“Yes, I do. I certainly do. The man’s an artist, a genius. We’ve—myself, friends, family—hired him many times for events, for special occasions. Why, I dined in his restaurant the last time I was in Paris. How did this happen?”
“I’m not free to give you the details, as yet. As the employer, and a family connection, and now with your personal acquaintance with the victim, I have to ask for your whereabouts last night between the hours of nine and midnight. Obviously you were entertaining,” Eve continued. “If I could have your guest list, even a partial, to verify, it would put that matter aside so we can focus in on viable lines of investigation.”
“Of course, of course. This is such a shock. I’m going to contact our security, and have this checked yet again.”
“I think that would be wise. Again, we’re sorry to disturb you at home, and with such distressing news. Thank you for your time.”
“I’m more than happy to give you my time under these tragic circumstances. This is a terrible business.”
He chose a grim expression this time, and Eve thought he selected his facial reactions the way a man might pick the correct tie.
“I want to contact Meryle, offer my support and sympathy. That won’t be a problem, officially, will it?”
“Not at all. We won’t keep you any longer. If we could have that guest list, or even a handful of names, we’ll get out of your way.”
“Let me just tell Mizzy to make you a copy.” He rose, walked to a house ’link.
“Nice shoes,” Eve said with a casual smile. “The silver accessory gives them some jump, but they look comfortable.”
“Thank you, and they are. Stefani invariably marries comfort and style. Mizzy, would you make a copy of last night’s guest list for Lieutenant Dallas? Yes, dear. Thank you.?
?
He walked back, picked up his coffee again. “It won’t take a minute. Have you ever dined on Delaflote?” he asked her.
“I couldn’t say.”
“Ah, if you had, you could and would say.” He forgot to look grim or sorrowful as delight twinkled over his face. “I’m surprised Roarke wouldn’t have indulged you.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad since we’ve missed our chance there. Still, I lean toward Italian,” she said, thinking of the pizza she’d shared with Roarke the night before.
Mizzy, yet another red uniform, strode in, brisk on toothpick heels. “Here you are, Lieutenant. The guest list, with contact data. Is there anything else I can do?”
“This should cover it. Thanks again.” Eve rose, held out a hand to Dudley. “Shoot, sorry, lost track. Interview end.”
“Mizzy will show you out. Please keep me up to date on these matters.”
“You’ll be first in line.”
After they’d walked out, gotten into their vehicle, Eve let her own smirk free. “You caught the footwear?”
“Oh, yeah, and now we’ve got them on record, with his murdering feet in them.”
“Murdering feet?”
“Well, he’s a murderer and the feet are attached to him. Solid alibi,” Peabody added. “And the first red-suited bombshell mentioned Moriarity was at the party, so it’s looking like he’ll have one, too.”
“Easy drive from here to the Simpson place. I clocked it at six minutes. Maybe shave off a minute that time of night, but stick with twelve for the round-trip, ten to do the kill, add another two at most to gloat and pack up the wine.”
Eve gave a last glance at the Dudley house in the rearview as she drove away. “Big party, drinks flowing, people wandering around outside, in the house. Who’s going to notice one guest slipping out for under a half hour?”
“It’s a little squishy. But they’re all really rich people, and people of the same type tend to stick together. I bet more than half the people who were there will swear Moriarity was.”
“Then we’d better prove he wasn’t, for at least the time needed to skewer Delaflote. Next, there’s going to be a past connection between the vic and Dudley. We find it. The vic’s got about ten years on him, so they didn’t go to school together. We’ll search the society and gossip shit first. And we dig into the vic, see what he had in common with Dudley. If they traveled to the same places, had any common interests.”
She engaged the dash ’link, contacted Feeney.
“Yo,” he said.