Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

“Which constitutes a crime. Gives me probable cause to enter. Open it up, pally.”

On a half laugh, he bypassed the alarm, the locks, nudged the door open for her.

The wall of glass stood unframed, letting in the gloomy March light.

“That’s an odd place for an empty frame.” Eve gestured to the frame—like the others in Banks’s main level—lying on a multicolored rug. “Terrace doors are open just a crack.”

She stepped to them, eased them open, stepped out into the incessant drip of rain.

“He has to know the apartment’s empty. He knows the building. Lives or works here, or he knows Banks well enough to have spent time in his place, spent time here. He does what he needs to do across the hall, brings the painting over here, takes it out of the frame, rolls it up. Easier to carry that way.”

She crouched down by the wall. She didn’t need the sweepers, not when she could clearly see the digs and scrapes on the decorative stone.

“Got balls,” she stated. “Fifty-one floors up, but over he goes.” Gearing herself up for it, she stood, leaned out and over.

“He goes off near the end of the wall. Maybe straight down, or if he’s done climbing, has good equipment—and I’m betting—he can swing over. To his apartment, an accomplice, another empty one.”

“He retracted the hook, so yes, good equipment,” Roarke put in. “You’d go down between terraces, you see. Wouldn’t do to have someone spot you, would it? With the right equipment, you could retract, move horizontally or down as your needs demanded. You might slip into another unit, one unoccupied, and walk straight out that way.”

Eve glanced back. “Sounds like the voice of experience.”

He only smiled. “Does it?”

“I need to get back to Central, check in with my team, brief Baxter and Trueheart. I need everything Rhoda can give me.”

“You’ll have that.”

“Appreciate the assist. Peabody, get the sweepers out here while I get what we need. I’m going to take it all home as soon as I clear the decks at the cop shop. You’re going to start running guests, visitors, outside vendors from last night. I’ll take the residents.”

Eve blew out a breath. “Let’s get to work.”

12

Baxter gave Eve a list of artwork the hot artist chick knew Banks had taken from the gallery. Though incomplete, it gave Eve a start.

She updated her board and book, wrote her report and sent copies to Whitney and Mira. And glanced over when she heard the dancing clicks coming toward her office.

Mavis Freestone swirled in. A long, shiny coat of popping pink covered with electric-blue lightning bolts lay open to a crotch-skimming skirt that fluttered more pink over striped tights and thigh-high shiny blue boots. Her hair twirled up, gold streaked with both colors, then poufed back into a pink ponytail.

She bounced right over to Eve wrapped her in a fierce hug that smelled of cherry lollipops.

“Hi,” Eve managed.

“Hi to you. And that’s for the top secret Peabody and McNab project. You’re the ultra maggiest of mags, Dallas.”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

Mavis drew back, eyes—purple as plums today—shining. “It’s the mega deal of deals. Wait till you see the gown Leonardo’s altering and customizing for her. He’s doing it himself because that’s my moon pie. Got minutes?”

“Sure, a few.”

“Bella’s out entertaining your troops, but she’s got something for you.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe you could . . .” Mavis gestured toward the murder board.

“Oh, right.” She covered it.