Golden in Death (In Death 50)

“Are you referring to Stephen Whitt, Mr. Cosner?”

“I am. After it became clear what Marshall had been a part of at TAG, we did what we could to separate him from those influences. Against my better judgment Marshall and Stephen remained friends. Oh, he’s another who’s good at hiding things, at pretense. I don’t believe Marshall lied when he finally broke down and told us Stephen had devised most of the schemes, had served as ringleader. Marshall looked up to him, always had. My wife never liked the boy, always said there was something missing in him. I dismissed that, but agreed we should do what we could to cut the bond.”

He looked down into his drink, set it aside. “We didn’t, even though they went to different schools in different states, then different colleges, we never broke that bond. Marshall’s a grown man. We can’t forbid him his friendships, even when they’re destructive.”

Lowell swiped at his eyes.

“If Marshall had any part in this, you can be sure Stephen was behind it. Marshall would have followed him into hell.” He picked his glass up again. “And now he has.”

“You know the Whitts,” Eve prompted.

“We were friendly when the boys were in school together. Now we’re polite. My wife dislikes Brent—Stephen’s father—and has for some time.”

“Because?”

“Primarily because he lied to and cheated on his wife, whom my wife was fond of. And more, I suppose, since she learned he carried on an affair with the headmaster of our son’s school.”

“Lotte Grange.”

“Correct. My wife happened to be meeting an out-of-town friend, waiting for her in the lobby of her hotel. And she saw the headmaster and Brent come in, check in, and share, we’ll say, a public display of affection on their way to the elevator. It was particularly upsetting, as she had a friendship with Brent’s wife.”

“Okay.”

“Neither here nor there now,” Lowell mumbled. “Nothing is now.”

“Mr. Cosner, are you Stephen Whitt’s attorney?”

Cosner’s brows shot up in surprise. “No. I would hardly share such information, even under the circumstances, if I represented Stephen.”

Another lie, Eve thought. Another unnecessary lie.

“We need to see our son.”

“I’ll arrange that as soon as possible.” Eve rose. “We need to go into and through your son’s apartment at this time.”

“We thought having him live in the same building would help. But it didn’t. I need to tell my wife our boy is gone. I need to tell her our boy helped kill people. How do I do that?”

22

Eve stood outside Marshall Cosner’s apartment door—pure white again, but a single. Since it had layers of security, she let Roarke work his way through.

“This kind of lock and alarm system’s overkill in a building like this,” she said.

“Not if you have something to hide. His father loved him. Didn’t respect him, trust him, but still, loved him.”

“He didn’t do anything to earn the respect or trus

t. I guess love just comes with the package for most parents.”

“Most,” Roarke agreed, “and there we are. After you, Lieutenant.”

Cosner’s apartment didn’t boast a foyer, and its living area was about half the size of his father’s. Still, it wasn’t exactly a dump.

No terrace beyond the windows, but plenty of city lights. Bolder, more sleekly modern furnishings than his parents’. A lot of hard color against shiny chrome.

Eve wandered through. “Okay, mostly open—dining area, kitchen over there. That would put the bedroom area on the other side. Let’s start there.”

She found the master, and a smaller second bedroom that served as a home office. “Take the office, I’ll take the bedroom. If they used drop ’links, Whitt might have missed one, or a notebook, a file on the comp, some communication on the house ’link. I’m going to check in with Peabody first.”