Echoes in Death (In Death 44)

Eve glanced at her board, at the snow. “Yeah. Might as well.”

“There’s nothing in his finances to indicate affair. No jewelry purchases, for instance, not listed under his insurance, no odd trips or hotel expenses, no secondary residence where one might keep or entertain a sidepiece.”

“No hidden accounts?”

“None. All quite aboveboard and, as I said, boring.” He poured two glasses, brought Eve one. “He lived well within his means. In fact, he could have afforded to live more lavishly. I’d say he spent considerably on wardrobe—his and hers.”

“Appearances were important.”

“Agreed. The house, the car, the furnishings, the art—all on the flashier side. Aside from that, he strikes as a bit of a miser. He liked having the numbers rather than the things. Two vacations per year, as a couple. Like clockwork. Two additional trips for him—golf trips that appear to check out. Relatively short jaunts. Two days at most, as were any professional trips for medical conferences or lectures. Never more than two days away from home without his wife. And occasionally she joined him on those as well.”

“Didn’t want her on her own for long. Not discounting your particular skill, wouldn’t it be relatively easy for a decent e-man to get the information you just got?”

“Ridiculously simple.”

Thinking, she swiveled side to side in her chair. “So the killer knew there’d be jewelry and cash in the house, which gave him the cover for the attacks—the excuse. The purpose remains the rape and beatings. He’d just as likely know when the house would have been empty, but that’s not the way he wanted it.”

She turned to Roarke. “How long would it take you to get the guest list from the Celebrate Art Gala last April?”

“About as long as it took me to select, open, and pour this wine.” He gave her a playful poke. “How about finding something more interesting for me to play with?”

“Get me that data, and I will.”

“I’ll do that. And since we have a long, snowy night ahead of us, how about we have dinner somewhere other than your office?”

“I can agree to that.”

“Give me a couple minutes.” He tapped his glass to hers, strolled back into his office.

13

It didn’t take him much longer to stroll back out.

“The list is on your comp,” he told her.

“Great. Maybe you’d find it interesting to split the list with me, cull out married couples—first requirement. Married couples in the upper-class strata—second requirement. Married couples with no children—at least, none living at home. Married couples where the wife is a serious looker. And last, single-family residence. He doesn’t do apartment buildings or duplexes. Not yet anyway.”

“I can follow that. Have you considered same-sex couples? It isn’t pattern, as yet, but isn’t it possible he’d target a beautiful woman whatever her orientation?”

She jabbed a finger at him. “Damn good point. I’d put that as a lower probability because I think it’s a mom-and-dad deal, but it’s definitely a possibility. So … don’t discriminate.”

“What does the sign say in your bullpen? ‘No matter your race, creed, sexual orientation, or political affiliation, we protect and serve. Because you could get dead.’”

“Even if you were an asshole. We added an addendum.”

On a half laugh, he jabbed a finger back at her. “Well done.”

“Okay. So all of that, just pushing the married and the money. And the looks.”

“I believe I’ll work in here with you, on your auxiliary. That way we can coordinate more easily.”

“Pull up a chair. You start at the top, I’ll start at the bottom.”

“You should know there are more than eighteen hundred names.” And considering, he tugged off his tie, shrugged out of his jacket.

She huffed out a breath. “They won’t all be married. We’ll backtrack for legal cohabs, put them in another lane. But we’re starting with married.”

Nodding, he rolled up his shirtsleeves. “You should know Mavis and Leonardo are on here, as are the Miras.”