“We have no intention of giving you that information, or any additional information about an ongoing investigation.”
He spread his hands. “Then I’m afraid Mr. Whitt is unavailable.”
“Fine. Detective, contact APA Reo and request a warrant to bring Mr. Stephen Whitt into Central for questioning in regard to two homicides.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Mr.—Lauder, is it? Two people are dead. We will have a conversation with your boss in his house, or in mine. It’s completely up to him. The more you stonewall, the more unpleasant that conversation will be.”
“Wait here.”
He rose, walked to the inner door, slipped inside.
“Should I go ahead and call Reo?”
“No. It won’t be necessary. Whitt just wanted to flex his muscles.”
“Sometimes admins—”
“Nope. This one follows orders.”
Lauder stepped back out. “Mr. Whitt will see you now. Briefly.”
Like Cosner, Whitt sat at his desk—a semicircle of dark gold, a smaller version of the reception counter. He didn’t pretend to be on his ’link, and his workstation showed signs he actually worked.
His hair, nearly the same color as the workstation, streamed back thickly. He had the polished look of a vid star, the perfect profile, tawny eyes, the perfect two-day scruff.
He rose as they entered, and though he skimmed just under six feet, gave the appearance of more height with disciplined posture, lifted chin.
Whether for effect or comfort, he’d taken off the jacket of his midnight-blue suit and stood in shirtsleeves and tie.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting. Ernest is very protective.”
Though he didn’t extend a hand or come around the station, he gestured to the pair of chairs—chocolate again—before taking his seat.
Unlike his schoolmate, Whitt had diplomas gracing the wall. On another a screen ran the financial news from around the world, all holding on mute.
“Can we offer you something?”
“No, thanks.”
“Thank you, Ernest. That’s all for now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lauder stepped back, closed the door.
“I’m in the dark here,” Whitt began. “You want to talk to me about someone who’s been murdered?”
“Kent Abner. Elise Duran.”
“Still in the dark.”
“Kent Abner was married to Dr. Martin Rufty and Elise Duran to Professor Jay Duran. Maybe that sheds some light.”
“Not really, no.”
“You did attend Theresa A. Gold Academy here in New York, correct?”