“His passcoded, hers not.”
“Follows what we’re finding. He had that desk customed for his thumbprint on the drawers. Even the supply closet has a lock code. Same with the half bath there.” He jerked a thumb. “Who puts a security code on their office john?”
“Apparently Dead Strazza.” She looked up again, winced. “Can you turn that thing off?”
He glanced around, his pretty face puzzled. “What thing?”
“That thing on your bony chest. It’s distracting.”
He looked down at Elvis, grinned. “Oh, sure. Forgot.” And tapped a finger on Elvis’s midsection. The long-dead king froze mid swivel.
“So, anyhows, we looked at the three safes, including the one inside a cabinet in a man-type den on the main level. All cleaned out—all opened with codes. Looking like one of the vics gave him the codes.”
“Strazza—it’s pretty clear his wife wouldn’t have them.”
“Right. Burglarizing, raping killer didn’t bother with electronics—at least there are plenty of high-end and portable still on the premises. Roarke says there are empty spots around where maybe art’s gone missing.”
“We’ll get insurance info, cross-check. Art, jewelry, any cash that may have been in any of the safes. Passports and IDs, credit and banking info. All that’s lucrative if you know how to turn it, and I’m not finding passports, IDs.”
“We’ll check the comps for financial info. We can take a whack at the security system, but like the house droids, whoever bashed them knew how to bash. And took the main drive with him.”
“You talk to the machines.” Eve pushed out of the chair. “I’ll be talking to people.”
“We do what we do. Hey, you look good.”
Eve narrowed her eyes. “What did you say?”
“Nothing personal.” He all but froze in place. “Just an observation. Lieutenant.”
“She does look good, doesn’t she?” Roarke spoke cheerfully, slapping a hand on McNab’s shoulder as he came in behind him. “Particularly considering she’s been up about twenty-four hours straight now. Your morgue team’s taken the body out and, as dawn has broken, your uniforms have barricaded off the early morning gawkers.”
“Okay.” She stared through McNab. “Have you run out of things to do, Detective?”
“Always something,” he said and vanished.
Roarke moved in, laid his hands on Eve’s hips. “You do look good.”
“I don’t have any of the gunk to take off the gunk.” She tapped her cheek.
“You’ll survive a few more hours of it.” He kissed the cheek she’d tapped, then the other. “I’ll take your other clothes with me as I need to go home and change myself at some point. Your car’s out front.”
“Appreciate it. I think he ruled her.”
“You’re talking about the Strazzas’ relationship.”
“Yeah. All her devices open, all his passcoded. His spaces secured, right down to the office john. Hers, open again. Her closet mirrors his. I think he selected her clothes. I get you pick out most of mine,” she said quickly. “But … they work. For me. And even when I find sexy girl underwear or whatever in my drawers, you don’t go Slut City on me.”
“Well now, my mind’s taking a stroll down Main Street of Slut City, and considering.”
“You think of me. The boots, say, may be styling in a way I wouldn’t think of, but they’re sturdy, comfortable, made for legwork, for chasing down bad guys. There’s a difference between that and filling my closet so I have to wear what you want.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“I hate to shop. You, for some reason, consider it entertaining. She doesn’t have a space in this house. Her own space.”
“That I noticed.”
“You made one for me. Here? He’s got the third floor, plus this office, a sort of manly den going downstairs, according to McNab. Nothing reflects her, is made for her. Maybe she wanted it that way, maybe she liked being ruled. Some do. But…”