Born in Death

  He turned back, tried that smile again. “We’d get lattes in the break room.”

  “Were you and Natalie ever involved romantically, sexually?”

  “Oh, jeez, no. It wasn’t like that.” Spots of color rode on his cheeks now. “Sorry, it’s kind of like thinking about nailing my sister, you know? We just hit it off, day one. Friends, like we’d known each other already. And I don’t guess either of us were what the other was looking for that way. Nat, she was looking for Bick. They were, like, fated, you know? You could just see it. God.”

  He propped his elbows on the desk, lowered his head to his hands. “It just makes me sick to think what happened to them.”

  “Did she say anything to you about any concerns, any problems? Since you were close, would she have told you if something was bothering her?”

  “I’d have thought she would, but she didn’t. And something was.”

  Eve zeroed in. “How do you know?”

  “Because I knew her. I could see it. But she wouldn’t talk about it. Said she was handling it, not to worry. I teased her that she was getting wedding jitters, going to do a runaway bride, and she played along. But you know, that wasn’t it.” He shook his head. “She was anxious about the details of the wedding, but not getting married, if you get what I mean.”

  “So what was it?”

  “I think it was an account. I think she was having trouble with one of her accounts.”

  “Why?”

  “Worked with her door locked a lot the last couple weeks. That wasn’t Nat.”

  “Any idea which account?”

  He shook his head again. “I didn’t push. All of us have at least a couple of accounts that we can’t discuss with other people in the department. I guess I thought she was losing a big client and trying to put out the fire. Happens.”

  He looked away again, back to the blue circle inside the red triangle. “We were all supposed to go out this Saturday. The four of us. I don’t know how they could be dead.”

  There was a knock, then the door opened. “Jake. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Dad.” Jake pushed to his feet. “Ah, this is Lieutenant Dallas, with the police. My father, Randall Sloan.”

  “Lieutenant.” Randall took her hand, held it firm. “You’re here about Natalie and Bick. We’re all in…I guess we’re in a daze.”

  “You knew them.”

  “Yes, very well. It’s such a shock, such a loss. I’ll come back later, Jake. I just wanted to see how you were.”

  “It’s all right,” Eve told him. “I’m about done.” She flipped through her memory of the pecking order. “You’re a vice president of the firm.”

  “That’s right.”

  But not a partner, Eve thought, despite his expensive suit, his glossy looks. “As such, did you have much contact with either victim?”

  “Not much, not at the office. Of course, Nat and Bick were friends of my son’s, so I knew them better outside the office than most of our account execs.” Randall moved to his son, laid a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “They were a lovely couple.”

  “Did either of them express any concerns to you, inside or outside the office?”

  “Why, no.” Randall’s brow furrowed. “They were both excellent at their work, and happy—as far as I know—in their personal lives.”

  “I need to ask—it’s routine—about your whereabouts on the night of the murders.”

  “I was entertaining clients. Sasha Zinka and Lola Warfield. We had cocktails and dinner at Enchantment downtown, then went on to Club One to hear some jazz.”

  “What time did you pack it in for the night?”

  “It must have been close to two when we left the club. We shared a cab uptown, I dropped them off. I can’t be sure, but I think it was nearly three when I got home.”

  “Thanks.”

  “My girlfriend and I were at Pop’s—my grandfather’s,” Jake said when Eve looked at him. “I guess we left there around midnight, twelve-thirty. Went to my place from there. She stayed over.”

  “Appreciate the time.” Eve got to her feet. “If I have any more questions, I’ll be in touch.”

  Eve went from office to office, interrupting meetings and ’link calls, wading through tears and anxiety. Everyone liked Nat and Bick, nobody knew of any problems. She got a little more out of the account assistant Natalie had shared with two other execs.

  She found Sarajane Bloomdale in the break room, sniffling over a cup of tea that smelled like wet moss. She was a tiny woman with a short black balloon of hair that cut across her eyebrows in thick, ruler-straight bangs. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her nose pink.

  “Been out for a couple days,” Sarajane told Eve. “Caught a head cold. Sucks, you know? Mostly, I was sleeping it off, and then yesterday Maize—she’s one of the other assistants—she called me. Hysterical, crying. She told me. I didn’t believe her. I kept saying, ‘That’s just bullshit, Maize.’ I kept saying that, and she kept saying how it’s true, they’re dead. And I’d say—”

  “I get it. How long did you work with Natalie?”

  “About two years. She was great. Didn’t expect me to run around doing all the grunt work like some. They’ll run your feet off around here. But Natalie was great. Organized, you know? You didn’t have to forever find where she forgot she put something. And she’d remember stuff like your birthday, or just bring in pastries now and then. And when I broke up with my boyfriend a couple months ago, she took me out to lunch.”

  “Was she working on anything specific the last couple weeks? Did she make any unusual requests?”

  “Nothing out of the usual. She was working on something, locked her door a lot lately.” Sarajane glanced around Eve, checking the doorway. “I sort of figured she was doing wedding stuff,” Sarajane whispered. “We’re not supposed to do personal business on company time, but, you know, your wedding and all.”

  “How about transmissions made through you, correspondence she asked you to send?”

  “Just the routine stuff. But you know, she logged back in after hours a couple times lately. I happened to notice when I checked her daily calendar on her office unit. Just noticed the log-in. I guess I said something to her about it. Like I said, ‘Gee, Natalie, your nose is going to fall off if you keep it to the grindstone.’ And she looked kinda funny about it and asked if I wouldn’t mention it to anybody. She was just catching up on some work.”

  “Did you mention it to anyone?”

  “I might’ve. Just in passing.”

  “To?”

  “I dunno. Maybe to Maize, or to Ricko down in Legal. We’re kind of going out, me and Ricko. I might’ve said how she was working too hard and it was too bad, ’cause it was making her tired. I could tell. And she should relax more with her guy. And watch out for that piranha who worked with him.”

  “Which piranha would that be?”

  “Lilah Grove. Quinn—she’s an assistant down there—she says Ms. Grove’s flirting with Mr. Byson every chance, asking him to come into her office and help her out, discuss clients over coffee or lunch.”

  Sarajane managed an expression between a scowl and a sneer. “Got her sights on him, you know? Guys can fall for that crap. I even told Natalie about it. She was my boss, right? So I told her, but she just laughed it off.”

  “Okay. Do you know if Natalie made any appointments to talk to one of the brass around here? If she intended to have a meeting with any of them?”

  “Didn’t ask me to set anything up. Um, you cops have mostly taken all my work stuff. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

  “Couldn’t tell you.”

  Eve finished up with Cara Greene, stepping to the office doorway just as the woman was popping a tiny blue pill.

  “Blocker,” she said. “Vicious headache. It’s a completely horrible day.”

  “Do you know why Natalie logged back into the office unit after working hours?”

  “No.” Cara frowned. “We
all work late, and this time of year we’ve revved up into tax season. But…I’ve certainly known Natalie to work late, to stay at her desk for a couple of hours after end of business. And we won’t even talk about the four weeks before April fifteen when most of us just live here. But it wasn’t her usual routine to go then come back.

  “Do you want to sit? I need to sit. I’m not feeling very well.” She lowered to a chair. “Fielding frantic or angry calls from clients about their accounts being pawed over by the police is very unpleasant. Trying to play mother to the staff here when they come by to cry on my shoulder about Natalie, or allay their fears that something might happen to them. And trying to think, to think if you’re right and this horrible thing has anything to do with her work, what I missed. What I should know.”

  “And nothing comes to mind.”

  “Nothing does. I have to think it was some sort of personal business. Someone who wanted to hurt them, was jealous or angry. I don’t know.”

  “Was there jealousy here in the office?”

  “A sense of competition, certainly. And certainly not everyone is best friends. But I honestly can’t think of anyone who held a grudge or genuinely bad thoughts about Natalie.”

  “Do you know Lilah Grove?”

  “The Femme Fatale of Individual Accounts.” Cara’s lips curved in a little smile. “And, yes, I’ve heard the gossip that she was overly friendly with Bick. It didn’t worry Natalie, and I never heard anything about Lilah and Natalie arguing or even having strong words.”

  Maybe they saved them for end of business, Eve thought as she went down to meet Peabody.

  “Did you get a statement from a Lilah Grove?”

  “What is this, a sixth sense thing?” Peabody demanded. “She was the first I was going to brief you on.”

  “Department’s sex queen. Hit on Byson. What’s your take on her?”

  “A little hard, with a very sharp edge. Vain, ambitious. Likes to flaunt both. Claimed the flirtation was mutual and harmless and expressed disgust and annoyance—both seemed false—that anyone in her department of the firm would gossip about her that way. Watered up a few times when talking about the vics, but never smeared her enhancements—which appear to be expertly applied and really pricey. She wears Do Me.”

  “What?”

  “It’s perfume. The real thing, not the off-brand or the cheaper eau de whatever. I like to go in and get sprayed with it when I troll the higher-end department stores.”

  “You’re the one?”

  “The one what?”

  “The one person in the known universe who likes to get sprayed by those spritz guerrillas.”

  Peabody stiffened her shoulders, lifted her head high. “We are more than one. We are a small, yet sweet-smelling army.”

  “Yeah, I bet Do Me smells like a sweet, sunny meadow. I’m going to do a quick follow-up with Grove before we head back.”

  “Second office, right.”

  “I’ll do it solo. Check in with McNab.”

  “Yes, sir. And, Dallas?” Peabody’s smile was sly. “When I wear Do me, he does.” She strolled off, whistling.

  “Asked for that one,” Eve mumbled.

  The door to the office was open. Eve saw a blonde with long, sleek waves, tipped back in a caramel-colored leather chair, examining her manicure as she talked on a headset.

  There were flowers in the office, and a chrome coat rack held a long red coat and white scarf. The coffee mug on the desk was also red with a flashy white L scripted on it.

  The blonde wore a blue suit with a frill of lace in the V in lieu of a blouse. The eyes that flicked to Eve were a bold cat green. “Hang on. Can I help you?”

  Eve held up her badge, and Lilah cast her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to get back to you. I’ll have that information for you before two o’clock. Absolutely. Bye.”

  She pulled off the headset, laid it on the desk. “I’ve already talked to one of you.”

  “Now you can talk to me. Lieutenant Dallas.”

  “At least I’m going up the ladder. Look, I’m sorry about Bick and Natalie. It’s an awful shock for everyone who knew them. But I’ve got work.”

  “Funny, so do I. You and Bick have something going on the side?”

  “Well, you’re certainly more direct than the other detective I spoke with. Just a little office flirtation. Harmless.”

  “And out of the office?”

  She shrugged, a careless and fluid gesture. “Didn’t get that far. Maybe with a little more time.”

  “No problem poaching, then.”

  Smiling, Lilah took another look at her nails. “He wasn’t married yet.”

  “What’s the problem, Lilah? Can’t get a man of your own?”

  Eve saw it, a flash of temper—hot and sharp. “Anyone I want.”

  “Except Bick.”

  “You’re a bitchy one, aren’t you?”

  “You bet. Why Bick?”

  “He was great to look at, going places, terrific body. Looked to me like he’d be good in the sack. We might’ve made a good team, in and out of it.”

  “Must have pissed you off he wasn’t biting.”

  “He didn’t want to bang me, that was his problem, and his loss. If you think I killed him and his little sweetheart because of that, you should check with your detective. I’ve got two alibis. Twins. Six-two, two-twenty, and dumb as posts. I wore both of them out, but it took me until after three in the morning.”

  “What was Bick’s top account?”

  “Wendall James, LLC,” she said without a second’s hesitation.

  “And who gets that account now that he’s dead?”

  Lilah angled her head. “Officially? It hasn’t been decided. Unofficially? I’ll make sure I do. I don’t have to kill for accounts, honey. I just have to be good at what I do.”

  “I bet you are,” Eve said, and leaving it at that went back to join Peabody downstairs.

  She’s what my granny calls a tough cookie.”

  “I don’t get that.” Eve whipped away from the curb and headed back to Central. “If a cookie’s tough, you throw it away. She’s the type that knows how to stick.”

  “It just means…never mind. You think she’s in it?”

  “Could be. But that kind doesn’t have to kill to get what she wants. She’d use her brains, her sex, cheat, maybe steal. She could seduce someone else into doing her dirty work, but what’s the point here? Byson’s out of the picture, maybe she cops some of his accounts, gets promoted quicker. But why Copperfield? And she was primary target. What did you get on the alibis?”

  “Okay, on Jake Sloan it’s DeLay, Rochelle. Twenty-five, single, works in Catering at the Palace.”

  “She’s one of Roarke’s?”

  “Well, sort of. Her father’s DeLay, hot-shot head chef at the Palace. She’s been employed there for about two years. No criminal.”

  Eve hung a left. “We’ll drop by, confirm the alibi face-to-face. Next?”

  “On Randall Sloan. Sasha Zinka and Lola Warfield. Forty-eight and forty-two respectively. Married for twelve years. Big money—generational money on Zinka. They’re Femme.”

  “Which is?”

  “Extreme high-end enhancements. The company was founded by Zinka’s great-grandfather, and remains one of the few independent companies of its size and scope. They own designer spas, where their products are used and sold. Few little brushes here and there on Zinka. Assault, property damage. Punched a cop.”

  “Really?”

  “No time served. Lots of big fines, a number of civil suits. Nothing in the last decade on her.”

  “Youthful hijinks. Got a temper.”

  “More big money on Kraus’s alibis, Madeline Bullock and Winfield Chase. Mother and son. Bullock, Sam, was her second husband—no offspring from there. Bullock, Sam, died at the age of one-twelve. They’d been married five years. She was forty-six.”

  “Isn’t that romantic?”

  “Hear
t-tugging. First husband was younger, a callow seventy-three to her twenty-two.”

  “Wealthy?”

  “Was—not Sam Bullock wealthy, but well-stocked. Got eaten by a shark.”

  “Step off.”

  “Seriously. Scuba diving out in the Great Barrier Reef. He was eighty-eight. And this shark cruises along and chomp, chomp.”

  She gave Eve a thoughtful look. “Ending as shark snacks is in my top-ten list of ways I don’t want to go out. How about you?”

  “It may rank as number one, now that I’ve considered it a possibility. Any hint of foul play?”

  “They weren’t able to interview the shark, but it was put down as death by misadventure.”

  “Okay.”

  “While Bullock, the company, is varied, it started out primarily with pharmaceuticals. The Foundation, which the widow heads since her husband’s death eight years ago, is a whopper, and annually disburses multiple millions to charities. Children’s health care is priority. Nothing criminal on the widow, sealed juvie on the son, who is now thirty-eight. No marriage or cohabs on record.”

  “London-based, right?”

  “Yep. They do have other homes, but none in the States. Mother and son share the same address. He’s VP of the Foundation.”

  “Ought to be able to afford his own place.”

  “Last from this: For Myers we have Karl and Elise Helbringer, Germany. Married thirty-five years, three offspring. Karl went into business with Elise when they were both in their twenties. Making boots, which led to shoes and skids and bags and all sorts of things. Including romance, apparently, as they married shortly afterward. Hit big in the fashion and the outdoorsy-type worlds and built a nice little German empire. So, as bootmakers, I wouldn’t say they’re rolling in it, but stomping in it.”

  “Boots.”

  “Their foundation, and the original Helbringer is still their top seller. You’re wearing a pair right now.”

  “Of boots.”

  “Helbringer boots. Very distinctive in their simplicity. Anyway, nothing on them or their offspring.”