“I don’t find anything on this first round. None of the subsidiaries are connected or even in direct competition. They do have offices in some of the same cities, but that’s a stretch. They do each have long-running charitable foundations, but again, they veer off into different areas of interest and support.”
“It’s in there somewhere,” Eve noted.
Peabody put her head back, closed her eyes. “Maybe employees who crossed over, or interbusiness marriages, relations. So the killer has at least some data on both.”
“Possible.”
“Or somebody who knows and has a hard-on against Sweet and Urich.”
“A lot of trouble to go to, and pretty fucking extreme to take a punch at somebody. But we’ll be looking for connections between Sweet and Urich. The methods aren’t random either. They’re planned well in advance, so they’re deliberate. A bid for attention. He’s showing off. Send an alert to Mira’s office,” she said referring to the department’s top profiler and shrink. “I want a consult tomorrow. Send her the files so she can take a look.”
When she pulled up in front of the dignified old brownstone, she smiled at her wrist unit. “Bastard really works.”
She got out of the car, took a moment to study the townhouse, the neighborhood. “Nice spot. Quiet, established, monied but not flashy. Urich was married once and did it in a twelve-year stretch. He’s worked for the same company for close to twenty years. He sticks. Got a little garden going here that looks all tidy and organized. Everything all nice and settled.”
She passed through the short wrought-iron gate, to the walkway between a small, structured front garden, and up the stairs to the main door.
“Locks down at night.” She nodded toward the steady red light on the security pad before pressing the buzzer.
This residence is protected by Secure One, the computer informed her. The occupant does not accept solicitations. Please state your name and your business.
“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody.” Eve held up her badge for the scanner. “NYPSD. We need to speak with Foster Urich.”
Your information will be relayed. Please wait.
Good security, Eve thought, but Urich kept it simple and straightforward.
It took several minutes, but the security light switched to green, and the door opened.
Urich stood in loose pants and T-shirt, his feet bare. His hair looked sleep tumbled and curled around a sharp-featured face. Fear lived in his eyes.
“Has something happened to Marilee? My daughter. Is my daughter—”
“We’re not here about your daughter, Mr. Urich.”
“She’s okay? Her mother—”
“We’re not here about your family.”
He closed his eyes a moment, and when he opened them the fear died. “My daughter’s at camp. It’s her first time.” He let out a breath. “What’s this about? Jesus, it’s after three in the morning.”
“We’re sorry to disturb you at this hour, but we need to ask you some questions. Can we come in?”
“It’s the middle of the night. If I’m going to let you in, I want to know what this is about.”
“We’re investigating a homicide. Your name came up.”
“My—a murder? Who’s dead?”
“Ava Crampton.”
His face creased in puzzlement. “I don’t know anybody by that name. All right, come in. Let’s get this cleared up.”
The long entrance hall opened on the side to a living area with deep colors, oversized seating, a wide wall screen. On the table in front of a long high-backed couch sat two wineglasses and a bottle of red. A pair of high-heeled sandals sat under the table.
“Who’s Ava Crampton, and how did my name come up?”
“Are you alone, Mr. Urich?”