Calculated in Death (In Death 36)

“I want Turney. She’s got good instincts. There’s a little Peabody in there.”

“Yeah?” Peabody puffed up, then immediately pouted. “Is she—”

“Don’t even think about asking if she’s got a smaller ass, prettier face, tougher chops or whatever you’re thinking. Just get it done.”

“I wasn’t thinking about her ass,” Peabody muttered. “But now I am.”

“I want EDD on the electronics, and as soon as we get the insurance information I want a sweep on the items she was wearing—wedding ring, wrist unit. The coat. We’ll talk to the husband later, see if he remembers the earrings, and the scarf Yung claims she’d have worn. He couldn’t take any more on this first pass. Start a run on the work places. Look for anything that links them, and links either or both to Whitestone’s company. There’s got to be something there. If this was a random kill, I’m a monkey’s cousin.”

“Uncle.”

“What?”

“It’s a monkey’s uncle, and before you ask, no, I don’t know why because, really, on the evolutionary train, cousin’s about right.”

“What the hell do I care?”

“I’m just saying.”

Eve spared Peabody a glance as she turned to cut across town. The blocks went smooth and fast—too early for pedestrians to swarm the sidewalks and crosswalks, too late for the Rapid Cabs packed with club hoppers and partygoers.

She avoided Times Square where the hoppers and goers never gave in or up, then zipped by a maxibus filled with sleepy commuters either coming on or going off shift.

“Somebody grabbed her, and had to make the grab close to her office. Or they waited in a cab then just cruised up for the grab. They took her to that empty apartment because they knew it was empty. Either they had the codes or they’re damn good at B&E. Knocked her around a little.”

“You think a righty, and a backhand.”

“Yeah, it reads that way to me. A backhand across the cheekbone’s going to hurt a lot, knock her down, scare the living shit out of her. Too much bruising for just a slap, not enough for a solid punch.”

She brought the victim’s face back into her head. “Probably more than one hit. We’ll see if Morris tells us she was stunned or tranq’d, but I’m betting no. They wanted to make it look like a mugging. If they’d stunned or drugged her, they’d open themselves to a closer look. Manhandle her into a vehicle, take her to the apartment where they’d have privacy.”

“For what? Say this is payback on Yung, it’s a pretty circular route. Yeah, they’re close, but you’d go closer—Yung herself, her husband, one of her kids or grandkids. She’s got two daughters, in case you wondered. One grandkid from each.”

“It’s not payback.” Eve had circled that through her mind, poked holes through it. Eliminated it. “They’d have messed her up a lot more, made a statement for payback. And yeah, gone closer than a sister-in-law. Maybe to pressure the husband for something, but if you can grab her, you can probably grab him. And it’s more pressure if she’s alive. Information maybe. On a client. She’d know a lot of money secrets, tax shit, account data. They knew she was working late, so they’ve been watching her or they have a route inside—or they are inside her firm.”

She pulled up at Central. “I’m going to see Morris. As soon as her offices open, we’ll talk to her supervisor, her coworkers. I want her client list, her current files. Same for the husband.”

“Follow the money.”

“It’s always an interesting route. Beat it.”

“Beating it.”

Eve drove away, glanced at the time, then used her in-dash ’link to contact Roarke. Maybe it was dawn, but she knew damn well he’d been up at least a solid hour, and had probably already bought a minor solar system.

“Lieutenant.”

And there he was, filling her dash screen, those staggering blue eyes alert in a face created on a day God had felt particularly generous. As that mane of silky black hair was tied back, she recognized work mode.

“I figured I should let you know I won’t be back.”

“I assumed as much.” His native Ireland cruised through the words, like music. “Eat something.”

“I think I’ll wait until after this trip to the morgue. Their Vending seriously blows.”

“It’s bad. I can see it.”

“Murder’s never good, but this one wasn’t particularly messy. But . . . mother of two, with a husband I broke into pieces at notification. Well-heeled Upper East Side family, both of them with careers in finance, living in a penthouse condo. But without the flash, you know? Homey, pictures of the kids everywhere. And she was Judge Yung’s sister-in-law.”