Chapter Eight
The ride up proved smooth, and the doors opened on a more elaborate lobby than O’Brian’s level.
The Banner-Wyst logo, all gold and silver, filled the wall behind a long snow-white workstation where three people sat busy with their headsets and comps.
The sheer glass wall offered an expansive view of New York City to any who sat in the plush leather chairs, each with their individual beverage station and view screen.
Behind the chairs a large screen ran a vid loop showing various company headquarters, or lush fields of thriving crops, small children smiling as a white-coated medical inoculated them.
A woman rushed through glass doors.
“Lieutenant, Detective.”
She hurried over, curvy in a black suit, red heels. Her hair, a delicate blond, fell in waves around a face of creamy skin, lips as red as the shoes, eyes bluer than the sky outside the glass walls.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, hand extended. “I’d hoped to greet you at your arrival. I’m Lorilee Janis, Mr. Wyst’s executive coordinator and assistant. Let me take you back to my office. We’re all, all of us, just devastated by Dr. Chu’s loss. Have you found who’s responsible?”
“The investigation’s ongoing. We need to speak with Mr. Wyst.”
“I’m afraid he’s currently in a meeting,” she said as she walked them not through outer offices or cubes, but through a church-quiet area—a dining facility complete with chandeliers, a room with more leather chairs, tables, a glossy black bar.
Past a couple of closed doors and into another lobby area where three people—two women, one man—worked.
Eve assumed the wide double doors led to Wyst’s domain. Lorilee cut to the right and into an office that adjoined the main.
She had a nice setup, Eve mused. The billion-dollar view, the important workstation, the seating area done in rosy tones, a refreshment center with AC, mini-friggie. Her own washroom.
“Can I get you coffee? Black.” She smiled at Eve, then Peabody. “Coffee regular. I’ve read both Nadine Furst’s books. Just marvelous. Absolutely gripping.”
“Ms. Janis, you’re going to want to get Mr. Wyst out of that meeting.”
“I’m so sorry. He’s insanely busy. Between his recent trip and now this tragedy, he’s—”
“You’re going to want to get him out of the meeting,” Eve repeated. “He’ll not only want to but needs to hear what we have to say.”
“I’m fully authorized to—”
“Ms. Janis,” Eve began, and Peabody interrupted.
“Since you’ve read Nadine Furst’s books, you’d know we wouldn’t be back here today if it wasn’t vital we speak with Mr. Wyst.”
She looked genuinely distressed as she linked her hands together. “Of course. It’s just . . . Excuse me a moment. I’ll inform Mr. Wyst.”
She didn’t go to the adjoining door, but back out the front.
Could be the rules, Eve thought, or nobody wanted cops to see who Wyst met with.
She wandered a bit, noted the bathroom included a shower. A dressing area off to the right held some wardrobe—office clothes, some cocktail-type dresses.
“It’s a really nice office,” Peabody commented.
“It is, isn’t it?”
Lorilee stepped back in. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Mr. Wyst will see you now.”
This time she walked to the adjoining door, tapped, then swiped her key card, opened the door.
If Lorilee’s office ranked as really nice, Wyst’s soared beyond the ranking system into kingdom.
His massive desk—black, trimmed with gold—rated the term throne when mated with the high-backed black leather chair with gold leather arms. And New York spread behind.
He had two seating areas following that color scheme, and visitors’ chairs placed to face the king.
His refreshment center included a wet bar, and above it, the vanity wall.
Flanking the adjoining door, floor-to-ceiling black shelves held what Eve assumed were mementos from his many trips around the planet and off it.
Since his exec had her own john, Eve expected the other side door led to his.
Graciously, he rose. “Lieutenant, Detective, I apologize for the delay. Things are, as I’m sure you understand, more than a little chaotic today.”
“We’re sorry to interrupt your work, but our own requires it.”
“Of course, please have a seat.” He gestured to the sitting area on the right. “Lorilee, let’s get some coffee for our women who protect and shield.”
“We’re good, but thanks. We’re here to inform you that Ezra Dent has been murdered.”
She saw the instant of shock, the following horror. He swayed with it before he steadied himself. Lorilee’s gasp was audible and stricken.
“Oh God, oh my God, Mr. Wyst!”
He shook his head at her as she covered her mouth with both hands, as her eyes filled, as her next indrawn breath came as a sob.
“Lorilee, I need you to hold it together. Give us the room now, and say nothing of this, nothing to anyone, until we have more information.”
“Yes, of course. But, sir, Dr. Dent.”
“You knew him?”
“I—” She looked at Wyst, then answered after he nodded.
“Yes. I worked as his administrative assistant for a year and a half before his retirement, or before he chose to consult on a part-time basis. I . . . can’t believe— Oh, his family!
” Tears spilled now. “This is terrible, just terrible. I was very fond of him.”
“Who wasn’t?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand. Dr. Dent was, he was revered.”
“Why did he retire?”
“Lieutenant,” Wyst interrupted. “Can’t you give Lorilee time to compose herself? This is a terrible shock.”
“Understood, but it’s a question I’d like answered.”
“He just—he talked about wanting to have more time, with his family, with Joleen, for himself. He—he wanted to find out what it felt like to do nothing, or nothing important.”
She swiped at tears. “He said consulting now and again would keep him from getting bored, but he was looking forward to being bored.”
“Okay. We may have more questions later.”
“Anything I can do. Anything. Mr. Wyst, I’m so sorry. I know how hard this is for you.”
“It’s all right, Lorilee. I’ll be in to speak with you shortly.”
She nodded, let out another choked sob as she went out and shut the adjoining door.
“Please sit,” Wyst said. “I need to. Ezra and I go back many years. He was a dear friend as well as a colleague. I’m the one who persuaded him to continue as a consultant. How was he killed?”
“In the same manner as Dr. Chu. On what projects was Dent consulting with Chu?”
“When—when did it happen? Joleen, is she—”
“She returned from a business trip to find his body at about noon today.” Eve sharpened her tone. “Projects, Mr. Wyst. The connection between these murders and your company are blatant.”
“They’re senseless and insane,” he snapped back. “These men, these dedicated men were brilliant. Their work saved lives, improved and enriched lives, helped to bring dead or dying land back to vibrant life.”
“They also helped enrich and expand this company.”
Everything about him hardened. “Really, Lieutenant, you’d insult this company, and me personally, at such a time?”
“Stating a fact, Mr. Wyst, which may also go to the motive of the individual who murdered two of your friends and colleagues. And who, whether senseless and insane, or—to this individual—logical and deserved, may also have others on a list. Including you.”
He paled slightly. “That’s not . . . It’s your job to find him, to stop him.”
“That’s right, and my partner and I are doing our job right now. What projects were they working on? Who else is involved with those projects? Who may have been taken off those projects or transferred, fired?”
“There are myriad reasons why disclosing that information is difficult if not impossible. Our work here is highly sensitive and confidential.”
“It’s doubtful their killer cares about sensitive and confidential when he’s beating them to death.”
“And your husband is a competitor who would greatly benefit from access to that sensitive and confidential data.”
Eve took a moment before she spoke. “Are you suggesting that Roarke had your colleagues killed, or are you suggesting I’d soil my badge and compromise murder investigations to give my husband a leg up?”
Coolly now, he folded his hands on the throne-like desk. “I’m simply pointing out the conflict of interest.”
“Lieutenant Dallas has no conflict of interest when standing for the victims.” Peabody spoke coldly, but her eyes had gone very hot.
“And Roarke doesn’t need your company’s secrets.
The more you stall, the closer we get to securing warrants, which your legal would stall.
And all of that would end up in the media.
“How would it look if and when it comes out that Banner-Wyst blocked the police investigation into the brutal murder of two of its own?”
Impressed, pleased, Eve gave Peabody a nod. “Pretty bad. I think that would be a bad look.”
“Are you threatening my company?”
“Just pointing out the facts,” Peabody finished.
When Eve’s ’link signaled, she pulled it out. “Take a minute,” she told Wyst. “I need to take this.”
Rising, she walked to the other side of the office, put the tag from Roarke on text only.
More later when I have time, but Dent also has an account in the Caymans. Twenty-three years established under a shell company, Dent Unlimited. What you’re looking for, and I found, is a payment of two million flat, deposited the same day Chu opened his account.
I have more, and will have yet more, but I’m a bit pressed at the moment. Take care of my cop.
Eve responded with a simple thanks, then pocketed her ’link.
“Here’s something interesting,” she said as she walked back, sat. “That both Chu and Dent deposited very large amounts of money into offshore accounts—which if they weren’t dead would have landed them in a jam. And they made those deposits on the very same day, about thirteen years ago.”
“Well, gee, isn’t that when Chu got the promotion, the big bonus, and increased his annual bonus?”
“Yes, Peabody, it is.”
“What did they do, not do, cover up, to earn that big pot of money, Mr. Wyst?”