“There was no dagger,” Roarke explained. “So essentially I tore the shirt you actually had on to remove the tunic you didn’t.”
“Different cause, different method, same result. That’s what we’ve got here. Somehow. A mix of illusion and reality combined to murder.” She held up the ruined shirt. “Essentially someone did this to Bart Minnock.”
In the morning, because there seemed to be no point not to, she compared the results of her level three to Roarke’s.
“There’s nothing here that sends up any flags, not on this investigation.”
“No,” he agreed, but continued to study the data on-screen.
“Do you see something I don’t?” she asked.
“No, not as applies to this. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or frustrated.”
“Well, it would be easier if something had popped here, or on the runs I’ve done on U-Play employees. DuVaugne was the big pop at Synch, but he’s just a cheat.”
She downed more coffee. “Whoever did this is a lot more tech-savvy and creative than DuVaugne. From what we know of the victim, considerably more to have been able to get past his guards. I’ve got meets with the lawyer and with Mira today. Maybe that’ll shake something loose.”
“I’ve meetings of my own. I’ll do what I can to work with EDD when I’m clear.”
“I’m going to try another angle. The sword. I’m going to send Peabody and McNab on that trail, figuring the team should include a geek and nongeek. McNab can talk the talk and pass for a collector. There’s what they call a mini-con in East Washington.”
“We have a booth there. I can easily arrange to get them in.”
“Fine. Saves me the trouble.” She crossed to the murder board, walked around it. “I’ll be talking to his three partners today. Individually this time.”
“Longtime friends suddenly turning murderous?”
She glanced over at him. “People get aggravated.”
Roarke lifted an eyebrow. “Should I worry about losing my head?”
“Probably not. We tend to blow it off, fight it off, yell it off, so the aggravation or the serious piss doesn’t dig in too deep. With other people, sometimes it festers. Maybe we’ve got a festerer here. These three have the means-the tech savvy, the creativity. They had the vic’s trust, and easy access to his home, his office. They’ve got motive, in as far as they’ll benefit from his death by upping their share of the company. And opportunity, as much as any.”
“They loved each other.”
“That’s just one more motive. How many women and kids are in Dochas right now, because someone loves them?” she asked, referring to Roarke’s abuse shelter.
“That’s not love.”
“The person doing the ass-kicking often thinks it is. Believes it is. It’s an illusion, like the game, but it feels real. A lot of nasty things grow out of love if it isn’t… tended right. Jealousy, hate, resentment, suspicion.”
“A cynical, and unfortunately accurate assessment. I love you.”
She managed a half-laugh. “That’s kind of odd timing.”
He crossed to her, cupped her face in his hands. “I love you, Eve. And however many mistakes either of us makes, I believe we’ll do our best to tend it right.”
She lifted her hands to cover his. “I know it. Anyway, any time something nasty crops up, we end up burning it off with some serious mad before it roots.”
“I wasn’t even mad at you, not really. I realize I’d hoped to find someone in that search, even if it was one of mine. It would be specific, you see, instead of this vague worry and wondering if I’d have a target.”
He glanced toward her murder board. “I can’t explain even to myself why his death strikes me, and where it does.”
“He might’ve been you, if things had been different. He might have been you,” she repeated when Roarke shook his head. “If you’d had a different scenario to play in childhood. Or some parts of you might’ve run along parts of him. We can both see it. So I guess that’s why I went around you, and you went around me.”
“And why, when confronted with that choice, we both got… aggravated?” Watching her face, he ran his hands up and down her arms. “It rings true enough, considering us.”
“Considering us. We’re okay.”
He rested his brow on hers. “We’re okay.”
“Here’s what you have to do.” She eased him back so their eyes met. “You have to stop asking yourself if you’d done something different, said something else, pushed another button, if Bart would have come on board with you instead of starting his own company. And if he’d done that, he’d be alive. Life’s not a program.”
“I haven’t been doing that. Very much,” he qualified. “But I could have pushed other buttons, said considerably more, and done quite a bit differently. I liked the idea of him striking out on his own, following that jagged path. So I didn’t. And I know perfectly well none of this is on me, and now I can be relatively sure none of it’s on any of mine. It doesn’t give me that specific target, but it helps clear my head.”
“Okay, head’s clear. And since I know you’re going to poke around on the magic sword angle whenever you get time today, make sure you let me know anything you come up with.”
“I’ll do that.”
“I’ve got to go. Lawyers and shrinks and suspects.”
“Oh my.” Her puzzled stare made him laugh and pull her to him for a cheerful kiss. Then just hold on to her for a moment more. “Go on then, be a cop. I’ll let you know if and when I can get away to work with Feeney.”
He’d find a way, she thought. He always did.
She met Peabody in the offices of Felicity Lowenstien. The sharp-looking reception area-small, efficient, and done in reds, blacks, and silvers-was manned by a sharp-looking woman who, either by design or preference, matched the decor with her short silver hair, black suit, and large red fabric rose at the lapel.
She took them straight back-no fuss, no waiting-past a small office, what looked to be a tidy law library, a closed door. The woman knocked briefly on the next door, then opened it.
“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody.”
Attorney Lowenstien rose from behind her desk. As she came around it Eve noted that the woman had boosted her five feet of height with three-inch scalpel-edged heels. She also wore black with just a hint of white lace at the cross of her jacket. Her hair, rolled back in a smooth twist, was a dense brown with gilded streaks.
She offered both Eve and Peabody a firm shake, then a chair.
“I appreciate you coming here. I’ve got everything I think you’ll need or want.” She paused, let out a breath. “Let me give you some personal background. I met Bart in college, through Cill. Cill and I got to be friendly, and she decided she’d fix me up with Bart.”
“Romantically?”
“That was the idea. It didn’t take, but Bart and I became friends. When we all established ourselves in New York, I became his attorney. I handled the partnership agreement, and I handled his estate. I don’t do criminal law, but I dated an ADA once.” She smiled, just a little, in a way that told Eve things hadn’t taken there either. “I know there’s little you can or will tell me, but I have to ask. Do you have any leads?”
“We’re pursuing several avenues of investigation.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say.” She sighed as she turned her gaze toward her window. “We didn’t hang out often anymore. Cill and I, or Bart and the others. Different directions, work, that kind of thing. But he was a good guy. A sweet guy.”
“When was the last time you had contact with him?”
“Only a few days ago, actually. He wanted to see about endowing a scholarship-or have the business do one-for the high school he, Cill, and Benny graduated from. We scheduled a meeting for next week-the four of them, me, and the financial adviser. We talked for a while, actually. Caught up since it had been several months since we’d actually talked. He was seeing a woman, seriously. He seemed really happy.”
“Did he speak to you about any projects-work projects?”