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Eve pulled out her badge again. “Roarke.”
The doorman’s head snapped up. “Oh.” He gave her badge yet another, closer look. “I didn’t realize. Sorry for holding you up, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“No problem.” So Roarke owned the building. Big surprise.
“You just take Elevator Two right up to fifty-one, then . . . God, I’m not thinking straight.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, shook his head. “Ms. Wallace is already up there. She got in about a half hour ago.”
“Ms. Wallace?”
“Ms. Jonas’s assistant, and Maribelle—that’s the housekeeper—she left a little before that to do some morning errands. Should I tell Ms. Wallace you’re coming up?”
“No. Does anyone else work for her, or live in the unit?”
“There’s Katie. I guess she’s what you’d call a gofer, but she’s not here yet today. Maribelle has her own apartment next to Ms. Jonas’s.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“She’s fifty-one hundred, Lieutenant,” he said as she crossed to the elevator. “I don’t mean to tell you your job or anything, but if you could maybe gentle it up some with Ms. Wallace? It’s going to knock her back pretty hard.”
Eve nodded, stepped into the elevator. Murder was supposed to knock you back, she thought. She keyed the names the doorman had given her into her notes as the elevator rode silently, smoothly up fifty-one floors.
As she pressed the buzzer beside the wide double doors of 5100, she wondered what constituted “gentling it up.”
The woman who answered had about five pounds of madly curling black hair and skin the color of Peabody’s coffee regular. Her eyes, a spring leaf green, held Eve’s for a long beat. Long enough Eve understood she didn’t have to worry about the gentle.
“I know you.” The smoky voice was breathless. “I know who you are. It’s Adrianne. Something’s happened.” Her lips trembled, her hand squeezed the edge of the door. “Please say it very fast.”
“I have to inform you Adrianne Jonas is dead. I’m sorry for your loss.”
She swayed, but even as Eve braced to catch her, she toughened up. Tears sheened those soft green eyes, but didn’t fall. “Someone killed Adrianne.”
“Yes.”
“Someone killed Adrianne,” she repeated. “She wasn’t here when I got here. She’s not answering her ’link, and she always answers her ’link. Someone killed Adrianne.”
Just because the woman wasn’t going to faint or scream or rush into hysterics didn’t mean she wasn’t in shock. Gentle, Eve supposed, had different levels.
“I’d like to come in. Why don’t we go inside and sit down?”
“Yes, I need to sit down. Yes, come in.”
The entrance foyer led to another set of doors, open now, that connected to a large, high-ceilinged living space with a wide ribbon of windows. Seating had been cleverly built in beneath the windows, with more glass doors worked in between.
The woman chose a scroll-armed chair, lowered into it slowly. “When?”
“Early this morning. She was found in Central Park, near the Great Hill. Do you know why she would have been there?”
“She had an appointment. At three o’clock this morning.”
“With whom?”
“Darrin—” Her voice broke. She shook her head, cleared her throat. “Darrin Wasinski. A client. He wanted to arrange for his daughter to be married there, at that time of the morning. She and her fiancé had gotten engaged there, at that time.”
She put her fingers over her eyes, breathed and breathed. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to think clearly.”
“Take your time. Do you want something? Some water?”
“No. He wanted her to meet him there, to get an idea of the terrain, the look of it at that hour. His daughter wanted romantic, but unique. Something nobody else had done. He wanted Adrianne to handle the logistics. Oh, God, was Darrin killed, too? Oh, God.”
