“Yeah. Yes. He travels a lot, and when he’s not in New York, which is about half the year, really, Sylvia Brant runs things. I mean, Mr. McEnroy and his partners run everything, but Sylvia’s like captain of the ship when he’s not here. Should I tell her?”

“We’ll take care of that. Do you know Mr. McEnroy’s schedule?”

“Sure. Absolutely. A ten o’clock this morning with the leading candidate for the VP of marketing position at Grange United, New York office. Eleven with—”

“How about yesterday’s?”

“Right, sorry.”

Po rattled off names, times, purposes like a computer while Schupp brought him a pretty cup of tea. The cup, the floral smell, made Eve think of Mira.

She imagined she’d be talking this case through with the department’s top profiler and shrink before too long.

“So, no dinner meetings, no evening appointments?”

“No, he finished at the office just before six. His wife and kids are on spring break, in Tahiti. Oh Jesus, Wes, those sweet little girls.”

Schupp took Po’s free hand, gave it a squeeze. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Mr. McEnroy was killed early this morning. The evidence so far indicates he left his residence just after nine P.M. He was killed at another location before his body was dumped outside his residence.”

She gauged her witness. “There are also indications the murderer was female, or purports to represent females Mr. McEnroy may have …misused.”

Po exchanged a look with his partner.

“You don’t seem surprised by that,” Eve commented. “Tell us why.”

3

“You always said,” Po murmured.

“Call ’em like I see ’em. He had a vibe—a player, a hard type of player,” Schupp told Eve. “I only met him a few times, but he had a vibe. Tell them, Lance.”

“Well, it’s just feelings or observations mostly. Except I know damn well he hit on a couple of the lower-level staff. One of them complained to HR, and boom, she was gone. Word was he paid her off. And Sylvia—he was always respectful of her, but …see, she’s older and she’d kick his ass if he tried anything. Anyway, she reamed him over it, threatened to file a complaint. They really went at it—about a year ago. He was pretty steamed—I could see it—but he stopped fishing in the company pool, if you get me.”

“I get you. Why didn’t Sylvia file a complaint?”

“I think, mostly, because of his wife and kids. She would have if he didn’t straighten up. But …”

“You’re not being disloyal, Mr. Po,” Peabody put in. “His behavior and habits very likely led to his death. His family needs to know who caused that death, and what you tell us helps us.”

“I didn’t like him,” Po said abruptly. “But I loved the work, and Sylvia, and the others I work with. And he wasn’t here half the time, anyway. He treated me well, I don’t mean to say otherwise.”

“You were an asset, honey. You’re the best admin going.”

“A little prejudiced.” Po managed a smile. “I am good at my job, and I like the job. He, Mr. McEnroy, just didn’t strike as a good husband. He loved the girls, that was clear and real. I think in his way he loved his wife. But he had that vibe, like Wes said. And, well, plenty of mornings when he came in—and his family wasn’t in New York—he had that I-got-laid look on him. He didn’t trouble to hide it.”

“Did anyone make threats?”

“You mean, like to hurt him? No. Unless it was on his private line or e-mail. I see everything else. Honestly, I don’t think he felt threatened. He always looked …smug, satisfied. The only time I saw him steamed was that time with Sylvia. I swear she’d never hurt anybody. She’d have roasted him professionally, but he laid off because, I think, he knew she would.”

“Would you know any of the venues he might have frequented after work?”

“Maybe.” He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s part of my job to keep things organized—when he’s in New York and when he’s not. Some clubs have little trinkets or amenities, especially when you spring for a privacy or VIP booth. He had swag from a few in a drawer in his desk.”

“We’d like the names, if you remember.”

“Lola’s Lair, Seekers, This Place, Fernando’s. Those were the usual as far as I know. There could be more, and he didn’t keep the souvies.”

Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery
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