The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [690]
“Name?”
“I’m so sorry, I don’t know it offhand. It might be in our records. Well, this is—this is all very disturbing.”
“Yeah,” Eve said dryly. “Murder can just ruin a perfectly good funeral.”
“I only meant—” Color came into his cheeks, then died away. “I understand you must do your job. But, Lieutenant, we have a memorial in progress for one of the women who was killed. I have to ask you and your men to be discreet. This is an extremely difficult and delicate time for Ms. York’s friends and family.”
“I’m going to make sure Ariel Greenfeld’s friends and family don’t end up in your Tranquility Room anytime soon.”
They were as discreet as a half a dozen cops could be, with Feeney and McNab tackling the electronics for any data. Eve stood in the basement prep room with Roarke.
“Not much different from the morgue. Smaller,” she noted, scanning the steel worktables, the gullies on the sides, the hoses and tubes and tools. “I guess he got some of his knowledge of anatomy working here. Might have had some of his early practice sessions on corpses.”
“Charming thought.”
“Yeah, well, being as they were already dead—hopefully—it probably didn’t upset them too much. Oh, and FYI? When my time comes, I don’t want the preservatives and the stylist. You can just build a big fire, slide me in. Then you can throw yourself on the pyre to show your wild grief and constant devotion.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
“Nothing down here for us. I want the second location that was up and running during the Urbans. Any other properties owned by Lowell, in any of his guises or fronts.”
“I’ll get to it,” Roarke told her.
She drew out her communicator, scowled at the buzzing static. “Reception’s crappy down here. Let’s go up. I want to see if Callendar had any luck with the stepmother.
“She could have had property in her name,” Eve continued as they started out. “Maybe he uses that. Lawyers are dragging their feet, as the breed’s prone to do. Between Whitney and Tibble they’ll cut through that bullshit quickly enough.”
“If he continues to be smart,” Roarke commented, “the lawyers would only lead you to a numbered account and message service. He covers himself well.”
“Then we’ll tackle the account and the service. Fucker’s in New York. He has a bolt-hole here, a work space, transportation. And one of these lines we’re yanking is going to bring us down on him.”
Eve had no more than reached the main level when her communicator beeped. “Dallas.”
“Found her!” Callendar all but sang it. “Edwina Spring. Found her in the music and entertainment section of an old Times. Opera sensation, if you believe the hype. Prodigy. Barely eighteen when she bowled over New York at the Met. I’ve got more coming up now that I’ve got her name.”
“Run a multitask. See if you can find any property in the city listed under her name.”
“On it.”
“Get it all together, Callendar. I’ve got a stop to make, then I’m heading in.”
“What stop?” Roarke wanted to know.
“Pella. He knows something. His medicals confirm he’s clocking out, and is barely able to walk across the room. But he knows something, and I’m not dicking around with him.”
“You weren’t tailed here.”
“That’s right.”
“Then it’s unlikely you’ll be tailed from here. As Peabody’s busy, I’ll go with you to see this Pella.”
“I can handle myself.”
“You certainly can. But do you want to pull any part of the team here off to run your wire? Simpler, quicker, if I go with you, then the rest of them meet us back at Central.”
“Maybe.” And for the sake of expediency, she shrugged. “Fine.”
When they arrived at Pella’s, there was a great deal of objecting and hand-fluttering from both the housekeeping and medical droids. Eve just pushed through it.
“If you’ve got a complaint, report it to the chief of police. Or the mayor. Yeah, the mayor loves to get complaints from droids.”
“We’re obliged to look after Mr. Pella, to see to his health and comfort.”
Obviously, some joker had