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“Ha ha. Sex and illegals. I’ve got a tie already. Let’s see if it spreads out any. I’ll be in touch.”
She pocketed her communicator, leading the way down to the lower level where her vehicle was parked. “Shoot the witness and suspect lists to Feeney. We’re dumping backgrounds on EDD.”
“Good for us.” Peabody drew out her palm unit and began the transfer. “So…is he using McNab?”
“I didn’t ask.” Eve slid her gaze toward Peabody, then shook her head and coded open the locks on her vehicle.
“You want to know, don’t you?”
Eve strapped in, started the car. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“About me and McNab.”
“As far as I’m concerned, there is no you and McNab. It does not exist in my world. My aide is not having some weird-ass sexual fling with the fashion plate from EDD.”
“It is weird,” Peabody admitted, then let out a long sigh.
“We’re not talking about it. Give me the first address.”
“Kenneth Stiles, aka Sir Wilfred, 828 Park Avenue. And it’s really good sex.”
“Peabody.”
“You were wondering.”
“I was not.” But she winced as a distressingly clear image of Peabody and McNab popped gleefully into her head. “Keep your mind on the job.”
“I have lots of compartments in my mind.” With a happy sigh, Peabody settled back. “Room for everything.”
“Then make room for Kenneth Stiles and give me a rundown.”
“Yes, sir.” Obediently, Peabody took out her PPC. “Stiles, Kenneth, age fifty-six, a rare New York City native. Born and bred in midtown. Parents were entertainers. No criminal record. Educated by private tutor through secondary level with additional classes in drama, stage design, costuming, and elocution.”
“Whoopee. So we’ve got a serious thespian on our hands.”
“First performance at age two. Guy’s won a pot load of awards. Always live stage. No video. An artist, is my guess. Probably temperamental and emotional.”
“Won’t this be fun. Has he worked with Draco before?”
“Several times. A couple of times with Mansfield. Last time in London. He’s unmarried at the moment. Had two spouses and one formal cohabitation partner. All female.”
Eve scanned for a parking place, rejected the idea, and pulled up to the front of the post-Urban War building on Park. Before she’d climbed out, the uniformed doorman was at her side.
“I’m sorry, madam, this is a non-parking zone.”
“And this is a badge.” She held up her shield. “Kenneth Stiles?”
“Mr. Stiles occupies the apartment on the fiftieth floor. Five thousand. The deskman will clear you. Madam—”
“Does this say madam?” Eve asked and waited for the doorman’s eyes to skim down, read her badge.
“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant, might I arrange to have your vehicle garaged during your visit? A valet will return it when you’re ready to leave.”
“That’s a nice offer, but if I gave you the ignition code, I’d have to arrest myself. It stays right here.”
Eve kept her badge out and walked into the building, leaving the doorman staring sadly at her pea-green police issue.
It was hard to blame him. The lobby area was lush and elegant, with gleaming brass and spearing white flowers. Huge squares of polished black tiles covered the floor. Behind a long white counter, a tall, slim woman sat gracefully on a stool and beamed welcoming smiles.
