Calculated in Death (10 page)

“You said it was passcoded.”

“Yes, but I have a master code. As supervisor I have to be able to access any data necessary. I contacted Mr. Brewer personally, discussed it with him, and he agreed.”

“When did you contact him?”

“This morning. Early. I didn’t sleep well, and I was up. I thought about this, and knew I had to discuss it with Mr. Brewer.”

“Okay.” Which probably put Brewer in the clear. The timing didn’t work. “Let’s have a look at her office.”

“It was secured,” he told her as he unlocked the door. “There was nothing out of place, nothing I can see. I bypassed her passcode, began the copies, and I saw files missing.”

“How many accounts or clients?”

“I counted eight before I contacted security, then you. I was afraid to do anymore. That I’d compromise the evidence? The scene? I’m very upset.”

“But you checked for the backups?”

“Right away.”

“Where do you keep them?”

“Oh, sorry. I’ll show you. I have a safe in my office. All copies of sensitive material stay secured.”

“Who has the combination?”

“Besides me? The bosses and the head of security would have it on file.”

“No one else in the office?”

“No. No one.”

“How often do you change it?” she asked as she studied the compact safe inside a small closet.

“I . . . I’ve never actually changed it. It’s the factory default, and we’ve never had any trouble. There never seemed to be any reason to reprogram.”

“I bet sometimes when you’re securing sensitive material in this safe, someone might be in here. Your assistant, one of your accountants, one of their assistants.”

“I . . . Yes.” He dropped down in a chair, dropped his head into his hands. “This is a nightmare. The parties involved will have to be notified their data may be compromised. The work done, if not complete and already copied to clients or courts will have to be regenerated. And our reputation . . . I’m responsible.”

“The person who killed Marta Dickenson and compromised her data is responsible.”

“You think it’s the same person.”

Eve just looked at him. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Was anything else taken? Anything that wasn’t Marta’s work?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t look thoroughly.”

“Look thoroughly now. I’m going to have a crime scene team process the offices, and my e-man will analyze the security discs, and the system. What time did you leave the office yesterday?”

“About four. We closed early. The partners came in, spoke to everyone, and told us to go home. We’re closed today as well. I stayed a little longer, then I locked up. I went to Mr. Brewer’s office. I just needed to talk to someone. Mr. Kyle and Mr. Martini were still with him. We talked about having a small memorial here, in the offices. I went to Marta’s apartment, to offer Denzel my condolences. I know it’s for family right now, but we were. Are. And when I got home, I had several drinks. My wife was very understanding.”

He paused, shook his head. “There was some petty cash, three hundred dollars. It’s gone. Otherwise, it’s just copies of Marta’s files. I count ten now. There must be two more missing from her computer.”

He stared down at his hands. “It can’t be one of us. It can’t. We’re family.”

Eve didn’t bother to tell him families often stole from each other, and weren’t above familial murder.

When Peabody arrived, Eve gestured her into Marta’s office. “Ten missing files, so they’re trying to work another cover. Still not real smart about it. It may look like system error when McNab gets to it, so he’ll need to dig past that.”

“He will. He’s going over security with the guy downstairs.”

“They got into Gibbons’s office safe, took the copies, which kind of negates a system glitch. Helped themselves to the three hundred in cash in there.”

“Waste not, want not.”

“Sounds true. Gibbons never reprograms the combination, and he admits he’s not always alone in there when he opens it to put something in.”

“So anybody who works here could, potentially, have the combination. Plus they had Marta’s security data most likely if she kept it in her bag or briefcase. Even if not, whoever they’re working with inside, if so, could have given them a way in.”

“It’s a clean job. No ransacking, no mess, no violence. That semi-pro feel again. Professional enough to cover your tracks, stupid enough to leave a trail taking the cash and the files. Leave the fucking three hundred, just corrupt the files.”

“Rushed again, like the murder,” Peabody commented. “A good plan, but not thorough.”

“Still got the job done. Nothing for us to do here,” Eve concluded. “I’ve got CI coming in to process, not that they’ll find anything. The rest is for McNab. I think we should go talk to some hot-shot business guys.”

“You got that hot-shot outfit.”

“Don’t start on my clothes.”

“I can’t compliment your outfit? Strict.”

“You’re wearing pink cowboy boots. What do you know about fashion?”

“You gave me the boots,” Peabody reminded her, “and I get compliments on them all the time. So there.”

They went downstairs, and Eve hunted up McNab.

As fashion statements went, Ian McNab occupied a world of his own. Eve imagined the many pockets of his bright purple baggies came in handy, but for the life of her couldn’t figure out why he’d matched it with a pullover made up of eye-aching, multicolored swirls. Over it he’d tossed a long, sleeveless purple vest, presumably to discreetly cover his weapon. But the neon hearts dancing over the back of the vest over-balanced discretion.

And Roarke said she didn’t pay attention to clothes.

He lifted his head from his work, the silver rings in his ear jiggling. Like Roarke he wore his hair—straight and blond—pulled back in work mode. But McNab’s trailed halfway down his back of pulsing hearts.

“Somebody knew what they were doing,” he told Eve, and pushed back a bit from the main comp. “Jigged it up to look like a hiccup, and that can happen on these older systems.”

“But it didn’t.”

“Nope. He left fingerprints.”

She all but leaped at the word. “You ran prints?”

“Not that kind of print. E-prints. If you’d just done a standard check run of the system, you’d go, yeah, damn hiccup. You push through a couple levels, and you find a shutdown code blended in with the rest. It’s a little hide-and-seek, and pretty damn good. I need to run a few more checks, but I think they did it by remote, and that’s excellent equipment and a mega excel tech.”

“Okay. When you’re done here, see what you can tell me about the vic’s office unit.”

“Gotcha.” His deep green eyes narrowed in his thin, pretty face. “Mega excel tech,” he repeated. “Shut down the cams, the locks, the alarms, one, two, three. It’s an older system, but it’s not crap.”

“It didn’t do its job.” The man who walked in looked like someone’s kindly grandfather in a three-piece suit. “It’s crap. What system would you recommend?”

“Well, ah . . .” McNab looked at Eve.

“I’m sorry. I’m Stuart Brewer, senior partner of Brewer, Kyle, and Martini. You’re Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Mr. Brewer.” He’d saved her time tracking him down, she thought. “I understand Mr. Gibbons contacted you early this morning.”

“Yes. Twice. First about the files, Marta’s files. Neither of us, neither of my partners thought of it yesterday. We were all reeling, and we let that slip between the cracks. It’s unconscionable, and we’re paying for that now. When Sly called back to tell me of the break-in, I realized we’d opened ourselves for it. And this system, as the young man said, is old. I’m also a member of the conglomeration that owns this building. We’ve updated the system regularly, attached the patches—that’s the correct term?”

“Yes, sir,” McNab told him.

“We did that to save money rather than invest in a new, more efficient system. And now . . . do you know if any other offices were compromised?”

“I have a forensic unit on the way, and we’ll have uniforms canvass the building. But I think it’s clear your audit offices were the targets, and Mrs. Dickenson’s files the primary goal.”

“Marta was killed for them, this is what you think. She was young, her life and her children’s lives all ahead of her. And she was killed for information? Information is power and money, a weapon, a defense. I understand that. But I don’t understand murder. You do.”

“The new files she was given the day of her death. Are you personally acquainted with the individuals in those files?”

“No, but I intend to be by the end of today. I started this business sixty years ago with Jacob. Jacob Kyle. Twenty-eight years ago, we brought Sonny on as a full partner. I intended to retire in about six months. I think now I’ll need to put that off. I started this firm, and I won’t leave it until I know I leave it clean.”

•   •   •

I
feel sorry for him,” Peabody said when they walked outside. “For Brewer. I know he’s a suspect, technically, but he looked so tired.”

“Here’s why he’s not a suspect, at this point. He has access to the information that was taken. He’s top dog, and if he wanted the files, he could just take the files. If there was something hinky and he was involved, rather than assign an auditor, he could just say, Hey, I need to get my hand in. I’ll take that/those accounts. The same for the other two—Kyle and Martini. If you’re smart enough to keep a business like this going for half a century or more, you’re smart enough to cover your tracks without killing off an employee.”

Eve’s hands slid into her pockets. Not as cold today, she thought, because the wind was down. But damn cold enough.

“And if you’re not,” she continued, “or if killing the employee seemed more efficient, you sure as hell wouldn’t break into your own offices and take files after the fact.”

“Makes sense. I’m glad because I did feel sorry for him.”

“Right now, we’ll focus on the businesses in the files the vic sent to her home unit. She didn’t give that away, even when they hurt her. She had a reason to send those files home, a reason she wanted to work on them there, and a reason she didn’t tell anyone.”

“She found something,” Peabody ventured as they got into the car.

“Maybe. Or felt something. She had questions, made notations. So, it follows she wanted to dig out the answers. We’ll make the circuit. The closest offices are Young-Biden. Health company—health centers, hospitals, clinics, meds, supplies, and all the junk that goes with it.”

Young-Biden comprised five floors, with the busy hub covered with marble, glass, and bright, hard colors. Five people manned a curved central counter, all of them looking fit, healthy, and youthful.

Wall screens showcased various health centers, labs, rehab centers, and clinics worldwide.

Eve approached the counter, waited until one of the five behind it made actual eye contact.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“I need to speak with Young or Biden.”

The woman arched her eyebrows so dramatically they all but merged with her hairline. Eve heard the distinctive sniff. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I have this.” Eve laid her badge on the counter.

“I see.” She stared at the badge as if Eve had laid a fat, hairy spider on the counter. “Ms. Young is out of the country. Mr. Young-Sachs is in house, but in meetings, as is Mr. Biden. If you’d care to make an appointment . . .”

“Sure, I can do that. I can make an appointment to have Mr. Young-Sachs and Mr. Biden brought down to Cop Central for questioning. When would that be convenient?”

Now the eyebrows lowered to beetle over very annoyed eyes. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Excuse me a moment.”

She swiveled in her chair, presenting her back to Eve, and murmured rapidly on her headset.

When she swiveled back she kept her eyebrows level, her face impassive. “Mr. Young-Sachs will see you shortly. If you’ll go up to the forty-fifth floor, someone will meet you.”

“I’ll do that.” Eve walked over to the elevators, rolled her shoulders. “That felt good.”

“Why do people like that get so pissed off about having the boss talk to a cop?” Peabody wondered. “I mean, really, it’s not their ass in the sling.”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad they do.” Eve stepped into the elevator, ordered forty-five. “It gives me a lift.”

FLOOR FORTY-FIVE SHIFTED THE MOOD TO
calm and plush with warm colors, thick rugs, leafy plants, and stylish waiting areas.

A six-foot blonde in towering heels and a short black suit greeted Eve with a pleasant, professional smile.

“Officer?”

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”

“Lieutenant. I’m Tuva Gunnarsson, Mr. Young-Sachs’s admin. May I ask what this is in reference to?”

“Police business.”

“Yes, of course.” The smooth voice and manner didn’t ripple. “If you’ll come with me.”

How the blonde managed to glide on the stilts seemed like magic, but glide she did, through the waiting area, through glass doors into a window-walled corridor, all the way to the wide double doors. She opened them both with a kind of flourish into her boss’s big, swanky office.

More glass, more plush in two conversation areas, a slick silver wet bar, three wall screens, and a command console in that same slick silver backed by a high-backed leather chair in fresh-blood red.

“Mr. Young-Sachs will be with you in a moment. Can I get you anything?” She opened a wall panel to reveal a kitchen area, complete with full bar and a gleam of ruby-colored glassware.

“No, thanks. How long have you worked here?”

“Six years, four as Mr. Young-Sachs’s admin.”

“What’s his title?”

“He serves as CFO. Ms. Young remains CEO. She’s currently out of the country.”

“So I heard. And Biden?”

“Mr. Biden is COO. Mr. Biden Senior is retired.” Her face changed subtly as she glanced toward the door. Eve detected a bump of heat as the boss walked in.

She could all but smell the cool admin’s pheromones pump out.

Late thirties, Eve concluded. Poster boy handsome in the requisite excellent suit. He had a rich man’s tan, a gym-fit body, and a quick, crooked smile women probably found charming.

He also had the pinprick pupils of the high if not the mighty.

“Sorry for the wait. Carter Young-Sachs.” He took Eve’s hand, squeezed it rather than shook, did the same with Peabody. “Let’s have a seat. Tuva, how about some of your amazing coffee. She does something special.”

He winked.

“I’m sorry, they didn’t give me your names.”

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”

“I thought I recognized you.” He wagged a finger, and the carved band on his middle finger glinted. “Roarke’s wife and the center of some Hollywood in New York excitement. Ty and I are going to the premiere. Tuva, we’re entertaining celebrities here.”

“Police,” Eve corrected. “We’re not here to be entertained or for the amazing coffee.”

“Might as well have some. I’m looking forward to the premiere, especially now that I’ve had this chance to meet both of you.” He settled back, spread his hands, every movement just slightly exaggerated with that chemically induced energy. “And what can I do for you?”

“Are you acquainted with Marta Dickenson?”

“Doesn’t strike a bell. Tuva?”

“She was the auditor from Brewer, Kyle, and Martini. She was killed.”

“Oh. Right.” He maneuvered his face into serious lines for a moment. “Old Man Brewer called me personally about that. Slipped my mind. She wasn’t the original auditor. That was . . .”

“Chaz Parzarri,” Tuva supplied as she brought out a tray of coffee.

“Right. Nice guy. He had some kind of accident. Bad luck for Brewer and the rest.”

“Can you tell me where you were night before last from nine to midnight?”

“Night before last?” He looked as if she’d asked where he’d been five years before, on a Tuesday, at two-fifteen sharp.

“You attended Poker Night at your club. Your driver picked you up at seven,” Tuva told him.

“Right, right. I couldn’t win a damn thing. Just tanked, but what the hell, all for a good cause.”

“What time did you leave the club?” Eve asked.

“I’m not sure. Since I got my butt kicked, I left early. Maybe nine-thirty or ten.”

“And you went home.”

“Well, no.” He glanced at Tuva, shrugged. “I went by Tuva’s place. I could tell you we worked late, but, hell, we’re all adults here. I’m not sure when I left.”

Color high, Tuva stood very straight. “At just before one in the morning.”

“She’d know.” He offered that quick, crooked grin, another wink. “No big deal. We’re both single. Hey, Ty, come meet the city’s own Lieutenant Dallas and Peabody.”

Another poster boy, dark to Young-Sachs’s light with the broody, sulky looks some women found as appealing as the crooked grin. He dropped down in a chair as if exhausted.

“Tuva, how about another cup here? I could use some coffee.” He gave Eve a subtle smirk. “So, hunting for clones?”

“For killers,” she countered. “Marta Dickenson’s killers.”

“Who?”

Once again, Tuva gave the information, and brought the fresh cup.

“I don’t see what that has to do with me—us. Sorry about the woman, but they’ll just put another number-cruncher on it.”

“I’d like your whereabouts from nine to midnight, night before last.”

He rolled his eyes, but pulled out his date book. “I took the corporate shuttle down to South Beach, to a party. You wanted to do that poker thing,” he said to Young-Sachs. “Said you were feeling lucky. He lost.” Biden jerked a thumb at his associate. “I got lucky. Came back about ten yesterday morning.”

“We’ll need to verify both of your alibies.”

“Over some accountant?” For the first time, Biden showed some interest and annoyance.

“Yes, over some accountant who was, at the time of her murder, conducting an audit on your company, and whose office was broken into last night. Her copies of your files were taken.”

“For crap’s sake. That can’t be good.” As if unsure, Young-Sachs looked at Tuva.

“You would be wise to immediately inform your financial advisers and your lawyers,” Tuva began. “To change all passcodes, to—”

“What the hell kind of dick-all security do they have over at . . . Where the hell is it?”

“Brewer, Kyle, and Martini,” Tuva supplied.

“We’re firing their asses, you can bank on it.”

“We aren’t clients,” Tuva told him. “They were assigned by the courts.”

“Then get the damn lawyers, and get somebody who’s not a fucking idiot assigned.”

“Are you aware,” Eve put in, “that Marta Dickenson’s body was found by Bradley Whitestone, outside of the building under remodeling for the WIN Group?”

“Goddamn it, get Rob on the ’link,” Biden ordered. “And give Roarke’s get-out-of-jail-free card here the names of our lawyers. We’re done.”

Eve rose slowly, and whatever he saw in her face had Biden shifting. “No offense.”

“Considerable taken. You want to be careful about offending cops, Mr. Biden, especially when you’re mired in a murder investigation.”

“Talk to the lawyers. I’m done.” He shot to his feet. “And get Rob
now
, send it to my office.” He stormed out.

“I apologize,” Young-Sachs began. “Ty tends to lash out when he’s upset.”

“Interesting. Someone certainly lashed out at Marta Dickenson. Thanks for the coffee. We’ll be in touch.”

“It was really good coffee,” Peabody murmured as they walked back to the elevator.

“Chocolate. Just a little chocolate in the coffee.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know chocolate.”

“Well,
damn
. I’m off sweets until after the premiere. It doesn’t count, right, because I didn’t know it was there.”

“Right.” Eve stepped on the elevator, muttered, “Asshole.”

“I know. Both of them, really, but Young-Sachs was kind of a benign asshole. Maybe due to being a little high.”

“Which makes him stupid as well as an asshole. The admin knows more than both of them put together. She’s hot for the boss. She’d lie for him, no question. But he hasn’t got the belly for murder. Not in person anyway. The other? He could order it up like lunch.”

“I’ll start runs on them.”

“You do that. Next up. Alexander and Pope.”

The offices of Alexander and Pope opted for fussy dignity. Heavy furniture, art in thick gold frames—lots of paintings of people riding horses with dogs running alongside.

Everybody spoke in hushed tones in reception, as they might in a surgical waiting room.

But as Eve and Peabody were escorted back, she heard the busy sound of ’links beeping, voices dealing, feet scurrying.

Sterling Alexander’s office reflected his reception area with its deep tones, deep cushions, gracefully faded carpets, ornately framed art.

He sat at his desk, a prosperous-looking man with dark hair. The perfect touches of elegant white at the temples added distinguished to his sharply chiseled features.

He gestured Eve and Peabody to chairs with a flick of his hand, and dismissed his silent assistant the same way.

“Pope will be here momentarily. I’ve already spoken to Stuart Brewer, and to Jake Ingersol—you know who they are. I’ve also spoken with our legal counsel. I understand you have a job to do, procedure to follow, but my partner and I must act quickly to protect our company, our investors.”

“Understood. Were you acquainted with Marta Dickenson?”

“No. We worked with Chaz Parzarri. His supervisor informed us he’d been seriously injured while out of town, and our audit—which is required by our bylaws—would be taken over by this Dickenson woman. Then we’re told she’s been killed. And now the office is compromised and our confidential financial data stolen. It’s obvious what’s happened.”

“Is it?”

“Parzarri’s accident must have been engineered so this woman could get her hands on our data. Whoever did that, dealt with her. One of our competitors, I suspect.”

“Do you have competitors that aggressive?”

“It’s an aggressive market, as you should know as your husband is certainly fully involved in real estate.”

“It seems unnaturally aggressive to put one auditor in the hospital and murder another just to access financial data. But,” she said before he blustered in, “we’re investigating all avenues. As we are, I need to ask where you were on the night of the murder.”

A red flush bloomed across his cheekbones. “You would dare?”

“Oh, I would. If you refuse to answer, which is your right, I’ll take that in a way you wouldn’t care for.”

“I don’t like your attitude.”

“I get that a lot, don’t I, Peabody?”

“Yes, sir, you do.”

“Young woman—”

“Lieutenant,” Eve slapped back.

Alexander’s chest heaved twice. “My father founded this firm before you were born. And I’ve run it for the last seven years. We brokered the governor’s country home.”

“That’s nice. I still need to know your whereabouts. It’s routine, Mr. Alexander. It’s not personal.”

“It’s personal to me. I took my wife and a few friends to dinner at Top of the Apple.”

“That would be after you met Jake Ingersol of the WIN Group for drinks.”

Like Galahad before breakfast, Alexander stared holes in her.

She wasn’t tempted to offer him bacon.

“Yes. We discussed business that I have no intention nor obligation to disclose to you. I returned home to meet my wife, and the car took us to the restaurant for our eight o’clock reservations. We didn’t leave until nearly midnight.”

“Okay.”

There was a soft tap, something like a mouse scratch at the door.

“Come!” Alexander boomed out, and the mouse scuttled in.

“I’m sorry I was held up.”

The painfully thin man with a long face flanked by enormous ears offered Eve a soft-palmed hand. “Lieutenant Dallas, I recognize you. And Detective Peabody. It’s very nice to meet you, and before the premiere. My wife and I are looking forward to it. And you and Zelda, too, Sterling.”

“We don’t have time for small talk,” Alexander snapped.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I’m Thomas Pope.”

“We need to get this mess sorted out, Tom.”

“I know.” Pope held up his hands. “I know. I’ve contacted everyone we discussed. It’ll be all right, Sterling.”

“Someone’s trying to sabotage us.”

“We don’t know that. Don’t upset yourself. We weren’t the only account taken. And a woman’s dead. She’s dead.” He glanced at Eve. “She had two children. I heard that on the media report.”

“Yes. I need to ask you your whereabouts on the night she was killed.”

“Oh. My. Of course, of course. I was home. We spent the evening at home, my wife and I. Our daughter was out with friends. We worry. She’s sixteen. It’s very worrying. We stayed in all evening, and our daughter came home at ten—on time.” He smiled when he said it.

“Did you see or speak with anyone that evening, other than your wife and daughter?”

“Ah . . . Actually, I spoke to my mother. Our mother,” he corrected, glancing at Alexander. “We’re half-brothers.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I meant to tell you, Sterling, but everything’s been so upside down, I forgot. I spoke with my mother, and, oh yes, my on-the-right neighbor. When I walked the dog.” Every sentence contained a hint of apology. “I forgot to say I went out and walked the dog. We have a dog. And my neighbor and I usually walk our dogs together when we can. We did. About nine o’clock.”

“All right. Thank you. This audit, it’s required by your bylaws?”