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“Location, Roarke?”
“Maneuvering through this sodding traffic toward hearth and home. I hope you’re doing the same.”
“As it happens. How about a detour?”
“Will it involve food and sex?” His smile was slow, and just a little wicked. “I’m really hoping for both.”
Odd, damn odd, she thought, that after nearly two years of him that smile could still give her heart a jolt. “It might later, but first on our lineup is multiple murder.”
“Teach me to marry a cop.”
“What did I tell you? Hold on a minute.” She leaned out the window, shouted at the messenger who’d nearly sideswiped her vehicle with his jet-board. “Police property, asshole. If I had time I’d hunt you down and use that board to beat your balls black.”
“Darling Eve, you know how that kind of talk thrills and excites me. How can I keep my mind off sex now?”
Eve pulled her head back in, eyed the screen. “Think pure thoughts. I need to do another walk-through of the crime scene. I wouldn’t mind having another pair of eyes.”
“A cop’s work is never done, and neither is the man’s who’s lucky enough to call her his own. What’s the address?”
She gave it to him. “See you there. And if you beat me to the scene, for God’s sake don’t tamper with the seal. Just wait. Oh, shit, parking. You need a permit. I’ll—”
“Please” was all he said, and signed off.
“Right,” she said to dead air. “Forgot who I was talking to for a minute.”
She didn’t know how Roarke dispensed with such pesky details as parking permits, and didn’t really want to. He was just stepping onto the sidewalk when she arrived. She pulled up behind his vehicle, flipped on her on-duty light.
“Pretty street,” he said. “Especially this time of year with the leaves scattered about.” He nodded toward the Swisher house. “Prime property. If they had any equity in it, at least the child won’t be penniless as well as orphaned.”
“They had a chunk, plus standard life policies, some savings, investments. She’ll be okay. That’s one of the deals, actually. She’ll be set pretty well, coming into the bulk of it when she hits twenty-one. They both had wills. Trust-fund deal for the kids, supervised by legal guardians and a financial firm. It’s not mega-dough, but people kill for subway credits.”
“Did they make contingencies for alternate beneficiaries sh
ould something happen to the children as well?”
“Yeah.” Her mind had gone there, too. Wipe out the family, rake in some easy money. “Charities. Shelters, pediatric centers. Spread it out, too. Nobody gets an overly big slice of the pie. And no individual gets much above jack.”
“The law firm?”
“Rangle, the partner, gets the shot there. His alibi is solid. And if he has the connections, or the stomach, to order a hit like this, I’ll toast my badge for breakfast. This family wasn’t erased for money. Not that I can see.”
He stood on the sidewalk, studying the house as she did. The old tree in front, busily shedding its leaves onto the stamp-sized courtyard, the attractive urban lines, the sturdy pot filled with what he thought were geraniums beside the door.
It looked quiet, settled, and comfortable. Until you saw the small red eyes of the police seal, the harsh yellow strip of it marring the front doors.
“If it were money,” he added, “one would think it would take a fat vat of it to push anyone to do what was done here. The erasing, as you put it, of an entire family.”
He walked with her to the main entrance. “Put my ear to the ground, as requested. There’s no buzz about a contract on these people.”
Eve shook her head. “No. They weren’t connected. But it’s good to cross that off the list, at least the probability of it. They didn’t have ties to any level of the underworld. Or government agencies. I played around with the idea that one of them had a double life going, thinking of what Reva dealt with a couple months ago.” Reva Ewing, one of Roarke’s employees, had had the misfortune of being married to a double agent who’d framed her for a double murder. “Just doesn’t slide. No excessive travel; not much travel at all without the kids. Nothing that sends up a flag on their ’links or comps. These people lived on schedules. Work, home, family, friends. They didn’t have time to mess around. Plus . . .”
She stopped, shook her head. “No. I’ll let you make your own impressions.”
“All right. By the way, I’ve arranged to have my ride picked up. That way I can have my lovely wife drive me home.”
“We’re ten minutes from our own gate.”
“Every minute with you, Darling Eve, is a minute to treasure.”
