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“It sounds like you have one of your own.”
“She wears diamonds around the house. He’s wearing a suit on a Sunday night when they’re hanging at home. They have this image, even when no one’s around to see it. That’s what they’ve created and nurtured, even when they’re coupling in the dark. And the sex, that’s another level of the unity, the being above the rest. Do you know who she is? Smuggling maybe—it’s got that thin sheen of class and romance.”
“Why thank you, darling.”
She rolled her eyes at him. Trust him to remind her that that was how he’d earned a good portion of his fortune in his youth. “Jewelry, art, fine wines. That kind of thing might be it. Maybe some subtle blackmail.”
“The discs Peabody and McNab are bringing in should tell you, at least some of it.”
“Yeah. Probably encoded. Pain in the ass. A lot of their houses, other property, are in the foundation’s name.” Restless, she paced in front of the board. “But that’s just a way big wheels loop the loopholes in tax laws. And I’m betting a lot of the jewelry, the art, the high-dollar items were bought with cash.”
Then she jerked a thumb at the data she had on-screen. “And you look at him. Hitting onto fifty, no marriages, no cohabs, still lives with his mother. Works with his mother. Travels with his mother. They don’t feel they have to bother with a cover over what goes on between them. He didn’t say: ‘Do you know who we are,’ but who she is. She’s the power. She’s the control.”
Eve pushed that avenue aside as she heard cop feet heading toward the office.
It was always a surprise to see Trueheart out of uniform. They walked in looking, to Eve’s mind, like the leads in a buddy vid. The slick-looking veteran cop and his young studly apprentice.
“Coffee.” Baxter said it like a prayer. “Hook me up, kid. Dallas, Roarke.”
“What’s the word on the vehicle?” Eve demanded.
“Dump the discs every twenty-four, so the night in question’s long gone. No logs.”
“You brought me squat?”
“Would I bring you squat?” He took the coffee from Trueheart, sat, stretched out his legs. “Private garage, with monthly rates that cost more than the rent on my apartment and the kid’s here combined. Key card and passcode to get in. Place holds a half-dozen vehicles, and let me tell you, they were all flash. Vic’s is a sinewy all-terrain. Four-seater. Loaded.”
“That’s fascinating, Baxter.”
“Gets that way. We’re looking it over—had to call the manager in, and he’s the one gave us squat. But while we’re there, this guy whose ride is this classic Sunstorm—Triple X model, jet charger, six on the floor. Black and shiny as the mouth of hell, silvered glass roof. You know the model?” he asked Roarke. “First run in 2035?”
“I do indeed. A very fine machine.”
“I nearly wept when he drove it in.”
“It was a sweet ride,” Trueheart agreed, then flushed a little when Eve flicked him a glance.
“Sounds like you boys had tons of fun playing with the toys. But what does that give me?”
“In the course of the conversation, the Sunstorm’s owner—one Derrick Newman—stated that while he’d never actually met Sloan, he had admired his vehicle, and was considering purchasing one like it for hard weather and off-roading.”
“Maybe he can get a deal on it seeing as the owner’s dead.”
“While he’d never met Sloan,” Baxter repeated, “he had noticed that the all-terrain was, always and habitually, backed into its slot. It was parked in that manner a week ago Wednesday at approximately seven P.M. when Newman retrieved his own vehicle to pick up his current squeeze and drive to Oyster Bay for a rehearsal dinner for his brother’s wedding—which was the following Saturday. He returned his vehicle to the garage at just after three on Thursday morning as the current squeeze did not deign to put out that evening. At which time he noticed, with some curiosity, that the all-terrain was front-in.”
Eve pursed her lips. “That may not be squat.”
“It ain’t. When Newman mentioned Sloan’s parking habit, the manager corroborated. Sloan’s rented that space for three years, and has never parked front-in. Until a week ago Wednesday night or early Thursday morning.”
“I want that vehicle impounded. I want the sweepers going over it molecule by molecule.”
“Thought you would. I made the call while we were there. It’s on its way in now.”
“Good work.”
“Feel like I’ve done something, anyway,” Baxter said with a shrug. “I’ve been talking to Palma every day. She wants to come in, pack up her sister’s things as soon as the scene’s cleared.”
“Working on that.” Eve filled him in, nodded toward Peabody and McNab, who came in as she was wrapping up.
