Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“Her passport’s current.” She scooped up the decadent delight of rich chocolate. “Had one for twelve years. And she traveled. Funny nobody mentioned that. Spain, Italy, France. She liked Europe, but there’s Rio, and Belize, and Bimini. Exotic locales.”

“Nothing off planet?” he asked.

“Nothing she used this passport for. I’m betting she liked sticking to terra firma. Off planet takes a lot of time, and a lot of money. And while she traveled, she was in and out—with few exceptions—in a few days. Longest I find here’s ten days in Italy. Went in through Florence. And had

another trip there, one day, the week before she came to New York.”

“Maybe a weakness for Tuscany,” Roarke suggested.

“Quick trips, though.” She drummed her fingers, ate more gelato. “Could be she made them on the q.t. Didn’t tell her son. I’ve got to go back, find out if she traveled alone or with a companion.”

She studied the data. “Had a reason for going back to Italy right before she came here to make her score. Looking over there, you bet your ass. Thinking she might like to find herself a villa.”

“It would take some time, but I could find out if she made inquiries about property with a realtor over there.”

“She’d know something about the ins and out, wouldn’t she, with a son in the business.”

She sat back, sighed. “So here’s one way. She’s looking to relocate, plop herself down to live the high life after she skins you.”

“I object to the term. No one skins me.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t get that. Time to start enjoying her hard-earned nest egg. Deck herself out in all those glitters she’s been paying insurance premiums for. Time to kick up her heels. Got herself in tune for it. She’s tapped out a couple of her income sources, but they’re finite anyway. She hits the jackpot, and she can move on. Retire.”

“What does she tell her family?”

Think like her, Eve ordered herself. It wasn’t so hard to do. “Her son’s replaced her with a wife. Ungrateful bastard. Doesn’t have to tell him a damn thing. If she intended to tell him, you can bet she’s got something worked out: She won the lottery, got some inheritance, something out of the blue. But she doesn’t need Bobby anymore because she’s got someone on her string, someone who can do the grunt work when she needs it. They should be with her in New York, just in case.”

She rolled her shoulders. “Or she’s going to shake her minion off, hire somebody fresh when she relocates. Who do you know in that area of Italy who handles real estate, could give us a hand with this?”

“One or two people. However, it’s after one in the morning there.”

“Oh, right.” She scowled at the clock. “I hate the whole time difference crap. It’s irritating. Okay, that waits until the morning.”

“I hate to remind you, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. We’re unlikely to find offices open, particularly in Europe where they believe in taking holidays. I can pull strings, but unless this is urgent, I hate to push this into someone’s holiday.”

“See, see”—she waved her spoon—“Christmas is bogging me down. It can wait, it can wait,” she repeated. “More important to find out if she had a travel companion. It could just be the one little mistake. One little detail that moves this along.”

“Then I’ll help you with that.”

“What I want is to plug in all her flights.”

“All?”

“Yeah, all. Then we’re going to run the manifest through, each one, see if any dupe names pop. Or any name on my case file list.” She licked ice cream off her finger. “And yeah, I’m aware the transpo company offices are closed. Lazy bastards. And that accessing passenger information generally requires authorization.”

He smiled, easily. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“I’m just looking is all I’m doing. And if anything pops, then I’ll backtrack, go through channels. But I’m sick to fucking death of running in place.”

“Still said nothing.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“What I’m thinking is you need to move. I want your chair.”

“Why?”

“If I’m going to get this data, and we both know I can access it faster than you, I want the chair and the desk. Why don’t you deal with those dishes?”