”
“You might,” Peabody commented. “You figure anybody who spends more than five minutes primping’s obsessed.”
“The word ‘primping’ says it all. In any case, we’ll say he was highly aware of himself—his health and his appearance. And he enjoys having naked women around—artfully. But it’s not sexual, or not anymore. No porn vids, no sex toys, no dirty mag discs. Kept it clean.”
“Some people set sex on the back burner at a certain period of their life.”
“Too bad for them.”
Eve wandered out, noted that there was another area devoted to exercise, which flowed into office space. She tried the computer. “Passcoded. Figures. We’ll let EDD play with this, and take all the discs back to Central for review.
“Not a thing out of place,” she mumbled. “Everything in its slot. Neat, ordered,