Vendetta in Death (In Death 49)

They rode up.

“The killer’s female, or wants us to think so,” Peabody said. “If the message left has validity, possibly someone he cheated with or raped. But …he was a trim guy, but you’d still need muscle to get him in and out of a vehicle—had to have one—and spread him out on the sidewalk. Maybe she—if it’s a she—had a partner.”

“Definitely possible. The angle of the ligature marks on the wrists indicates he was restrained with his hands and arms held over his head—taking at least some of his weight. You could haul him up that way with muscle or with a pulley. Lower him onto some sort of dolly, wheel him up a ramp into a vehicle, wheel him out. It’s a lot, but somebody gave all of it some thought. They sure as hell knew where he lived in New York, when he’d be here. And I didn’t find any defensive wounds.”

The top floor held more generous units, for a total of six. The McEnroy apartment had the northeast corner with a wide, double-door entrance.

A cam, palm plate, swipe, solid locks.

Eve pushed the buzzer.

The McEnroys are currently not receiving visitors. Please leave your name, your reason for this visit, and your contact information. Thank you.

Eve held up her badge. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, Peabody, Detective Delia, on police business. We need to speak with anyone now in residence.”

One moment while your identification is verified.

Eve waited out the scan, held another minute before she heard the locks disengage.

A house droid opened the left-side door. He stood—like the building—dignified in a dark suit. The sturdy body style told Eve he could likely double as a bodyguard. He spoke in a, well, dignified Brit accent while he looked over Eve and Peabody with eerily steady blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, Detective, but Mr. McEnroy has not yet returned from an engagement. Ms. McEnroy and the children are out of town on holiday and not expected back for five more days. Is there anything I can help you with at this time?”

“Yeah, you can give us Ms. McEnroy’s location and her contact information.”

“Again, I apologize, but that information is private.”

“Not anymore. Mr. McEnroy won’t be returning from his engagement, as he’s on his way to the morgue.”

She watched those steady eyes flicker. Processing the unexpected.

“This is very unfortunate.”

?

?You could say. We’re coming in.”

“Yes, please do.”

He stepped back, closed the door behind them.

The wide foyer opened into a generous living space. She could see hints of the Hudson through the tall windows, showing silver in the morning light.

The living area boasted a recessed viewing screen above a long, slim fireplace, upscale furniture in quiet tones of blues and greens, some framed cityscapes, a scatter of fancily framed family photos, and no clutter whatsoever.

“What time did Mr. McEnroy leave the premises?”

“At nine-eighteen last evening.”

“Where was he going?”

“I don’t have that information.”

“Was he alone?”

“Yes.”

“What was he wearing?”