Brotherhood in Death (3 page)

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah. Who else has access to the house?”

“Besides Edward and myself? The housekeeper—her mother worked for my grandparents for decades, and she’s helped us out for several years. She would never—”

“Understood, but I’m going to want her name so I can talk to her.”

“Is it all right if I make tea?” Dr. Mira asked.

“Sure, go ahead. Mr. Mira, I want you to walk me through exactly what happened. The cab dropped you off?”

“Yes. Right out front. I left my briefcase—so careless—but the driver
called me back for it. I was angry and upset. I let myself in. It’s a push-pull coming here. The memories are strong and good, but it’s hard to know it’s not the same, and can’t be. I set my briefcase down, and I heard voices.”

“More than one?” Eve prompted.

“Well . . . I think so. I expected to find Edward and the Realtor he’d engaged. I assumed they were talking. I called out to him. I didn’t want to startle them. I started back, and when I got to the study, I saw him sitting in Granddad’s desk chair. Black eye, the blood. He was frightened. I saw the fear, and I started forward to help him. I must have been struck from behind. It’s never happened to me before, but I believe that’s what happened.”

“It knocked you out.”

“The injuries are consistent with a strike from a heavy object, back of the skull.” Mira brought Dennis a mug, wrapped his hands around it. “And with his right temple hitting the floor when he fell.”

“I’m not questioning that, Dr. Mira.”

“I know you’re not.” She sighed, then leaned into Dennis to gently kiss his bruised temple. “I know you’re not.”

“What did you do, Mr. Mira, when you came to?”

“I was disoriented, very confused initially. Edward wasn’t there, and though we haven’t been on the best of terms in a long time, he would never have left me on the floor that way. I called for him—I think—and I looked. I’m afraid I wandered around the house for a while, still a little confused, until it came to me something terrible had happened to Edward. I contacted Charlotte so she wouldn’t worry, and asked her if you could come and look into it all.”

He gave Eve a look with those soft, dreamy eyes that made her want to kiss his temple as Mira had. It mortified her.

“I realize now I should have simply contacted nine-one-one rather than bothering you.”

“This isn’t a bother. Are you up to taking a look at the study? Seeing if anything’s missing or out of place?”

“Anything I can do.”

When they walked back, she sealed her hands, her feet. “It’s better if you don’t touch anything. You’ve already been in there, and through the house, so sealing up’s beside the point. But let’s keep it to a minimum.”

She paused at the doorway. “So your cousin was in the desk chair. Behind the desk.”

“Yes, he was—oh, not behind it. The chair was in front of the desk.” He frowned a moment. “Why would that be? But, yes, he was sitting in the chair, in front of the desk. On the rug.”

“Okay.” That jibed with her observations. “Hold it a minute.”

She took what she needed from her kit, crouched down to take a swab of the blood from the floorboards, sealed it. Then meticulously swabbed an area of the rug.

She added drops of something from a small bottle to the swab, nodded. “Blood here. Somebody cleaned it up, but you don’t get it all with a quick run of household cleaner.”

She bent down, sniffed. “You can still smell it.” She put on microgoggles, peered close. “And if you’re looking, you can see it, and the faint pattern where the chair rolled out and back, sat here with weight in it.”

“Edward’s weight.”

“Looks that way. Another minute.” She moved behind the desk, started an inch-by-inch exam of the chair.

“They missed some. Just a drop here.” She swabbed again, carefully, leaving enough for the sweepers to take their own sample. “Was he restrained, Mr. Mira?”

“I . . .” He closed his eyes. “I don’t think so. I don’t think he was. I’m sorry. I’m not at all sure. I was so shocked.”

“Okay. Black eye, bloody mouth. So someone assaulted him, put him in the chair, but out here, more in the center of the room. Scared him
enough to keep him there. A stunner maybe, a knife, a weapon anyway, or the threat of more physical violence.”

She circled the room again. “Voices. So they were talking. Wanted something from him, most likely. But before they can get it, or finish, you come in. You call out, so that gives them time to threaten him to keep it shut, to move out of sight. They don’t stun you, if they have a stunner. You stun somebody, it takes a few seconds, and maybe you see them before you go down. Bash from behind. But they don’t finish you off, or take you with them. You’re not important in this. You’re just an inconvenience. But they go to the trouble of cleaning up, putting the chair back behind the desk.

“Why?”

“It’s fascinating, the science and art of what you do.”

“What?”

“What you do,” Dennis said, “it’s a science, and an art. The observational skills are so polished, and—I think—innate. Sorry, my mind wandered.” He smiled. “You asked why. I think I might understand that. If they knew Edward, they might know me. Some people would say, as my mind will wander, I simply fell and struck my head. And imagined the rest.”

“Some people would be stupid,” Eve said, making him smile. “Anything not here that should be, Mr. Mira, or out of place?”

“We’ve kept this almost exactly as he left it. My grandfather. Some of what’s here comes to me, to my children, to others. But they were content to leave it like this for now. Everything’s here. I don’t think anything’s been taken or moved.”

“All right. You came to the doorway, saw him. You froze for a second—people do. You’re focused on your cousin, and you move forward to help him.”

She went to the doorway, paused, took a quick step in. Then scanned the shelves.

She picked up a stone bowl, brilliantly polished, frowned, set it down again. Tested the weight of an award plaque, dismissed it. Then she curled her fingers around the uplifted trunk of large glass elephant in jubilant blues and greens. Had weight, she mused, and that handy grip.

“Dr. Mira?”

Mira moved forward, and like Eve examined the elephant. “Yes, yes, the legs. They’re consistent with the wound.”

As Eve got another swab, Mira turned to Dennis. “I will never, this is an oath, never complain about your hard head again.”

“Cleaned it up, but we’ve got a little blood. Attacker steps back, side of the doorway. This is handy, heavy. You come in,
whack
, down you go. He, she, they—it’s going to be they, one to deal with Edward, one to deal with you and the cleanup. So one of them gets rug cleaner, whatever, cleans things up, gets the hard drive, the discs. And they take him, leave you. I’m going to go through the house, make sure they didn’t stuff him somewhere—sorry,” she said immediately.

“No, don’t be.”

“I’m going to have sweepers come in, go over all this. I can contact Missing Persons, expedite there.”

“Could you . . .”

“Will you take lead on this?” Understanding, Mira took Dennis’s hand. “Both of us would feel easier if you remained in charge.”

“Sure, I can clear that. Why don’t you go back and sit down, let me get things rolling.”

Eve bagged the elephant, contacted Crime Scene, ordered up some uniforms to canvass. Someone had walked in the house, most likely invited in by Edward Mira. She’d check on this Realtor. And someone had walked back out again, either carrying Edward’s body or forcing him to leave with them.

They’d need transportation.

Not a burglary, she thought, and not a straight kidnapping, or why
rough him up first? The chair in the middle of the room struck her as an interrogation.

Somebody wanted something from Edward Mira. Chances were he’d stay alive until they got it.

She went back to the living room. They’d turned on the fire, and sat together on a sofa, drinking tea.

Eve sat on the coffee table facing them, as it made a tighter connection.

“I need some information. The Realtor—name, contact?”

“I have no idea. I’m sorry. The assistant didn’t mention it, and I was too upset to ask.”

“Okay, I’ll get that from his office. Where’s his office?”

“He retired from Congress to create and head a political think tank,” Mira told her. “He has an office in their headquarters, in the Chrysler Building.”

“Prime real estate.”

“Status is very important to Edward,” Dennis said. “His organization, the Mira Institute, takes two floors, and owns a pied-à-terre in East Washington for Edward’s use or when one of the other executives needs to be there.”

“Need that address, too, and his home address. I’m going to talk to his wife when I leave here. How was their relationship?”

Dennis glanced at his wife, sighed.

“I’ll take this. Mandy is a realist who enjoys the life she leads. She excelled on the campaign trail, continues to excel at fund-raisers and committees. The fact that Edward cheated, often? She considers that part of the whole, and not particularly important, as he’s discreet. She’s discreet as well, and uses the services of a licensed companion. Both their children are grown, of course, and while each play the game in public, neither have much affection for their parents or the choices their parents have made.”

“The world’s made up of all manner of parts, Charlie,” Dennis murmured.

“I’m aware. My professional opinion is Mandy would do nothing to unbalance her world. She would never hurt Edward, and in her way, she’s fond of him. In his way, he’s both grateful for her contributions to his career, and proud of her standing socially.”

“He’d have enemies.”

“Oh, scores. Politically, as you’d expect.”

“And personally?”

“He can and does charm—it’s part of politics, again. He also believes himself right on whatever stand he takes, politically and personally, and that can cause friction. This house is an example,” Mira continued. “Edward decided it needed to be sold, so to him, it will be.”

“He’s wrong,” Dennis said quietly, “and it won’t be. But that’s not important right now. Someone hurt him, and there’s been no mention of ransom.” He looked at Eve now. “You haven’t mentioned ransom.”

“I’ll talk to his wife about that. Mr. Mira, I want you to know I believe everything you’ve told me. And I don’t believe, not for a second, you’d do anything to hurt your cousin. Or anyone.”

“Thank you.”

“But I have to ask what I’m going to ask, or I’m not doing my job. If I’m not doing my job, I’m not helping you.”

“I understand. You need to ask me when I saw Edward last, how things were between us. If keeping this house in the family is so important to me, I might hire someone to frighten him.”

He nodded, set his tea aside. “We saw each other over the holidays. For form, really, I’m sorry to say. Charlotte and I attended a cocktail party at his home. When was that, Charlie?”

“On the twenty-second of December. We only stayed about an hour, as Edward tried to corner Dennis about selling the house.”

“I didn’t want to argue, so we left early. He sent me an e-mail shortly
after the first of the year, outlining his reasons, again, and his plan of action.”

“You didn’t tell me that, Dennis.”

“You get so angry with him.” Dennis took Mira’s hand again. “And there was nothing new in it. I don’t like bringing that discord into our home. I answered him briefly that I didn’t agree, and intended to keep my promise to our grandfather. When he responded immediately, I knew he was very angry. He would usually wait as if too busy to deal with such matters. But he responded right away, and said he would give me time to be reasonable, and warned he would be forced to take legal action if I insisted on clinging to sentiment. And . . . he claimed there had been no promise, that I—as I tend to do—had mixed things up.”

“The hell with him!”

“Charlie—”

“The hell with him, that coldhearted bastard. I mean it, Dennis!” Outraged fury deepened her color, flashed in her eyes. “If you want to look at someone who’d have wanted to hurt him, look right here.”

“Dr. Mira,” Eve said coolly, “cut it out. I’m going to have EDD access those e-mails. That was your last communication?”

“Yes, it was. I didn’t respond. It was a cruel thing to say, and it was a lie. We made a promise.” Eve saw his baffled sorrow as clearly as Mira’s outraged fury. “I didn’t contact him again until today, but he didn’t answer.”

“All right.” She couldn’t help herself, and touched a hand to his knee. “You don’t mix up anything that’s important. I’ll find the answers to all this. I promise.”

She rose, grateful when the bell rang. “That’s going to be for me. I’m going to put the sweepers on the study first, and I’m going through the house personally. I’ve got uniforms who’ll knock on doors, see if any of the neighbors saw anything. I’m going to have a uniform take you home.”

She pulled out her ’link. “Would you put all the names and contact data I asked for on here?”

“Charlie should. I’m terrible with electronics.”

“So am I.” She passed her ’link to Mira. “It’s going to be okay.”

Dennis rose. “You’re such a smart woman. Such a good girl,” he added to her baffled surprise. Then he kissed her cheek, sweetly, leaving a faint tickle from the stubble he’d probably missed when shaving. “Thank you.”

Eve felt that tickle work its way into her heart as she went to answer the door.

Eve saw them off, spoke with the uniforms, the sweepers, and decided to take the house top to bottom. But as she started up the stairs, she stopped, sat down on one.

And tagged Roarke.

She led with “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His face filled the screen and, boy, what a face. It never failed to strike how some days the gods, the angels, the poets, the artists all got together to create something perfect. A beautifully carved mouth, wildly, impossibly blue eyes, sculpted cheekbones all framed by thick black silk.

“You’ve caught a case,” he continued, with those mists of Ireland whispering in his voice to complete the perfection.

“Sort of. No body, which makes it different. Or none yet. Dennis Mira was attacked.”

“What?” The just-for-her smile in his eyes vanished. “Is he hurt? What hospital? I’ll meet you.”

“He’s okay. I just sent them home. He took a pretty good whack to the back of the head, then smacked his temple on the floor when he fell. Probably has a mild concussion, but Mira’s on it.”

“Where are you?”

“At his grandfather’s house. Mr. Mira’s grandfather. Or it was. It’s half Mr. Mira’s, half his cousin’s—former Senator Edward Mira—who was also attacked, and is currently missing. I need to go through the house here to make sure he’s not dead and stuffed in a closet, then I have to talk to some people on the way home. I don’t know how long—”

“Give me the address there.”

“Roarke, it’s in SoHo. There’s no need for you to come all the way down here on a night like this.”

“You can give me the address or I can find it for myself. Either way, I’m on my way.”

She gave him the address.

She’d gone through the top floor—both wings—before he got there. And could admit, seeing him and the go-cup of coffee he held out lifted her mood.

“I was going to make dinner.”

Those wonderful lips curved, then brushed hers. “Were you now?”

“Hand to God. Nothing cooking at the shop, so I was heading out, figured I might beat you home, and set up wine and candles and spaghetti right in the dining room.”

“I’ll treasure the thought.”

“Mira caught me. You don’t see her seriously shaken often, and she was. Mr. Mira contacted her when he came to—took the bash downstairs in the study—and asked her to bring me.”

“Of course he did. He’s an intelligent man.”

“I’ll give you the background as I look for possibly dead Edward, but tell me first, Mr. Buys the Entire World and Its Satellites, if you were going to buy this place, what would you give for it?”

“I haven’t done a full walk-through, but from what I’ve seen it’s beautifully preserved and maintained. Likely built in the 1930s. Round about six thousand square feet, and in this neighborhood? I expect I’d offer about ten. If I were selling, I’d ask fifteen.”

“That’s million?”

“It is, yes.”

“That’s a big bunch of money.”

“Do you fancy it? Does Dennis want to sell?”

“No—I mean, sure, it’s a nice house, but we have one. I’m fine with one. And no, he doesn’t want to sell, which is part of the deal here.”

She filled him in as she searched, knew he’d take in every detail even when he stopped to admire a piece of furniture, some woodwork, or a ceiling medallion.

“I could get twenty, with the right buyer, and careful staging,” he mused. “But back to the matter at hand. You know the senator’s a complete burke—at least from my personal leanings.”

“He’s a complete burke from my perspective from what I got out of Mira, and what Mr. Mira didn’t say. But it’ll be nice to find him alive.”

“Agreed.”

With Roarke she walked back to the study. It smelled of sweeper dust and chemicals now.

“I knew Bradley Mira, a little.”

“Get out.”

“A very little,” Roarke added. “And mostly by reputation. He was respected and admired. Have you run his background?”

“No, not immediately applicable.”

“The prosecuting attorney for New York—before your time and mine. I believe there was some family money, and he made more. He became Judge Mira, and retired more than a decade ago—likely closer to two decades, if memory serves. He spent the last part of his life doing
good works, as you see here from all the plaques displayed. An admirable man who, by all accounts, lived a good and productive life.”

“Mr. Mira loved him, that comes through loud and clear. Twenty million?”

With those wild and canny blue eyes, Roarke scanned. “With the right buyer, yes.”

“Half of that’s big motivation to find the right buyer. I need to talk to this Realtor, which means I have to talk to whoever made the appointment for Edward Mira. But now, I want to talk to the housekeeper and the wife. Housekeeper’s on the way to the wife.”

“Why don’t I drive, and you can run backgrounds?”

“It’s a plan. Let me check on the canvass first.”

Sila Robarts lived with her husband of twenty-seven years a few blocks away in the second-floor apartment of a converted townhome. She ran a cleaning company, Maid to Order, while her husband owned and operated We’re Handy—a handyman business.

They’d raised two children, both of whom worked within the two companies, and had three grandchildren.

“They own the place.” Eve nodded at the white brick townhouse after Roarke parked. “Use the first floor for their businesses, live on the second.” She pressed the buzzer for the apartment at the front entrance.

A woman’s voice, brisk and impatient, said, “Yes?”

“NYPSD, Mrs. Robarts. We need to speak with you.”

“What the hell for? Let me see ID. Hold it up for the camera.”

Eve held up her badge.

“What happened? Is one of my kids hurt?”

“No, ma’am. We just need to speak with you. Dennis Mira gave me your name and address.”

“Mr. Dennis? Is he okay? What’s this— Hell.” The woman cut herself off, buzzed them in.

A hallway cut the first floor in half, with doors to the maid service and the handyman business on either side. Another door at the back was marked
PRIVATE
.

It, too, buzzed open.

They took the stairs up to the second floor, and a pair of double doors. One of them swung open.

“Are you sure Mr. Dennis is okay? Who are you?”

“NYPSD,” Eve repeated, and once again offered her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Dallas? Dallas?” The woman had enormous eyes of bitter-chocolate brown and hair nearly the same color piled in a knot on top of her head. At the name, the eyes went big as planets. “Roarke? Dallas? I saw the vid, I listened to the book. Oh my sweet Jesus. Mel! Mel! Get out here. Something terrible’s happened to the Miras.”

“Mrs. Robarts, calm down. The Miras are fine.”

“You’re Homicide,” Sila snapped, pulling at the neck of a sweatshirt bearing her company’s logo. “You think I don’t
know
that?” she demanded as footsteps pounded in from the rear of the apartment. “You work with Miss Charlotte.”

“What happened to them?” The man who ran in moved fast for a big guy. He had to be two-fifty spread over about six foot two. An Arena Ball player’s build. “Was there an accident?”

“I think they were murdered!”

“What? What?” The big guy grabbed his hysterical wife, and looked about to join her in the wailing parade. “Oh my God. My God! How—”

“Quiet!” Eve boomed it over the hysteria. “Both the Miras are fine, and probably sitting down eating dinner and maybe having a really big drink. Now everybody just calm the hell down, and sit the hell down!”

Tears rolled out of those bitter-chocolate eyes. “They’re all right? You swear it?”

“If it’ll stop the madness I’ll sign an oath on it in my own blood.”

“Okay, sorry.” She swiped at her cheeks. “Sorry, Mel.”

“What the hell, Sila?”

“It’s Dallas and Roarke.”

“Dallas and . . . somebody’s dead.”

“A lot of people are dead,” Eve pointed out. “But none of them are Charlotte and/or Dennis Mira.”

“I got scared, that’s all.” Sila sniffled. “I got so scared. They’re family.”

“Then understand they’re mine, too.”

“Mr. Dennis speaks highly of you. He came by when I was cleaning the big house, and listening to the book. The Icove book. I asked if he knew you, seeing as you worked with Miss Charlotte, and he said he did, and you were good, caring people. And courageous. I just love that man.”

“Okay.” Eve could relate. “He’s okay.”

“I’m going to get you a glass of wine,” Mel said to his wife. “I can get you some wine,” he added to Eve and Roarke.

“Thanks, but on duty.”

“I’m not,” Roarke said cheerfully, “and I’d love a glass of wine.”

“I can get you something else, Miss Dallas. Coffee, tea maybe. Got Pepsi.”

“Pepsi?” Sila narrowed her still damp eyes. “Melville Robarts, you said you were cutting that out.”

The big man hunched his shoulders like a small boy caught swiping cookies. “Maybe there’s a stray tube or two around.”

“I’ll take it,” Eve said to settle the matter. “It’s Lieutenant. You work for Dennis Mira, clean his grandfather’s house.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Look, let’s sit down, like you said.”

Sila moved off into the living area, a comfortable space and so clean it nearly sparkled, sank into a high-backed chair of bold blue.

“My mama did for Judge Mira and Miss Gwen almost as long as I can remember. When I got old enough, I’d help out sometimes. Miss
Gwen, she passed. So sudden, too, and the judge, he just lost his heart, and he passed some months after. My mama still misses them. So do I.”

“Me, too.” Mel came in with a tray holding three glasses of red wine and one of iced Pepsi. “I did work for them around the house when they needed. That’s how I first met Sila—we were sixteen. Is there trouble, Miss—Lieutenant Dallas?”

“There’s trouble. Mr. Mira is fine,” she said again, “but he was attacked earlier this evening, in his grandfather’s house.”

“Attacked? In the house?” Once again those dark eyes narrowed. “The senator went at him, didn’t he? Couldn’t push Mr. Dennis around with words, so he went at him.
Senator
Edward Mira. He’s Mr. Dennis’s cousin, though you wouldn’t know they shared blood. Different as wet to dry.”

“Why would you think Edward Mira would attack Mr. Mira?”

“Because that man wants his own way, in everything. Nothing but a bully, and always was, if you ask me. I don’t think much of him or his snooty wife. They have nice kids, though. Good people, and the kids’ kids are as sweet as cherry pie. Did you arrest him?”

“No. He didn’t attack Mr. Mira, and was, in fact, attacked himself. And he’s missing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Mr. Mira walked in on the attack and was knocked unconscious. When he came to, Edward Mira was gone, as were the attackers.”

Sila took a gulp of wine, breathed out hard. “I’m sorry for what I said about him—it’s the truth, but I’m sorry. Was someone trying to rob them? They’ve got really good security on that house. I never worried a minute about being there alone or with Mama or my girl.”

“When were you there last?”

“Just today, from about seven-thirty to about two-thirty. My daughter and I cleaned there today, and my mama came, too. She can’t clean like
she used to, but she loves that house. We went over bright an’ early, gave it top to bottom—that’s once a month rotation. I swear to you, we set the alarms and the locks when we finished up.”

“Did anyone come to the door?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Have you noticed anyone, today or otherwise, who shouldn’t be in the neighborhood? You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do, and no, I haven’t. It’s a nice neighborhood. A few retired folks like the judge, and professionals, mostly. Doctors and lawyers and the like. Mr. Dennis came by every few weeks, just to say hello and spend some time in the house.”

“How about the senator?”

Her nose wrinkled. “More lately, with dollar signs in his eyes.”

“Sila.”

“I can’t help it. He took some of the furniture—had it taken,” she corrected, “but Mr. Dennis said it was left to him and it was all right. I didn’t tell Mr. Dennis how I overheard the senator talking on his ’link about appraisals for the pieces he took. It would have hurt Mr. Dennis’s feelings to know what his grandparents loved was being sold to strangers.”

Eve asked more questions, digging into what she already sensed was fallow ground. When they rose to leave, Sila touched her arm.

“I want to contact Mr. Dennis, just want to hear his voice. I don’t think I can settle down until I do. Is that all right?”

“Sure.” Eve hesitated. “Give this about a week, but if you get a chance, maybe you could go back over there, clean the study. Crime Scene leaves dust.”

“You can bet I will.”

Eve brooded on their way uptown, then turned to Roarke.

“Selling furniture, wanting to sell the house. Some people are just greedy, but maybe you can take a good look at his finances. It could be
gambling debts, blackmail over an affair. Maybe he doesn’t just want to sell. Maybe he needs to sell.”

“Permission to wiggle my fingers in someone else’s finances is always delightful. Permission in this case, a veritable treat.”

“You really don’t like him.”

“Not in the least.”

“Could he force Mr. Mira to sell?”

Smoothly, Roarke maneuvered around a mini, fishtailing on the slick streets. “I don’t know the particulars, but if they own equal shares, I think it would be a considerable battle. Dennis could buy Edward out.”

“Sure, if he has ten million lying around gathering dust.”

“Ten million doesn’t gather dust, it—if used well—makes more millions. We could easily lend him what he’d need. Family,” Roarke added when Eve stared at him.

She took his hand. “I really was going to do the dinner thing. And I was thinking about a swim with pool sex, and maybe a vid.”

He gave her a slow, easy grin. “All that?”

“I was working out the details. I’m really sorry I didn’t get a chance to pull it off.”

“We’re young yet.”

—

R
oarke pulled the DLE to the curb in front of a gleaming silver building. Eve smirked when the doorman, who looked like a formal polar bear in white livery with gold braiding, hustled through the icy rain to scowl at them.