Echoes in Death (In Death 44)

“You don’t know from blizzards,” she said with frank and amused derision. “I’ll get there, and she’ll see me.”

Eve simply raised her eyebrows as the screen went blank.

She weighed the idea of contacting the parents immediately, decided to let their daughter relay the situation first. Thinking through the conversation, the reactions, she rose to update her board.

She added all three DeSilvas, connecting them to Daphne.

She wrote up the conversation, added it to her case notes. She sent a copy to Mira as she wanted a shrink’s take on the sister’s reaction and statements.

Poisoned, infected, controlled.

Clearly, the foster family had been cut loose, cut off. And, yeah, she could believe Strazza had manipulated that. Why? Likely for the same pathology as the killer. For control and power over another.

Though she’d set Peabody on the task, Eve took a good look at the bartender/actor. No violent incidents on record didn’t mean he didn’t have violence under the mask.

When Roarke came in,

she was adding him to the board.

“You have a suspect?”

“I have a person to look at harder. Actor—that’s what he lists as his profession, though he makes his living tending bar at Jacko’s. He hits a couple notes.”

“So you’ll push buttons, see if he plays the whole tune.”

“Yeah. Nice colorful metaphor. I spoke with Daphne’s sister—the guardians’ daughter. She clearly despised Strazza, clearly blames him for them being out of touch with Daphne. Parents are in Fiji on a big vacation. I’m letting her contact them, tell them. If it wasn’t for the severity of the attack on Daphne, I’d actually look closer at the sister. Taking a look anyway.”

“As you will at the parents.”

“Yeah. Gotta cross the i’s, dot the t’s. I know it’s the other way around,” she said before Roarke could correct her. “But that gets boring.”

“Speaking of boring, Strazza’s financial didn’t present any challenge at all. He’s a cautious investor, has a few pet charities, though he’s a bit stingy even there. The house itself is worth what I estimated, but it’s mortgaged for a bit more than half of that.”

“So she won’t exactly be rolling in it.”

“Well now, it’s better than a poke in the eye—though a spouse might see it as one. His first walked away with five million, which—as I thought you might want to know, and I certainly did—she used to purchase a sheep station in Porongurup—that’s Australia.”

“Why do sheep need a station? Are they catching trains? Where are they going? Why do they have to go there?”

“I imagine they find themselves herded onto trains from time to time, but a sheep station’s a ranch.”

“Then why do they call it a station?”

“Blame the Aussies. In any case,” he continued before she could take him further into the weeds, “she invested a bit more than half of the settlement in the property and the sheep. Appears to be making it work well enough. I also found no travel out of Australia for her in more than three years. Absolutely none to New York.”

Because visuals always helped, Eve called up the first wife’s most current ID shot.

Attractive, Eve thought, an attractive, outdoorsy-looking female in her late forties. Someone who looked both competent and content.

“She doesn’t fit as a part of the attacks. She’s just part of the puzzle. From important New York doctor’s wife to sheep in Australia. That says to me, she got as far away from him and the life she had here as she could.”

“You think he abused her as well.”

“It would fit,” Eve said, then shrugged. “She got out, and I can’t see her in this. Any more on his financials?”

“He has considerable art insured. Perhaps that’s included in what he’s designated to his widow. Upward of eight million there, and the jewelry, which is now missing, about the same. He has a luxury vehicle—with a lien, again about half its worth—and pays a garage fee.”

Roarke wandered over, selected a bottle of wine. “I’m in the mood for a glass. You?”