Golden in Death (In Death 50)

“He’s been following Whitt’s lead most of his life.” And she could see it, as if she’d been there. “He’d have been anxious about tomorrow, dealing with his father, those questions and demands. He’d have needed his old pal’s support.”

“And by staging all this, Whitt not only eliminates his old pal, but heaps evidence against him. It’s efficient.”

They pulled up in front of the luxury tower, which boasted two doormen.

“Since you don’t own the place—I checked,” Eve added, “I’ll handle the doormen.”

She got out, flashed her badge as the one on the right started toward her. “NYPSD, and this is an official vehicle, which will stay where I put it.”

He looked both displeased and resigned. “How about maybe you pull it down about ten feet, keep my neck off the block?”

“We can do that.” As Roarke obliged, she turned back to the doorman. “Lowell Cosner.”

“Yeah, he came in a couple hours ago. What’s up?”

“Marshall Cosner.”

“Okay, yeah, he lives here, but I haven’t seen him tonight.”

Eve pulled out her PPC, brought up Whitt’s ID shot. “Do you recognize him?”

“Sure, that’s Mr. Whitt. He’s a friend of Cosner Junior.”

“When’s the last time you saw him here?”

“I don’t know. Couple of days.”

The other doorman—female—wandered over, peered at the image on-screen. “That’s Mr. Whitt. He came by earlier.”

“I didn’t see him.”

“You were helping Ms. Troski with all her bags. He breezed in about five, I guess. He breezed out again, maybe five-thirty.”

“Was he carrying anything?”

“Ah…” She screwed up her face in thought. “Sure, a briefcase, good-sized one. And, yeah, a fancy messenger bag.”

“Thanks.”

She walked into the lobby, quiet as a church. The green marble floor gleamed. Spring flowers in cylindrical vases scented the air. A woman in a pale pink suit sat at a desk with a D and C unit, more flowers, and a gracious smile.

“Good evening. How can I assist you?”

The gracious smile turned professionally blank when Eve flashed her badge. “Is Lowell Cosner at home?”

“I believe so.”

“We’ll need to be cleared up to his apartment. We’ll also require access to Marshall Cosner’s residence.”

“I don’t believe Marshall Cosner is currently at home.”

“No, and he won’t be back. Homicide,” Eve said, tapping her badge. “We’re here to notify Mr. Lowell Cosner his son is dead.”

“Oh my—my God.”

“Clear us up, and make sure we’re cleared to access Marshall Cosner’s level and apartment.”

“Yes, of course. If I could just verify your identification.” She took an ID scanner out of a drawer, ran it over Eve’s badge. “Mr. Lowell Cosner is Penthouse Level Two. Mr. Marshall Cosner is—was—3610, thirty-sixth floor. Is there anything more I can do?”