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“Why? It’s not mission-oriented. She left clothes, some jewelry, photos, book discs, all the flotsam and jetsam of life. But she took the electronics, any spare discs, memo cubes, and any hard copies of business. Food in the kitchen, in the AutoChef. The neighbor claims not to poke in, but she’s not blind and deaf.”
Eve wandered, searched for a sense. What came to her was this was an alone place. She knew it, recognized it. She’d had one of her own once.
The apartment—the one Roarke had replicated for her.
Her alone place, because she’d had little but the mission—the job—in her life.
She knew MacKensie, she thought. She knew her under the skin.
“The neighbor? I bet she’d have remembered if MacKensie had a lover—male or female—show up regularly. There’s no love in this place—just work and sleep. The neighbor remembered Downing because they bumped into each other, and Downing was crying. That stuck. She’d have remembered seeing her before, so either coming here hadn’t happened before, or it was rare and they kept it on the down low.”
“You think she and Downing are lovers?”
“No. I don’t think she had anyone for that, not for that. They’re sisters, that’s what counts here. A shared experience—and one Su also shares. And a shared goal.
“What do you do when a sister comes over crying?”
“Ah. You listen, you sympathize.”
“You provide alcohol and crying food. Let’s check the kitchen.”
They found a nearly empty bottle of white wine, a half-pint bottle of bourbon.
“Let’s get the sweepers in here, do it right.” Eve stepped over to the AutoChef, ran the program. “Keeps it pretty well stocked, healthy crap.”
“Got ice cream—the real deal—in the freezer. Chocolate Coma, which is awesome. It’s unopened, Dallas.”
“Bet she got it to replace what she gave Downing. Downing comes to her, crying. How about this: Downing’s the one they’ve got doing the senator. She’s set up as his sidepiece. And she’s wearing thin, doesn’t see how she can keep going with it. Su doesn’t strike as the have-a-drink-and-some-ice-cream type, so she comes here for sympathy. Comes here because MacKensie had played the same role earlier. MacKensie knew what she was dealing with, could empathize. And maybe because Downing’s wearing thin, they decide to move on the mission.”
“One of them poses as the Realtor,” Peabody continued. “Like posing as the biographer, and like—don’t you think MacKensie was probably the one who got Edward Mira into Eclectia, so she could switch him off to Downing?”
“Yeah, I do. Taking turns with it, working on him.”
“So the young, sexy Realtor, who isn’t a Realtor, is willing to try to help the senator circumvent the deathbed promise.”
“That’s what plays. Unless there are four of them.”
“Crap.”
“Or more.”
16
They hit Downing’s place next and found a much chattier neighbor. Laurel Esty lived in the apartment next to Downing’s, and had already invited the uniforms inside her unit and given them coffee and cookies.
“She said she hasn’t seen Downing in a couple days, but that’s not unusual as she works nights. But her roommate mentioned seeing Downing leave the building with two suitcases this morning.”
“Where’s the roommate?”
“He’d be at work now, Lieutenant. We have his name and contact information.”
“Give it to my partner, and brush the cookie crumbs off your uniform, Officer. For God’s sake.”
Eve moved past him to where a pert blonde sat on a little blue couch in the center of a comfortably disordered living area. She popped up like a woman on springs when Eve stepped in and nearly spilled the fizzy in her hand.
“Wow! I just tagged my roomie—Officer Tanker said it was okay if I did, and I told Reb—my roomie—how I heard Officer Tanker say to Officer Messing that Lieutenant Dallas was on the way. And Reb said, ‘Bullshit, Laurie, no way.’ And I said, ‘True way, Reb,’ but he didn’t believe it. And here you are. We saw the vid. Julian is so completely iced, and Reb said when we did how he’d do you in one heart knock, and I . . . Gee, that’s probably rude. Sorry. Can I tag him back and show him you’re here?”
“No. You know Charity Downing?”
