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“Not yet. I just got them.”
“Let me have them. I’ve got to do something to get my brain back in gear.”
She snatched the disc out of Peabody’s hand and plugged it into her desk unit. “I don’t have a cup of coffee in my hand,” Eve commented as the names began to scroll. “And I’m sure I need it, immediately.”
“Yes, sir, you certainly do. Did you see? There’s a duchess and an earl, and Liva Holdreak, the actress, and—”
“The coffee isn’t in my hand. How can this be?”
“And Carmichael Smith, the international recording star, has a standing order for a box of a hundred sheets and envelopes, every six months.” As she spoke, Peabody put the mug into Eve’s outstretched hand. “His music’s too wanky for me, but he, himself? Totally iced.”
“I’m glad to know that, Peabody. It’s important for me to know he’s both wanky and iced should I arrest him for the murder of this very unfortunate LC. We need to keep these things in the forefront.”
“Just saying,” Peabody grumbled.
She scanned the names, shuffling those with only European residences on record to the bottom. She’d hit the ones with secondary residences in the States first.
“Carmichael Smith keeps an apartment on the Upper West Side. Holdreak has a U.S. residence, but it’s in New L.A. We’ll just drop her down a notch or two.”
She started a standard run, studying the names. “Mr. and Mrs. Elliot P. Hawthorne, Esquire. Ages seventy-eight and thirty-one, respectively. You wouldn’t think Elliot would be out cutting up LCs at his age. Married two years, third time around. Elliot likes them young, and I just bet he likes them stupid, too.”
“Doesn’t seem stupid to marry a rich old guy,” Peabody replied. “Calculating.”
“You can be stupid and calculating at the same time. Keeps houses in London, Cannes, New York, and Bimini. Made his money the old-fashioned way. Inherited it from his father. No criminal record, no nothing much. Still, we’ll see if he’s in New York at the moment. Could have servants, staff, assistants, crazy relatives hanging around him with access to his fancy paper.”
She continued on down. “Take the names, Peabody. See if you can find out if any of them are in New York.”
Would it be that easy? she wondered. Would he be that arrogant to leave something so easily traced back to him? Maybe, maybe. She’d still have to prove it, even if she targeted him through his fancy writing paper.
“Niles Renquist,” she stated. “Thirty-eight. Married, one child. Brit citizen with residences in London and New York. Currently chief of staff for the U.N. delegate from Britain, Marshall Evans. Got yourself digs on Sutton Place, don’t you, Niles. Fancy stuff. No criminal on you either, but you’re worth a look-see.”
She sipped coffee, thought vaguely about food.
“Pepper Franklin. What the hell kind of name is Pepper? Actress? Of course you are. Brit actress currently starring in Broadway revival of Uptown Lady. No criminal. Nothing but squeaky-clean on this list.”
It was a little depressing.
But she hit with Pepper Franklin’s cohabitation partner, Leo Fortney.
Sexual assault, indecent exposure, sexual battery.
“Bad boy,” Eve reprimanded. “Bad and busy boy.”
When Peabody came back, Eve already had her list in order of priority and was shrugging back into her jacket.
“Carmichael Smith, Elliot Hawthorne, Niles Renquist, and Pepper Franklin a
re all in New York, or reputed to be in New York at this time.”
“Suit up. We’re going to go pay some of our English friends a visit.” She started out. “Is the U.N. in session?”
“U.N.? As in United Nations?”
“No, U.N. as in Unidentified Numbskulls.”
“I recognize sarcasm when I hear it,” Peabody said with some dignity. “I’ll check on it.”
Chapter 3
