“Embalming? Cosmetics?”
“Yes.”
“How many work down there, routinely?”
“We have a mortician, a technician, and a stylist on staff.”
Stylist, Eve thought. No point in being unfashionably dead.
The woman led her to a small waiting room full of quiet, flowers, and soft-cushioned furniture. “I’ll tell Mr. Travers you’re waiting. Please be comfortable.”
Alone, Eve wandered the room. Not here, she thought. It didn’t make sense for him to have brought Ariel and the others here, where work went on throughout the building. Too many people. Too much business.
He wasn’t part of a troupe, but a solo act.
But this was a conduit, she was sure of it. Just as she was damn sure Robert Lowell, or whatever he was currently calling himself, wasn’t in London.
Travers came in. He was tall, reed thin, with a comfortable if somber face. If Eve had been casting funeral directors, he’d have been her top pick.
“Officer?”
“Lieutenant. Dallas.”
“Kenneth Travers.” Since he offered his hand as he crossed to her, Eve took it. “I’m director here. How may I help you?”
“I’m looking for Robert Lowell.”
“Yes, so Marlee indicated. Mr. Lowell lives in Europe, and has for some years now. While he retains ownership of the organization, he has very little actual involvement with the day-to-day operations.”
“How do you get in touch with him?”
“Through his solicitors in London.”
“I’ll need the name of the firm, and a contact number.”
“Yes, of course.” Travers folded his hands at his waist. “I’m sorry, may I ask what this is in reference to?”
“We believe he’s connected to an ongoing investigation.”
“You’re investigating the murders of the two women who were found recently. Is that correct?”
“That would be right.”
“But Mr. Lowell is in London.” He repeated the information slowly, and with what seemed to be a wealth of patience. “Or traveling. He travels quite extensively, I understand.”
“When did you see him last?”
“Five, perhaps six years ago. Yes, I believe it would be six.”
Eve pulled out the ID print. “Is this Robert Lowell?”
“Why yes, yes it is. I’m very confused, Lieutenant. This is Robert Lowell, the first. He’s been dead for, my goodness, nearly forty years. His portrait hangs in my office.”
“Is that so?” Smart, Eve decided. Some smart son of a bitch. “How about this man?” She took out Yancy’s sketch.
“Yes, that’s the current Mr. Lowell, or a close likeness.” His color receded a bit as he looked from the sketch to Eve. “I saw this displayed on screen, on media reports. I honestly never connected it. I—as I said—I haven’t seen Mr. Lowell in several years, and I never…I simply didn’t see him in this until you asked just now.
“But you see, there has to be some mistake. Mr. Lowell is a very quiet and solitary man. He couldn’t possibly—”