“That’s what they all say. I have a team arriving momentarily, with a warrant. We need to go through this building.”
“But Lieutenant Dallas, I assure you he’s not here.”
“It happens I believe you, but we still go through the building. Where does he stay when he comes to New York?”
“I don’t honestly know. It’s so rare…and it wasn’t my place to ask.” Travers’s fingers moved up to the knot of his somber tie, brushed there twice.
“There was a second location on the Lower West Side during the Urbans.”
“Yes, yes, I believe so. But we’ve been the only location downtown for as long as I’ve been associated with the company.”
“How long would that be?”
“Lieutenant, I’ve been director here for almost fifteen years. I’ve only had direct contact with Mr. Lowell a handful of times at best. He’s made it clear he doesn’t like to be disturbed.”
“I bet. I need the lawyers, Mr. Travers, and any other information on Robert Lowell you have. What do you know about his stepmother?”
“His…I think she was killed during the Urban Wars. As she wasn’t, to my knowledge, involved with the business, the information I have on her is very minimal.”
“Name?”
“I’m so sorry, I don’t know it offhand. It might be in our records. Well, this is—this is all very disturbing.”
“Yeah,” Eve said dryly. “Murder can just ruin a perfectly good funeral.”
“I only meant—” Color came into his cheeks, then died away. “I understand you must do your job. But, Lieutenant, we have a memorial in progress for one of the women who was killed. I have to ask you and your men to be discreet. This is an extremely difficult and delicate time for Ms. York’s friends and family.”
“I’m going to make sure Ariel Greenfeld’s friends and family don’t end up in your Tranquility Room anytime soon.”
They were as discreet as a half a dozen cops could be, with Feeney and McN
ab tackling the electronics for any data. Eve stood in the basement prep room with Roarke.
“Not much different from the morgue. Smaller,” she noted, scanning the steel worktables, the gullies on the sides, the hoses and tubes and tools. “I guess he got some of his knowledge of anatomy working here. Might have had some of his early practice sessions on corpses.”
“Charming thought.”
“Yeah, well, being as they were already dead—hopefully—it probably didn’t upset them too much. Oh, and FYI? When my time comes, I don’t want the preservatives and the stylist. You can just build a big fire, slide me in. Then you can throw yourself on the pyre to show your wild grief and constant devotion.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
“Nothing down here for us. I want the second location that was up and running during the Urbans. Any other properties owned by Lowell, in any of his guises or fronts.”
“I’ll get to it,” Roarke told her.
She drew out her communicator, scowled at the buzzing static. “Reception’s crappy down here. Let’s go up. I want to see if Callendar had any luck with the stepmother.
“She could have had property in her name,” Eve continued as they started out. “Maybe he uses that. Lawyers are dragging their feet, as the breed’s prone to do. Between Whitney and Tibble they’ll cut through that bullshit quickly enough.”
“If he continues to be smart,” Roarke commented, “the lawyers would only lead you to a numbered account and message service. He covers himself well.”
“Then we’ll tackle the account and the service. Fucker’s in New York. He has a bolt-hole here, a work space, transportation. And one of these lines we’re yanking is going to bring us down on him.”
Eve had no more than reached the main level when her communicator beeped. “Dallas.”
“Found her!” Callendar all but sang it. “Edwina Spring. Found her in the music and entertainment section of an old Times. Opera sensation, if you believe the hype. Prodigy. Barely eighteen when she bowled over New York at the Met. I’ve got more coming up now that I’ve got her name.”
“Run a multitask. See if you can find any property in the city listed under her name.”