Vendetta in Death (In Death 49)

Inside, the dash looked like the pilot’s cabin of a luxury off-planet shuttle. “How many vehicles do you need?”

He answered smooth as cream, “I’ve yet to find out.”

When the engine gave a throaty roar, when they flew along the driveway, she wished she’d taken the wheel.

Next time.

She spent her time on her PPC. “TRO against Arlo Kagen, age thirty-one, granted to Una Kagen. We’ve got a history of domestic disturbance reports spanning three years prior. Kagen did three months for misdemeanor assault—out in ninety days with probation, mandatory anger management. Bullshit. Guy’s got a serious drinking issue—it’s clear from what’s on the reports. Tunes up the wife or goes on a rampage. She filed for divorce, got the TRO, and he went at her again. Charges dismissed there, as he claimed she went at him—and they both had injuries.”

“More bullshit.”

“Yeah, it is.” She switched to Rachel Fassley. “Fassley’s husband of three years was killed during a robbery attempt five years ago. It looks like he tried to intervene, got stabbed multiple times. I don’t see anything … Hmm. Her employment history. Office manager until she had the kid, then professional mother status. Into the outside workforce last fall. Office manager—different office. Back to PM status after three months.”

“You assume something happened at the workplace.”

“Can’t assume,” Eve said. “But there’s nothing else. No reports filed. None filed during the three-year marriage on the husband.”

Eve sat back, let it cook. “I want to talk to both of them.”

15

Roarke opted for a lot near the apartment building on the Lower East Side. Considering the ride, Eve couldn’t blame him for rejecting a street slot, even if they found one.

Plus, since the piss-trickle rain had finally stopped, it wasn’t a bad night to walk a few blocks.

“I still have to try to run down the concrete, the epoxy,” Eve commented.

“You’ll learn that Mildock’s been in business more than a century, and the floor you’re looking for may have been poured long, long ago.”

She’d thought of that herself, but still scowled. “That’s not helpful.”

“Alternately, it may be a newer pour, or a resurfacing before the color sealer. I’d push more on the epoxy, which would need refreshing every decade or so if the floor gets any real traffic.”

She blew out a breath. “Odds of me hitting anything on either are slim to none. What it gives me is a match when we find the kill zone.”

He took her hand. “I wager I could dig up blueprints of Eloise Callahan’s home here in New York without too much trouble. Then you’d know if a basement area exists.”

“A garage does. I saw it. But I like basement better. Or there might be another outbuilding behind the main house.”

“I’ll have a look when we get home again.”

They paused outside the building, both studying the layout, the security.

“I’d say the odds of the basement or subfloor of this building having a top-grade epoxy finish in Burnished Gold are too long to measure.”

Eve nodded. “Decent, working-class, reasonable security, but nothing approaching top-of-the-line. Door cam, and it looks like it’s in working order. We can take a look at the feed from the last couple nights, just to eliminate, but this isn’t it. It’s not going to be a multiresident building. Not private enough.”

Eve glanced up. “They’re both on the fifth floor. Let’s take Ruzaki first, and see if we can pull Fassley in. Hitting them together’ll give me a sense of the dynamic.”

Ignoring the buzzer, she mastered into a small lobby that smelled lightly of pine cleaner and somebody’s take-out Chinese. She eyed the pair of elevators suspiciously.

“Let’s risk it.” Roarke called the car, tugged her inside. The elevator smelled exactly l

ike the lobby.

When they exited on the fifth floor, she caught the pine, but not the Chinese.

“Right across from each other,” Eve noted, glancing from one apartment door to the other. “Ruzaki’s got police locks and a door cam.”