The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [60]
“Carnelian. My grandmother made it.”
“Really?” He stepped forward, lifted the pendant. “Lovely work. Does she sell her jewelry?”
“Mostly through Free-Ager channels. Indie shops and fairs. It’s kind of a hobby.”
“Tick-tock,” Eve grumbled, and had both of them glancing over at her, Peabody bemused, Roarke amused.
“It certainly suits you,” he continued and let the pendant drop again. “But I have to confess, I rather miss your uniform.”
“Oh, well.” She pinked up as Eve rolled her eyes behind Peabody’s back.
“I’ll be out of your way in a minute, but I have a thing or two that might interest you.” Roarke glanced down at the cup Peabody had forgotten, in a hormonal haze, she held. “I could use some of that coffee.”
“Coffee?” Peabody all but sighed it, then snapped back. “Oh yeah, sure. I’ll get it. I’ll get it.”
Roarke smiled after her. “She is a treasure,” he stated.
“You got her stirred up. You did it on purpose.”
His expression was all innocence. “I haven’t any idea what you mean. In any case, I’m glad you’d asked her and McNab for dinner, and I’m sorry they won’t make it. Meanwhile, I’ve done some poking around for you, after my morning meeting.”
“You had a meeting? Already?”
“Holo-conference. Scotland. They’re five hours ahead of us, and I accommodated them. I needed to speak with my aunt in Ireland as well.”
Which explained, she thought, why he hadn’t been in his usual spot in the sitting area of their room when she’d gotten up at six.
“You find me money?”
“In a sense.” He paused, smiling over at Peabody again as she brought in a tray.
“I got fresh for you, Dallas.”
“In the sense of what?” Eve demanded impatiently.
But Roarke took his time, personally pouring coffee all around. “In the sense of large bequests and annuities channeled through various arms of Icove’s holdings. On the surface, extremely generous and philanthropic. But added up, pushed through the surface and carefully examined, questionable.”
“How?”
“Nearly two hundred million—so far—over the last thirty-five years that I can’t account for through his income. A man gives away that kind of green, it should put a bit of a dent here and there in his pockets. Not so.” He drank coffee.
“Indicating another source of income. A hidden source.”
“It would seem. I suspect there’s more. I’ve only just started on this line. Interesting, isn’t it, that a man with a questionable income would choose to donate it—quietly, even anonymously—to worthy causes. Most would buy themselves a nice little country.”
“Anonymously.”
“He’s gone to considerable trouble to distance himself from the donations. A lot of layers between. Trusts, nonprofits, foundations, all crisscrossing, padded between with corporations and organizations.” He shrugged. “I don’t imagine you need or want a lesson in tax shelters or the like, Lieutenant. Let’s just say he has excellent financial advice, and had elected to dump these funds without taking credit for them. Or the considerable write-off on his income. Then again, he isn’t reporting the income.”
“Tax evasion.”
“In a sense. Difficult though, even for the Internal Revenue to squeeze anything out, since the money was shifted to charities. But surely there’s an infraction.”
“So we need to find the source of the income.” Eve took her coffee, circled the office. “There’s always a trail.”
Roarke’s lips curved, slyly. “There isn’t, no. Not always.”
She shot him a narrowed look. “Somebody who knows how to erase trails ought to be able to find one.”
“Somebody should.”
“Maybe start at the back end,” Peabody suggested. “Places that got the money.”
“Give me, say, the five biggest beneficiaries,” Eve said to Roarke. “You can shoot it to my office at Central.”
“I’ll do that. The biggest, by far, is a small private school.”
“Brookhollow?” Eve felt the sizzle.
“Gold star for you, Lieutenant. Brookhollow Academy, and its higher-education companion, Brookhollow