Chapter Ten #3
Peabody nodded as they walked. “I believe that, too. We talk to the investigator, work the friend list.”
“Feeney and the arson investigator signed it off as an accident. That means it looked like one.”
“Banner-Wyst would’ve had the resources to pull that off. Or, it could’ve been one. It’s about what Redman believes.”
“It is,” Eve agreed. “But it wasn’t an accident, which takes us back to what did Redman know or find out that was so important they’d kill not just him but his family and an apartment building of others.”
Eve stopped at the car. “I’ll drive you back across town.”
“Are you going back to Central?”
“No, I’ll work from home.” And make a few stops on the way. “If Roarke’s there, I want to get him on those financials.”
“I’ll start running the friends.”
“No, put it away for tonight.”
“You won’t.”
“I don’t have a crapload of Peabodys coming to my house. Meet me at the morgue tomorrow. Eight.”
“Always a bright way to start the day.”
“Where would murder cops be without dead bodies?”
“Getting a solid eight hours of sleep, eating regular meals, finishing craft projects. Hell, who wants that? Anyway, I can catch the subway around the corner and probably get home quicker than you could drive me there.”
“Morgue. Eight.”
“And the fun never ends.”
As she slid into the car, Eve decided murder cops had a twisted sense of fun. Hers meant she’d try for a couple of the friends on the route home, then hit the uptown investigator.
She bumped along with traffic, stopped at a downtown office building. Childhood friend, tax lawyer.
No information, no vibe.
She moved on, headed north to a vegetarian restaurant. Former girlfriend, chef.
No information, no vibe, and an easy turndown of tofu nuggets.
She detoured east a few blocks, interviewed a same-sex couple, both friends, both new dads—triplets!—on parental leave.
No information, no vibe. And a sense of wonder that tiny humans required so much time, so much energy, and so much equipment.
Gauging time and direction, she backtracked west, north and aimed for Donahue Investigations.
Not an office building, Eve considered after she parked in a loading zone, but a nice, neat townhome with a discreet brass plaque.
She walked to the door, pressed the buzzer.
“Donahue Investigations.” A female, human voice came through the security speaker. “How can we help you?”
Eve held up her badge. “NYPSD. Lieutenant Dallas to speak with Melody Donahue.”
It took under five seconds for the door to buzz open.
She walked into a reception area that resembled someone’s stylish foyer.
A woman, mixed-race brunette, early twenties in a body-conscious (she had a good one) blue dress, had already risen from her desk. She walked toward Eve, hand extended.
“Lieutenant, I admire your work. Luce Dray. Mel’s—Ms. Donahue’s—just back in the office. She’s been in the field. Please have a seat, and I’ll let her know you’re here.”
Luce tapped her earpiece as she gestured to a pair of cozy-looking armchairs.
“Macy, Lieutenant Dallas is—yes, that Lieutenant Dallas. She’d like to speak with Mel. Right.” She tapped again, smiled at Eve.
“Macy—you could call her Mel’s lieutenant—will be right down. Can I get you coffee? We don’t stock your brand, but it’s not bad.”
“I’m good, thanks. How long have you worked here?”
“Three years. Great job. Interesting people. Here’s Macy.”
The woman—thirtyish, ebony skin, ebony eyes, with a magnificent eruption of black hair—jogged down the steps in short-heeled boots.
She wore stoplight red, and also extended a hand.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Lieutenant. I was on the job in Queens. Mel’s office is upstairs. This way. Oh, Luce, Mel says to power down and go home on time. Hold the rest until you do.”
Eve walked up graceful steps toward the second floor.
“Offices up here,” Mace continued. “We keep the main level for reception, the conference room, research, and day care, as our researcher has several kids.”
“Why’d you leave the job?”
“To work in a firm owned and run by women.”
She gestured to a room on the left where a woman of about sixty worked, as Feeney often did, on her feet, hands flipping at a large wall screen.
“Hannah, our e-genius. Hannah, Lieutenant Dallas.”
The woman paused, studied Eve out of cool blue eyes. “Huh. Work with Ryan Feeney out of Central, right?”
“That’s right. Do you know him?”
“Little bit. I did twenty on the job outta Yonkers. He’s got a rep. You, too. Anyway.” She turned back to the screen, resumed flapping.
“My office there. Zen room there. Sometimes you’ve just gotta zen. And here’s Mel.”
At forty-two, Melody Donahue had milky white skin with a light scatter of freckles. Deep red hair streamed out of a tail at her back.
Her eyes, a pale, misty green, appraised Eve as she crossed the room to offer a hand.
She wore snug black jeans, a dark green shirt, and good boots.
“Lieutenant, it’s a pleasure. Thanks, Macy, and if you could take a look at the Tarrington report I just sent you, I think there are some sources there to tap.”
“Will do. Door closed?”
“Yeah, thanks. Coffee?” she asked Eve.
“No, I’m fine.”