Strangers in Death (20 page)

“Personal or professional?” Eve asked when she joined them.

“Like cops, it’s always both for journalists. But personal leads the way here. I liked him, very much. And Ben.” She glanced toward the doorway, brushing back the sleek sweep of hair as she watched them go. “I was outside with him, having a word, when Roarke came out for him. Poor Ava, she looks so lost.”

“Oh, she knows where she’s going.”

Nadine’s eyes lit and narrowed. “What’s that I hear? You don’t seriously think—” She cut herself off, took a sip of the wine in her hand. “Too many ears in here. Why don’t we step outside?”

“Not ready for a one-on-one.”

“Peabody’s better than I thought,” Nadine said after a moment. “If what’s going on is what I think is going on. She never dropped a crumb. Some pals you are.”

“You be a pal first. Dig up those old interviews you told me about, send them to me.”

“I can do that. What’s in it for me?”

“That’s going to depend.”

“Look, Dallas—”

“Did I mention,” Roarke interrupted, “how strong I found your interview with Peabody last night? You drew the best out of her, effortlessly.”

“Teamwork.” Nadine sulked at both of them. “I hate that.”

“Get me the interviews, Nadine, then I’ll give you what I can when I can. But for now, I’ve had enough of this place. So—shit. It’s Tibble’s wife. Damn it.”

Not ready yet, was all Eve could think as the tall, whip-thin woman aimed toward her. Brutally short, honey brown hair crowned a strong, stunner of a face the shade of the well-steeped Irish tea Roarke occasionally enjoyed. Eve had heard the stories that once upon a time Karla Blaze Tibble made her living—and considerable sensation—as a fashion model. If she’d stalked the runways with the same purpose and panache as she crossed a mourning room, Eve decided, she would’ve been hard to beat.

“Lieutenant.” Her voice was smoky music, her eyes tiger gold.

“Ma’am.”

“Ms. Furst, Roarke, I wonder if you’ll excuse us a moment? I need to speak to the lieutenant in private.”

It might’ve been posed as a request, but there was command in the posture. Karla simply turned, and people parted for her as the Red Sea parted for Moses as she strode to the door.

“Courage.” Though there was amusement in his tone, Roarke gave Eve’s shoulder a supportive squeeze.

“Why do they have to have wives? Why do cops have to have wives? I’ll be back in a minute.” With little choice, Eve followed in Karla’s wake, and joined her on the narrow, third-floor terrace.

With the traffic snarling below, Karla stood with her back to the rail. “As the primary on an open homicide, can you possibly think it’s appropriate for you to speak with a reporter at the victim’s memorial?”

“Excuse me, ma’am, Nadine Furst is also a personal friend.”

“Friendship doesn’t apply. You have a position to uphold.”

Screw this, Eve thought. “Yes, I do—as do you. As the wife of the chief of police, can you possibly think it’s appropriate for you to attend the memorial of the victim of an open homicide case, and speak with individuals who may be on the investigator’s suspect list?”

The fury flashed, a beautiful blaze that kindled in those tiger eyes, on that amazing face. Then it banked down to an irritated simmer. “You have a point. It’s very annoying that you have a point.”

“I can assure you that I haven’t discussed the details of the investigation with Nadine, or any other media contact.”

“Yet.”

“She’s a useful source, and—at my discretion as primary—I may elect to use that source. As she’s no pushover, I may elect to trade information for information.”

“Dirt for dirt.”

“If it’s useful dirt, yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, stop calling me ‘ma’am’ as if I were your third-grade teacher.” She spun around to lean on the rail, facing the street this time. “I’m upset, and it set me off to see you huddled with Nadine Furst.”

“I’d huddle with Jack the Ripper if it aided the investigation. I have a job to do. I understand this is upsetting to you. Your friend’s husband has been murdered. You should understand that finding his murderer and building a case against that individual are my priorities.”

“And I’ve already poked my nose in twice.” Karla lifted her hands off the rail in a gesture Eve interpreted as truce. “I don’t make a habit of that.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Ava and I are friendly. We’ve worked closely together on several projects, and I admire her energy, her creative thinking. I liked Tommy Anders very much. He was a generous, unpretentious man, so yes, it’s very difficult to accept he was murdered. And the circumstances of it, the media coverage of it. As the wife of a prominent man, I sympathize with Ava on many levels right now.”

Karla turned around. “As the wife of a prominent man, so should you.”

“As the primary investigator, my sympathies are with the victim.”

“You’re a hardcase, Lieutenant.” Karla shook her head, but the fire had gone out. “Your commander considers you the best of his best. My husband believes you to be brilliant. While I generally stay out of my husband’s business, I pay attention. So I know you have a reputation for getting it done. I suppose it takes a hardcase to get it done. So I’m told you wanted to speak to me about Ava and Tommy.”

“Most specifically about your work with them.”

“You suspect that something within the charity work precipitated Tommy’s murder.”

“I need to cover all areas to conduct a thorough investigation.”

“Which is cop-speak for none of your business.” Karla waved a hand. “I’m not offended. Ava and I worked on a number of projects over the last couple of years. She contacted me initially to ask me to cochair and help coordinate a fashion show. Logical, given my background.”

“A sports fashion show?”

“No, actually, this was geared toward the mothers of children qualified for the sports camps and associated programs. Affordable daywear, work wear, sportswear, with several of the mothers as models. Participating merchants offered generous discounts, and Anders provided each woman with a thousand-dollar wardrobe allowance. Something fun for them, as most of the emphasis is on the children. We followed up a few months later with a children’s show—school clothes, athletic gear. Both were very successful. Ava was tireless.”

“So I’ve learned.”

“We’ve also implemented other activities. We—or Ava and some of the staff and volunteers—took the mothers to a spa resort while their children were at camp. A kind of retreat where for five days they could relax, be pampered, attend seminars, workshops, have discussion groups. It’s a lovely time.”

“You’ve attended.”

“Yes, once or twice. As a den mother, so to speak. It was very rewarding to see these women who rarely have any time for themselves have an opportunity to focus on their own minds, bodies, spirits.”

“They must have been incredibly grateful for that, and to Ava for providing them with a sample of a lifestyle outside of their own.”

“A break from work, children, responsibilities, yes. Fun was a priority, but also education, networking, a support system. Just as in the one-or two-day retreats held in New York, or other locations throughout the year for the Moms, Too, program. A number of these women are single parents, and as such have little time to socialize, to
be
anything but a mother.”

Enthusiasm for the program infused Karla’s voice. Her hands moved, energetically conducting her words. “Often when a parent loses herself—or himself—in the day-to-day responsibilities and demands of raising children, they become a less effective, and less loving parent than they might be. Than they want to be. So Ava conceived of Moms, Too.”

“Being together like that, at that kind of retreat or organizing a fashion show, it would be natural, wouldn’t it, for you and Ava to become involved with the participants? Develop relationships.”

“Yes, it’s something else I’ve found rewarding. Tommy went beyond providing children with equipment, or even a place to use it. His idea of bringing them together, in training, in competitions, encouraging them to work and play together does so much more than put a ball glove in a child’s hand. It gives them pride, friendships, an understanding of teamwork and sportsmanship. Ava’s vision for the adjunct program is to give exactly that to the mothers. And to put a personal face on it, as Tommy does—did—with his active participation in the camps, in the fathers’ programs, the parent-child competitions.

“And I’m going to start campaigning for funds any minute,” Karla said with a laugh. “But yes, involvement is key, I think. Charity can be difficult, Lieutenant, to give or receive. These programs are designed to instill pride and self-worth.”

“Outlining and executing the programs you’ve done with Ava must take incredible planning, an eye for details, a skill for delegation.”

“Absolutely. Ava’s a master at all of that.”

Eve smiled. “I believe it. I appreciate you taking the time to speak to me.”

“And I’m dismissed. I should get back in, say my good-byes. I hope there are no hard feelings between us.”

“None on my side.”

“Then I’ll wish you luck with the investigation.” She offered her hand again. “Oh, and, Lieutenant, a little concealer would cover up that bruise under your eye.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

I
n the limo, Eve stretched out her legs and said, “Huh.”

“As neither of you limped back inside bloody, I assume you and your chief’s wife came to terms.”

“Yeah, you could say. And it’s funny what people say and how they say it. She’s
friendly
with Ava. She liked Tommy very much. She admires Ava’s energy and creative thinking. Tommy was generous and unpretentious. Mrs. Tibble’s a smart woman, but she doesn’t get what she just told me. That, and more.” Eve shifted to Roarke.

“The other day, you gave a few bucks to a sidewalk sleeper.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Very possibly.”

“No, I saw it. Outside the morgue.”

“All right. And?”

“A lot of people probably tossed that guy a few that day, and a lot of other days. They don’t remember him after, he doesn’t remember them. But you crouched down and spoke to him eye-to-eye. Made it personal, made the connection. He’ll remember you.”

“He’s likely to remember the twenty more.”

“No, don’t get cynical on me. Back when you were running the streets in Dublin, when your father beat down on you until you were half dead. Summerset took you in, fixed you up. He offered you something—a chance, a sanctuary, an opportunity. What would you have done to pay him back? Cut out the years between then and now, and what developed between you,” she added. “Then, right then, what would you have done to pay him back?”

“Whatever he’d asked.”

“Yeah. Because then, he was the one with the power, with the control, with the…largesse. However much of a badass you were, you were vulnerable. Smaller, weaker. And he’d given you something you’d never had.”

“He never asked,” Roarke said.

“Because despite being a tight-assed fuckface, taking advantage of the vulnerable isn’t his style. But it’s Ava’s.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“To work. I need to see what Peabody’s got so far, see if I can wheedle a quick meet with Mira. I have to get some of this organized in my head, get it down. I’ll fill you in at home, then take advantage of your vulnerability of being crazy about me and curious about the case so I can put you to work.”

“I’ll accept that, particularly if you take advantage of me otherwise afterward.”

“I’ll schedule that in. I want—whoa, whoa. Wait!” She fumbled for the intercom. “Pull over. Pull over here.”

“Why?” Roarke demanded as the limo swept to the curb. “We’re two blocks from Central yet.”

“Exactly. Do you think I want to pull up in front of my house in this thing? Jeez. I’ll walk from here.”

“Want the crullers?”

“Keep ’em.” She grabbed the door handle with one hand, his hair with the other. One hard kiss and she was out the door. “See you.”

And he watched as her long stride ate up the sidewalk, her coat billowing. Watched until she was swallowed up by distance and people.

13

WITH HER MIND TAPPING OUT DETAILS, EVE headed toward Homicide with the same ground-eating stride Roarke had admired outside. Not a break in the case, she thought, not yet, but damn if she didn’t think she had a crack. And she was going to chisel and hammer away at that crack until it busted wide open.

Another part of her brain registered a need for caffeine, debated between supplying it hot or cold. When cold won, she stopped in front of Vending and eyed the machine with suspicion and dislike.

“Don’t fuck with me,” she mumbled, and plugged in credits. “Tube of Pepsi.”

The machine seemed to consider, to ponder—she all but heard it whistling a taunting tune. And just as she reared back to give it a good kick, it spat out the tube along with its tedious content data. Eve snatched the tube out before it changed its mind, and turning, saw Abigail Johnson sitting on the same bench Tiko had used the day before.

Tension tightened at the back of Eve’s neck as she approached the woman. “Mrs. Johnson.”

“Oh, Lieutenant Dallas. I was daydreaming, didn’t see you there.” Shifting the box on her lap, Abigail got to her feet.

“Is there a problem?”

“No. No, indeed. The fact is, Tiko’s about nagged the skin off my bones about that reward. I felt like he should understand doing what’s right is enough, then, well, I started thinking it’s good for a boy to get something back for doing right. And don’t I punish him for doing wrong, and maybe give him some extra screen time or bake his favorite cookies when he does something especially good?”

“Works for me.”

“So I contacted that number you gave me, to see about it. It was all taken care of already, they said how you’d seen to that.” The bright green eyes stared into Eve’s. “Why it was a
thousand
dollars, Lieutenant.”

“Early estimates hit about ten thousand a day that ring was pulling in. Tiko was key in shutting it down.”

“I can’t get over it, that’s God’s truth. Fact is, I had to sit down fanning myself for a good ten minutes after that Sergeant Whittles told me how much.” Abigail tipped back her head and laughed, and the sound was bright as birdsong. “Then, well, I baked you a pie.” She thrust the box at a puzzled Eve.