They swam and, before she dragged on a T-shirt, he managed to wand her again. They drilled, with him at the auxiliary of her command center, until midnight, when he persuaded her to shut it down until morning.
And just after four A.M., her ’link signaled and woke her.
“Lights at ten percent,” Roarke said. He stood, nearly dressed, beside the bed. “You sleep through a wicked storm, but that wakes you.”
Lightning flashed and, in the following boom of thunder, she saw—at last—Taylor Noy on the display.
“Block video. Dallas.”
“Hey!” Taylor hadn’t blocked hers. She had some sort of big white flower over one ear, a thin pink strap falling off one shoulder, and was clearly very drunk.
“Ms. Noy—”
“Just turned on my ’link. We all turned ’em off, ’cause my sister got married. In Vegas, baby! I had lots and lots of champagne.”
“Okay. Ms. Noy—”
“So I’m pretty much drunk, and I won sixteen hundred dollars shooting craps. I don’t know how to shoot craps, but I won sixteen hundred dollars doing it.”
“Congratulations.”
“I kissed this man—he had to be ninety—right on the mouth. There might’ve been tongues, can’t be sure about that. He was my good luck charm, so what the hell, right? How are you?”
“It’s important I speak with you and your mother as soon as possible.” “My mom?” Taylor dropped down on a bed. Eve caught sight of a
headboard that rivaled EDD with its gold and red swags. “She had a lot of
champagne, too. Everybody did! We had such fun! Sasha got married.” “I can come to you. Are you staying in Las Vegas?”
“Aw. Want to. Can’t. We gotta come home tomorrow. Except for Sasha and Milli. They’re on their honeymoon. In Vegas, baby!”
“What time will you be back in New York tomorrow?” “Um … um. Two o’clock? Yeah, that’s right. Why?”
“It’s very important I speak to you and your mother.” Eve remembered the damn rotation of the Earth. “Is that two New York time?”
“Yep. Two o’clock, West Islip shuttle station. My stepdad’s got a car picking us up. It’ll drop them off, then take me home. He’s sweet that way. Cal’s such a sweetheart. He booked Sasha and Milli the honeymoon suite. It’s got its own little heart-shaped pool and—”
“Ms. Noy … Are you sober enough to understand and remember what I’m saying?”
“Sure. I’m drunk, but not stupid drunk. Maybe a little bit,” she confessed. “Like a hundred percent drunk and, say, ten—maybe fifteen— percent stupid drunk.”
“I’d like you to write this down. Can you write this down?”
“I’ve got an app for that.” The second sparkly pink strap slipped down when she shifted. “Hey, there it is!”
“When you land—write this down—when you land, contact me.”
“When we land, tag—the fifteen percent can’t spell lieutenant right now.
So tag Dallas. ’K, got it.”
“And take the car to your mother’s house, stay there.”
“Stay at Mom’s.” Now she frowned. “Stay there … How come?”
“I want to talk to you and your mother. I can come to you. It’ll be simpler that way. Will you do that?”
“Sure, why not? Contact you, go to Mom’s. I got it! I think I need to puke now, so see you tomorrow!”
Eve sat, staring at the blank screen on her ’link.
“You can always contact her in the morning—don’t forget it’s three hours earlier there,” Roarke reminded her. “Have some pity for the hangover, and be civilized. Wait till noon our time.”
On another roll of thunder, Eve buried her face in her hands. “How can you look like that after four hours’ sleep? Less?”
“Clean living.”
“Since when?”
He came around the bed to kiss her. “Go back to sleep. You can easily grab another two hours.”
He kissed her again, then left her and the cat beside her.
“Go back to sleep,” she muttered, and lay back to go over the conversation with Taylor as thunder boomed. “Who can sleep after all that, and with all this noise?”
Apparently she could, as the next thing she knew it was six-fifteen, and Roarke sat drinking coffee with his stock reports and tablet.
“Feel better?” he asked her. “I will after coffee.”
She grabbed some, then a shower before she went straight to her closet. “It’s still August,” Roarke told her, “but the storm’s dropped the temps
some, and it’ll be fresher for it.” “Great.”
Knowing she’d never get away with full black two days running, she grabbed khakis, a tan jacket with some navy running through it, which made it easy to snag a navy tank.
She came out to whatever Roarke had chosen for breakfast. “Nice choice,” he told her as she sat and poured more coffee.
“Nice choice,” she echoed when he took the domes off bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, golden hash browns. “I want to do more drilling before this afternoon, and try to get that consult with Mira.”
“Well focused, aren’t you now, Lieutenant?”
“It’s them. I’m out of the damn mud because it’s Arnez and Robards. I just have to find the why, and prove it. Get them into the box.”
She ate while Roarke pointed a warning finger at the ever-hopeful Galahad.
“He won’t roll on her. He’d go down for it solo if he had to. But he could let enough slip. He’s not a killer.”
“And yet he killed.”
“I bet those shiny-armor knights didn’t think they were killers when they sliced somebody’s head off to protect the damsel. I can play it that way if that’s how it runs. But I need the why.”
“And hope that Noy’s widow and daughter can give it to you.” “It’s there. Maybe she had a thing for Noy, went for older men.”
“That would be quite an age gap.”
“Yeah, but it happens. He was powerful, and that can be seductive. More likely a thing for the son. Taylor said no special girlfriend back then, but maybe they kept it quiet. Or he didn’t see her as special, but she did.”
She shrugged, ate some more. “I’ll find it.”
“I’d appreciate if you let me know when you do. I find myself invested.” “You put in plenty of time, right from the start, so yeah, I’ll let you
know.”
She pushed up, strapped on her weapon harness. “I want to get started. I’ve dug up—or maybe it’s drilled down to—some of Brice Noy’s old teachers, classmates. I’m going to try to make contact with a couple on my way in.”
“Arnez and Robards have no idea what they’ve started, or how hard they’ll fall. I’d wish you luck, but luck has nothing to do with it.” He rose to kiss her. “Tag me—and meanwhile, take care of my cop.”
“I’m hoping to talk to a college professor and a former member of a high school debate club. I doubt they’ll take a swing at me, but if they do, I’ll block it.”
He watched her go, toying with the button in his pocket. And hoped she came home unbruised and unbloodied.
Eve went out, got in her car, calculating she’d started early enough to catch both potential interviewees at home.
Professor Elaine Gleason lived on the Upper West Side in an old rosy brick building with generous windows. A dog walker ambled by with a pointy-eared, square-jawed brown dog. The dog strutted as if he owned the city. A spotted dog the size of a small tank galloped toward him, his walker jogging to keep up.
Eve expected an ugly battle.
Tank Dog stopped, lavished Pointy-Ears with sloppy tongue kisses. Pointy-Ears accepted them as his due while the respective walkers smiled and cooed.
Dogs, Eve thought as she walked to the building’s entrance, remained a mystery to her.
Inside, she took the stairs to the third floor. A man answered the buzzer on the Gleason apartment. Mid-fifties, trim in a blue shirt and worn jeans,
he had a head full of shaggy, gray-streaked brown hair and hooded brown eyes.
“Good morning.” His voice made Eve think of someone spotlighted on a stage, reciting poetry. “Can I help you?”
“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” She offered her badge. “I’d like to speak with Professor Gleason.”
He smiled at her. “Which one?” “Professor Elaine Gleason.”
“Ah, you want my partner in crime. I probably shouldn’t joke about crime to the police. Elaine!” He raised that made-for-poetry voice. “Cop’s at the door. Come in, Lieutenant. Is there a problem?”
“No, sir. I’d like to speak to Professor Gleason about someone she taught a few years ago.”
“Have a seat. She’s probably got headphones on. I’ll go get her.”
Both walls flanking the doorway he went through were shelves. The shelves were filled with books—dozens and dozens of real books.
Roarke would have loved it.
The furniture—with plenty of seating—looked old. Not antique old, simply well established in the space and well used.
Conversations happened here, she thought, studying the arrangement.
Lots of conversations.
And among the books, the casually comfortable furniture, were framed photos. A lot of them.
Elaine Gleason walked out with her husband. She wore loose cotton pants with a baggy T-shirt and had her mass of brown hair tugged back in a messy tail.
“I’m sorry, I was— Oh for Pete’s sake, Henry! You didn’t tell me it was Eve Dallas.” She strode forward on bare feet, hand extended. “I’m absolutely thrilled to meet you. Henry, Lieutenant Dallas. The Icove Agenda.”
He looked blank, then blinked. “Oh, yes, of course. I didn’t put it together.”
“I teach criminal justice at NYU, so naturally I’ve followed some of your cases. I also run a student book club—Crime and Punishment. We read Nadine Furst’s book last year. I’ve scheduled her new one for our first read in the fall semester. I would love to bring you in as a guest lecturer.”
“Ah—”
“I’ll nag you about it later. Please, sit down.” “Should I make coffee?”
“I’m fine,” Eve told Henry. “I won’t keep you long. Professor Gleason.” “Make it Elaine—the professor can be confusing considering.”
“Elaine—”
“Henry and I just got back from two weeks at the beach—North Carolina
—with our children. I was just catching up on things, and read about Captain Martin Greenleaf’s murder. You’re primary on that, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I’m assuming this pertains, and you want to ask me about Brice Noy.” “I do.” And that sped things up, Eve thought. “You remember him.”
“I do. An excellent student. Bright, questing. I may not have remembered him for that alone, not after close to a decade. But his father’s fall, and suicide, then Brice’s. Yes, I remember him very well. Do you remember me speaking of him, Henry?”
“I do now.”
“He was never the same after his father’s death. Angry, brooding. He began missing classes.”
“I spoke to him once about getting counseling. He said he’d think about it, in a way that told me he wasn’t ready. He blamed everyone but his father.”
“Captain Greenleaf?”
“It’s why I recognized the name when I read it. Brice brought him up when I spoke to him about counseling. But he bounced back, a little, for a short time. His attendance and grades improved. It seemed like a mission— not just to keep his scholarship, but to prove something.”
She lifted her hands. “Then he took his own life. Nineteen, wasn’t he?
Or twenty.”
“Nineteen. Do you know if he had any close friends, most particularly, a specific girlfriend?”
“Friends, yes. Before the tragedy I’d say he had a number of friends. He was a sociable sort, very personable. Fraternity brothers, the book club, other interests. As for a specific girl, none I remember. My sense is that he didn’t tie himself to one girl.”
Eve took out her ’link, brought up Arnez’s photo. “Do you remember her?”
Elaine took a long, careful look. “She’s striking, not a face easily forgotten. No, I’m sorry, I don’t remember her.”
She shifted to Robards.
“No. He’s not familiar to me.”
“You said he’d bounced back. Do you remember any event, anything that happened or changed before his suicide?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. He seemed determined to pull his grades back up, but he wasn’t the same sociable, engaged student he’d been. Distant, I’d say. Focused, but distant.”
“All right. Thank you for your time.” “I wish I could be of more help.”
“You gave me a clearer picture of him. That’s always helpful.” She moved onto the next.
The debate club friend remembered him, but like the professor, no specific girl. And no recognition of Arnez or Robards.
She checked the time, found herself irritated she had hours to wait before Taylor and her mother landed.
She took a chance and, when she reached Central, went to Mira’s office rather than her own.
The dragon stood at the gate.
She pursed her lips. “You look well healed, Lieutenant.” “Yeah, I’m good. I need ten minutes.”
“You seem consistently unaware that Dr. Mira has a schedule.”
“You seem consistently unaware that murder and mayhem happen all around us.”
“Not at all,” the admin said equably. “As for mayhem, the doctor is speaking with former detective Lansing at this very moment re his court- ordered psychiatric evaluation.”
“I’ll take the ten whenever she has it.”
“Is this regarding Lansing and his attack on you and Detective Baxter?” She could lie, Eve thought, but had a feeling dragons saw through lies.
“No, not directly. It’s regarding the Greenleaf investigation. Look, I’ve got the captain in the ground, and his son who’s lucky to be in the hospital rather than the morgue. I’ll take five minutes.”
“I’ll let Dr. Mira know.”
Stuck with that, Eve took the glides to Homicide. At least she didn’t get blasted by Jenkinson’s tie.
“They caught one,” Baxter told her. “About a half hour ago. Trueheart and I are still clear if you want a hand.”
“My office,” she said. “Peabody.” “Will we all fit in there?”
Ignoring Baxter’s question, she kept going. Coffee came first.
She pointed to the AC when the three trooped in.
“Make it fast. Prime suspects.” She tapped Arnez and Robards’s pictures on her board. And while they got coffee, laid it out.
“Different schools.” Baxter shrugged that off. “I dated plenty of sweet young things who went to a different school. How about you?”
Trueheart more hunched his shoulders than shrugged. “Not really. I didn’t date all that much in high school.”
“Late bloomers still bloom. Plenty of other ways to meet girls.” “Such as?” Eve asked.
“Community centers, at the vids, game parlors, pizza joints. I could go on.”
“Please don’t. They didn’t just meet. She became invested in him, in the family, in his father. Either one or all three. So far, we haven’t connected them. But it’s there, the connection’s there.”
“It’d have to be pretty strong for her to kill Captain Greenleaf and try for his son,” Trueheart commented.
“That’s right. And she managed to make a strong connection to the Greenleafs in about a year. I’m going to say she knows how to insert herself. Peabody and I are reinterviewing Noy’s daughter this afternoon, and interviewing her mother. Meanwhile, I have the names and contacts of several of Brice Noy’s teachers and fellow students.”
“We can take some,” Baxter told her.
“I crossed two off this morning on the way in. Both described him as sociable, smart, engaging, and engaged. No specific girl, no serious relationships. And neither recognized Arnez or Robards.”
She looked back at the board. “Someone will. We keep filling in the picture on him, find out if anyone knows what triggered his suicide. And
show them Arnez and Robards.
“You catch one,” she added, “pass what’s left back to us. I’ll send you the names.”
“We got it. FYI, Loo,” Baxter added, “Mira’s doing the psych eval on Lansing this morning.”
“I heard. How did you?” “Jenkinson.”
Of course, Eve thought. “Let’s stay away from there.”
“Happy to.” Baxter thumped Trueheart on the shoulder. “Let’s ride, brother.”
“Are there any female students on the list?” Peabody asked when they’d left.
“Yeah, some.”
“We should start there. A girl’s more likely to notice another girl if she’s cozying up to a guy she’s cozied up with, or wants to.”
“That’s a point. Give me five, then we’ll ride, too.”
She split the list, went heavy on the females on hers and Peabody’s. Checked the time. Still too early, according to Roarke, to send a reminder to Taylor Noy.
She spent the morning eliminating, and got one maybe from a woman with a baby on her hip who sucked its thumb like it was coated with opium.
“A maybe’s better than a no.”
Back in the car, Eve shook her head. “A maybe means bupkis in court. A maybe doesn’t give us probable cause. We’ll go back in, write these up. I can send that reminder to Taylor Noy now.”
“I wouldn’t want to get married in Vegas,” Peabody commented. “I mean, it could be fun, but I want the big whoop. Like you had.”
“I guess that was a big whoop.”
“And so, so beautiful. When we decide to go for it, I want a killer dress, a zillion flowers, and everybody there. Maybe get Carmichael to sing.”
“She does have pipes.” Eve looked over. “You’re not—”
“No. No, not there yet. I mean, we’ve got the Great House Project, settling in after, Mavis’s Number Two. Anyway, I like where we are now. We both do. So we can stick there until.
“And anyway-anyway—I’m taking a boost from the maybe. She really seemed to think she recognized Arnez. Just couldn’t pin it exactly.”
“And when Arnez’s lawyer points out our wit might have recognized her from shopping in one of the stores she’s worked at, we’re back to zero.”
In her office, she sent the reminder to Taylor Noy, got a thumbs-up emoji in response. She started writing up interviews and heard the familiar click of heels.
She rose to her feet before Mira got to the door. “I didn’t expect you to come to me.”
Mira shut the door. “I wanted a moment. I can’t tell you anything specific about my discussion with Lansing. I simply want to say I’m very glad you weren’t more seriously injured.”
“All right.”
Mira looked at her dead on. “Very glad, Eve.” “I got it. You want some of that tea?”
“Thanks, but I really only have a few minutes. You wanted to talk to me about the investigation.”
“These two.” She tapped the board. “They killed Greenleaf and tried for the son. I can’t tell you why they did, at this point. But I can tell you why I know it. When I do, you can shoot holes in that, or tell me if my conclusions are valid.”
“Maybe I will have that tea. No, I’ll get it. Tell me.” Eve laid it out, carefully, point by point.
“It’s a mirror of the Noy suicides. A service weapon for the father’s, a rope—and the same type of rope—for the son’s.”
She pointed to the side-by-side crime scene shots on all four incidents.
“Someone had to know those details. Had to have access to both Noy scenes or knowledge from someone who did.”
Mira nodded. “I agree.”
“They had to know about the window in the captain’s place, and where and how to disengage the security in his daughter’s house. Had to be inside the house to lift the kid’s ’link. Used the playroom. Ben didn’t have a bedroom there—not his place—but he’d have spent time with his kids and his siblings’ in that room.”
She tapped her board again. “These two fit. Access to both residences, knowledge of both residences and the family routines. They built up trust. They knew the kid was downstairs and the father would go up in response to the text. They knew the way out without going back down.”
Eve hissed out a breath. “And I saw it on her face. I saw it when she got to the captain’s place.”
“You build a good case.”
“That’s missing an essential piece. I’m going to find it.” Mira walked to the board. “She’s stunning.” “Everybody says so.”
“No father in the picture, a single mother working outside the home— and going back to school to advance in that work. Long hours. No siblings, a limited family life.”
“No family photos. None.”
“Mmm. So you said. Then, the handsome boy with, by appearances, a happy, loving family. It would be attractive. She’s an ambitious woman, willing to work to reach her goals. It’s possible the handsome boy, the family, were another ambition. It would be interesting to know, if you’re right, how much work she put into reaching that goal, only to have it taken away.”
Mira put down the teacup. “It’s a valid theory and, though there are gaps and untied ends, I won’t shoot holes in it. But you need that essential piece.”
“I’ll get it.”
She turned to Eve. “From the looks of your face, I assume Roarke saw to it you had proper treatment.”
“Yeah.” Instinctively, Eve put a hand over her breast. “Everywhere. It’s all good.”
“Let’s keep it that way. I have to get back. Let me know what you have after interviewing Noy’s widow and daughter. They’d certainly know the details needed to mirror Louis and Brice Noy’s suicides.”
In under two hours now, Eve thought when Mira left. Time enough to write up the interviews, then drive out to Long Island.
When she walked out to the bullpen, Baxter sat at his desk. “No hits, LT—one sort of maybe not sure.”
“Jenkinson and Reineke?”
“Pulled somebody into Interview A.”
“All right. We’re in the field. With me, Peabody.”
“I was kind of thinking you might get a copter.” Hope lived. “Save the drive time.”
“We’ve got time to drive it.”
One hope died; another was born.
“Maybe since it’ll take awhile, I could have five minutes to tell you about progress on the Great House Project.”
“I was just there.”
“Things are really moving.”
Since it would take awhile, Eve decided to let her blather. She could listen with half an ear and get the gist. And while getting the gist, she could work out what to do if they struck out in West Islip.
Head to Queens, get Robards alone. Pull on his protective instincts until he tripped over them. She needed enough, just enough for a search warrant. She’d find something in that apartment that tied Arnez to Noy. Deep personal connection, you kept mementos.
“What do you think?” Peabody asked her.
The GHP, Eve reminded herself. “I think if you keep finding stuff in flea markets, you’re going to have to open one of your own.”
“There’s so much space.” Peabody sighed on the thought.
A handful of times Eve reconsidered her objection to the copter, but considering all, they made decent time.
Fancy homes, she noted, many with nice views of the water. A lot of country club types enjoying those views, she imagined. Private shuttle types.
A lot different from being married to a cop, even one who pulled in plenty with graft and extortion.
The former widow’s current home hit the fancy, she thought when she pulled into the long paved drive. Dignified fancy, all white, black shutters on the windows, double black doors. It rested on a smooth green lawn with tall, leafy trees.
And backed, as far as she could tell, on more smooth lawn that led to the water.
“I like ours better.” “What?”
“I was just thinking, this is a really nice house, traditional, all manicured.
But I like ours better. More personality. I wonder what the kitchen’s like.” “Peabody.”
“I’m not going to ask.”
Even as they got out of the car, a slick black limo pulled in. Taylor popped out of the back. “You beat us here.”
“Got lucky with traffic.”
“First, I’m sorry about the drunken babbling last night. We celebrated pretty hard.”
“Understandably.”
“I’ve never been to Vegas—what a trip! Never gambled. I won that sixteen hundred at craps—God knows how. Then before we left today, I thought, hell, I’m putting a hundred of it in that slot machine. And I won five thousand dollars!”
She threw back her head and laughed at the sky.
“Can you believe it? I think I used up all my luck, so I’m never gambling again.
“Mom, this is Lieutenant Dallas, and Detective—sorry, forgot.” “Peabody.”
“My mother, Ella Rosen, her husband, Cal.”
Tall, he had an athletically lean build, a handsome, rawboned face. His dark shock of hair had touches of gray at the temples.
“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting long.” Cal offered a hand. “Just got here.”
“Let’s go inside.” Cal put a hand on Ella’s arm, rubbed as if in comfort. “I don’t know what I can possibly tell you,” Ella began. “I haven’t seen
or spoken with Captain Greenleaf in years, and even then…” “We’ll try not to take up much of your time.”
Eve stepped inside the large, airy entranceway that flowed into a large, airy living space with soaring ceilings.
The fireplace of dark gray stucco rose up two stories.
The furniture was in dreamy blues and greens—maybe, Eve thought, to reflect the trees and the water. Tasteful, down to the marble floors.
“Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?” Cal offered. “We’re fine, thanks.”
“Is it all right if I stay? Ella’s a little nervous.”
“That’s no problem. There’s no need to be nervous, Ms. Rosen.”
“It’s not an interrogation, Mom.” Taylor took her hand as the three of them sat on a couch. “We’re just talking.”
“It’s difficult to bring up the past,” Peabody put in. “I’m sorry we have to.”
“I understand. I’m so sorry about Captain Greenleaf, sorry for his family.
I never blamed him. How could I?”
“Ms. Rosen, we don’t believe you were involved in the captain’s murder. You’re going to hear soon enough. Someone tried to kill his son late yesterday afternoon. His older son.”
“Oh my God. That’s horrible. It’s incomprehensible.” “By hanging.”
She went dead pale, and her hand trembled as it groped for her husband’s. “Like Brice.”
“Yes. We believe someone mimicked Captain Noy’s suicide, then attempted to mimic your son’s.”
“But who would do that? It’s insane. Who—one of the people under Lou’s command? I haven’t had any contact with any of them. What Lou did … maybe I was stupid.”
“Stop that,” Cal told her.
“I never had a single clue, not until … The night he told me what he’d done, been doing, and what could happen. He tried to justify it. He’d done it for me, for our children. For the family.”
Sorrows, old sorrows, shadowed her eyes. “Lou was devoted to our family, so maybe that was partially true. But it was also partially a lie. I fell apart. I couldn’t even look at him. And a few nights later … God, Taylor found him. My little girl. I’ll never forget the sound of her screaming.”
She inhaled, sharply. “And I’ll never forgive him for exposing her to that shock. For using our home for his final choice.”
“We got through it, Mom.” Gently, Taylor pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “We got through it, and we’re okay.”
“Ms. Rosen, according to the file, they found three more weapons locked away in the house. Do you know if he had more elsewhere?”
Ella shook her head, sighed. “I didn’t know he had those. I didn’t know about the separate accounts, the cash in the safe. I didn’t know so many things about Lou.”
“And Brice?”
“I knew my son. He was as ignorant of what his father did as I was. But … he couldn’t accept that what Lou had done was wrong. He adored
his father. He couldn’t accept what he’d done, so others were to blame. But he’s gone, Lieutenant. He’s been gone for nine years.”
