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“I’ll find it,” Eve said.
“But . . . It’s for executives,” the brunette said as Eve turned away.
Eve merely held up her badge again, kept walking.
“I really love that part,” Peabody said. “I’m a little ashamed, but I can’t help it.”
They passed doors, both opened and closed, busy hives of cubes, turned the corner, passed a staff lounge with Vending and a couple sofas, a wall screen scrolling through ads.
Things quieted through the next set of doors.
Eve nodded at yet one more set. “Odds are,” she said, and strode to them, pulled them open.
Laughter poured out.
On the wall screen a golfer teed off on the eleventh hole under sunny skies on a course green as Ireland. Around the room men—but for a lone woman who looked bored and annoyed—sat or stood with drinks in hand.
JJ Copley stood in front of the screen, teeing up just as his CGI counterpart. Handsome and fit in shirtsleeves and loosened tie, he swung. On screen, his avatar perfectly mirrored the move—and sent the little white ball soaring—over a sand trap, over a sparkling blue pond, and onto the edge of the eleventh green.
Raucous applause ensued.
“And that’s how it’s done.” Grinning, he turned toward another fit and handsome man holding a club, then spotted Eve.
“Ladies? Can I redirect you?”
“Copley, John Jake?”
“Guilty.”
“Well, that makes it easy.” Eve took out her badge again. “You have the right to remain silent—”
“Whoa, whoa!” He laughed, but this time a little nervous around the edges. “W
hat’s all this about?”
“Murder,” Eve said flatly. “Trey Ziegler.”
“Oh, right, right. Damn shame. I’d be happy to sit down with you in, say, thirty? We’re in a strategy session.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Now works for me. Does now work for you, Detective Peabody?”
“Yes, sir, it does. This room works, too, but then so does Central.”
“Yeah.” Eve stared into Copley’s eyes. “Either way.”
“Fine, then, fine. Never let it be said I didn’t cooperate with the boys—or girls—in blue. Fellas, give me the room for a few minutes. Guys—oh, and Marta—I need the room. We’ll take this up as soon as I’m finished.”
Eve watched the lone woman shoot Copley a look of cool dislike before she filed out with the rest.
“Have a seat. What can I get you?”
“Answers.”
“No problem there.” He dropped down onto a black sofa. “It looked like we were goofing off, but the fact is we represent the company—and the spokesman—for the games. A new set of interactive sports games and training vids they hoped to launch next spring. We’re working in tandem with the ad company on a smooth launch. You gotta know the product to rep the product.”
“Sure. Tell me about your relationship with Trey Ziegler.”
“He’s—he was—my personal trainer. Damn good one, too. I worked with him at my gym. Buff Bodies.”
