“Then let’s keep him busy as long as we can.”
She called Baxter and Trueheart in to handle Whittier. They’d accompany him to his downtown offices, where he kept a few pieces of his collection.
“I need you to wait for the wife,” Eve directed Baxter. “Keep her with you. I don’t want either of them to have the opportunity to contact the son. Let’s keep him out of this mix as long as we can. We get some luck, and we pick him up before he knows we’re looking for him.”
“How long do you want them wrapped up?”
“Try to get me a couple hours. I need to get a warrant for Whittier junior’s place, and I want to get to Chad Dix. I’m going to send a couple uniforms out to Long Island, where Whittier’s mother’s living. Just to be safe.”
“We’ll stall. Maybe he’ll let us play with the fire truck.”
“What is it with guys and little trucks?”
“Come on, you had your dollies and tea parties.” A lesser man would have shrunk under her withering stare. “Okay, maybe not.”
“Keep them wrapped,” Eve ordered as she started out. “If it starts to unravel, I want to hear about it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I bet this sucker has a working siren.”
Eve heard the high-pitched scream of it as she passed into the foyer. “Excuse my idiot associate, Mr. Whittier. We appreciate your cooperation.”
“It’s fine. I want this straightened out.” He managed a smile. “I’ll just go and… ” He gestured toward his den. “I’ll just make sure the detective doesn’t… ”
“Go right ahead. You’re waiting for the wife,” Eve said in an undertone to Trueheart. “If the son happens by, keep him here, contact me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Peabody, with me.”
“No place I’d rather be.” Peabody glanced at Roarke. “You coming with us?”
“I doubt the lieutenant has use for me at the moment.”
“I’ll probably get around to you.”
“My hope eternally springs.”
She paused on the sidewalk. “If you want to stay available, I’ll let you know when we have Trevor in custody.”
“I appreciate it. Meanwhile, I could do a little search among known collectors and see if a piece fitting the description has been on the market in the last few months.”
“That’d cover some bases. Appreciate it. Let’s get the commander to wheedle a warrant for us. I want to talk to Chad Dix. Proving a connection there adds a couple of bars to the cage.”
Roarke lifted Eve’s chin with his hand-a gesture that had her wincing, and Peabody wandering discreetly away. “You’re very steely-minded on this one, Lieutenant.”
“No touching on the job,” she muttered and nudged his hand aside. “And I’m always steely-minded.”
“No. There are times you run on guts and wear yourself out emotionally, physically.”
“Every case is different. This one’s by the stages. Unless Trevor’s figured it all out by now, he’s not a particular threat to anyone. We’ll have his parents under wraps, and I’m sending a couple of uniforms to keep tabs on the grandmother’s place. We’ve got Gannon protected. Those are his most obvious targets. I’m not dealing with wondering who some psycho’s going to kill next. Puts a little more air in my lungs, you know?”
“I do.” Despite her earlier warning, he touched her again, rubbing a thumb along the shadows under her eyes. “But you could still use a good night’s sleep.”
“Then I’ll have to close this down so I can get one.” She hooked her thumbs in her front pockets, sighed heavily because she knew it would amuse him. “Go ahead, get it over with. Just make it quick and no tongues allowed.”
He laughed, as she’d expected, then leaned down to give her a very chaste kiss. “Acceptable?”
“Hardly even worth it.” And the quick gleam in his eye had her slapping a hand on his chest. “Save it, pal. Go back to work. Buy a large metropolitan area or something.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
At Eve’s signal, Peabody stepped up to the car. “It must really set you up, having a man like that look at you the way he does every day.”
“At least it doesn’t keep me off the streets.” She slid in, slammed her door. “Let’s cook this bastard and maybe we can both get home on time for a change.”
Trevor detested visiting his grandmother. The concept of age and illness disgusted him. There were ways, after all, to beat back the worst symptoms of the aging process. Face and body sculpting, youth treatments, organ transplants.
Looking old was, to his mind, a product of laziness or poverty. Either was unacceptable.
Illness was something to be avoided at all costs. Most physical ailments were temporary and easily rectified. One simply had to take proper care. Mental illness was nothing but an embarrassment to anyone associated with the patient.
He considered his grandmother a self-indulgent lunatic, overly pampered by his father. If so much time and money wasn’t wasted making her comfortable in her mad little world, she’d straighten up quickly enough. He knew very well it cost enormous amounts of money-his inheritance-to keep her in the gilt-edged loony bin, to pay for her housing, her food, her care, her meds, her attendants.
Pissed away, he thought, as he drove his new two-seater Jetstream 3000 into the underground parking facility at the rest home. The crazy old bat could easily live another forty years, drooling his inheritance, what was rightfully his, away.
It was infuriating.
His father’s sentimental attachment to her was equally so. She could have been seen to, decently enough, in a lesser facility, or even a state-run project. He paid taxes, didn’t he, to subsidize those sort of facilities? What was the point of not using them since he was paying out the nose for them in any case?
She wouldn’t know the damn difference. And when he was in charge of the purse strings, she damn well would be moved.
He took a white florist box out of the trunk. He’d take her the roses, play the game. It would be worth his time and the investment in the flowers she’d forget ten minutes after he gave them to her, if she knew anything. If by some miracle she remembered knowing anything.
It was worth a shot. Since the old man seemed to know nothing, maybe his crazy old mother had some lead buried in her fogged brain.
He took the elevator to lobby level, gearing himself up for the performance. When he stepped off, he wore a pleasant, slightly concerned expression, presenting the image of a handsome young man paying an affectionate duty call on an aged and ailing relative.
He moved to the security desk, setting the box of flowers on the counter so the name of the upscale city florist could be read by the receptionist. “I’d like to see my grandmother. Janine Whittier? I’m Trevor. I didn’t call ahead as it’s an impulse visit. I was passing the florist’s and I thought of Grandma and how much she loves pink roses. Next thing I knew I was buying a dozen and heading here. It’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course!” The woman beamed at him. “That’s so sweet. I’m sure she’ll love the flowers nearly as much as she’ll love seeing her grandson. Just let me bring up her schedule and make certain she’s clear for visits today.”
“I know she has good days and bad days. I hope this is a good one.”
“Well, I see here she’s been checked into the second-floor common room. That’s a good sign. If I could just clear you through.” She gestured toward the palm plate.
“Oh, sure. Of course.” He laid his hand on it, waited while it verified his identification and his clearance. Ridiculous precautions, he thought. Who in hell would want to break into an old people’s home? It was the sort of thing that added several thousand a year to the tab.