J. Robb - Indulgence in death

“There’s a garden gate,” Roarke pointed out. “Smarter to use that, slip around the side, out the corner, than to go out the front and through the main gates.”

“Yeah. Good thought.”

“Sorry it took so long.” Peabody hurried out, puffing a little. “The subway was… oh, hi, Roarke.”

“You can be you,” Eve said to Peabody. “And you can be you,” she said to Roarke.

“While I’m being me, I’ll give you a few more minutes,” Roarke suggested. “I’ll find the security system, see if there’s anything on it of use to you.”

“You could do that. The vic is Delaflote, Luc.” Eve began to catch Peabody up. “Fancy private chef, top of his field.”

“Same pattern. What is that pinning him to the tree?”

“We believe it’s a harpoon spear.”

“Like for whales?”

Eve couldn’t help herself. “Does that look big enough to bother a whale?”

“But a harpoon’s for whales, right? Like in that book with the crazy guy and the ship and the whale. With the other guy named Isaac or Istak or… wait a minute…” She squeezed her eyes shut, then popped them open. “Ishmael. Call me Ishmael.”

“Any guy who goes out in a ship with a spear to take on a whale’s automatically crazy. And I’m going to stick with calling you Peabody. This deal is, most likely, from a harpoon gun, which propels it. It’s used for fish and for killing fancy French chefs.”

Lips pursed, Peabody studied Delaflote. “It works.”

“TOD,” Eve began again, and ran it through.

“Cold” was Peabody’s opinion. “Having the vic come all the way from Paris, spend all that time cooking, then zap, impale him before the chicken’s even done.”

“I think the chicken’s the least of the vic’s problems right now. He probably brought the supplies with him, probably bought them in Paris because he’s a French chef and would likely prefer his own suppliers. Run that down. I want to ID the wines he brought with him. No way it’s just the one open bottle. Also run down his travel. Did he come alone? How did he get here from the shuttle? I want the times. We need EDD to scope out the security, and we might as well bring in the sweepers and the ME. The owners need to be notified. We’ll-”

She broke off when Roarke stepped out. “Lieutenant? You should see this.”

“Is he on the fucking system?”

“No,” he said as she strode over. “But there’s something else that is.”

She followed him in and to a small, well-equipped security station.

“There’s no activity until this point. Seventeen-thirty hours.”

As he’d already cued it up, he simply hit the replay.

Eve watched the car stop at the gate. “Late-model sedan, New York plates. Peabody, run it.”

The gates opened smoothly. “He had the code, or a bypass, rode right in.” House security picked up the car in front of the house. The driver stepped out, walked to the front door, and coded in.

“That’s not Dudley or Moriarity. Back it up, enhance. I want a better look at…” She trailed off again, leaned in to the screen. “It’s a damn droid. Okay, that’s smart. They’re not idiots. Use a droid, program him with the codes. He goes in, waits for the vic, lets the vic in. He’s programmed to be there, to be… who or whatever they want him to be. Staff most likely.”

“No other activity until Delaflote arrives at twenty hundred, on the dot, with a driver.” Again, Roarke ran it through. “You can see the droid does indeed let them in. And fifteen minutes later, the security was turned off. Cams, alarms, locks. Shut down, which should have alerted the security company if they’d been informed the owners were away. I’m going to assume the owners had the good sense for that, so they’d need to use a bypass, a clone that would run on an alternate and make it appear there was no interruption in service.”

“Intelicore’s in the data-and-security business,” Peabody commented. “Moriarity could get his hands on a clone.”

“And with the security off, Moriarity can walk right up to the door and never risk being captured by the cams. He doesn’t even have to code in because the door’s unsecured.”

Eve paced one way, then the other. “And he’d leave by the vehicle, not on foot. Why walk when you can slide into the backseat and have the droid take you where you want to go? We’ll still check, but that possible break just closed.”

“The vehicle belongs to a Willow Gantry,” Peabody told her. “I’m doing a run.”

“It’s going to be stolen.” Eve watched the break cement shut. “They only needed it for a few hours, and they’ve got the droid to snag a vehicle for them. They didn’t even bother to take the disc or try to screw with the hard drive. They didn’t care if we made the vehicle or the droid. The vehicle’s back where it came from or ditched elsewhere, and the droid’s dismantled and recycled.”

“I can do a diagnostic on the system here, see if I can find the bypass.”

Eve looked at Roarke, shook her head. “I’ll get EDD on it.”

“Well then, I need to go. A moment first, Lieutenant. Good luck, Peabody.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” Eve demanded as Roarke drew her out of the room.

“Saturday.”

“How can it be Saturday already?”

“Blame Friday.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, rubbed there until her eyes met his. “You couldn’t have saved him.”

“I know that in my head. I’m working on getting the rest of me there.”

“Work harder on that.” He tipped her face up, kissed her.

He knew what was inside her, in her head and in the rest of her. Because he knew, some of the sorrow eased. Eve framed his face, kissed him back.

“Thanks for the help.”

She walked back, found Peabody in the kitchen studying the chicken in the oven.

“You know, that looks like it would’ve been really good. So, Willow Gantry, sixty-three-year-old child-care provider. No record. I went ahead and checked with the day care company she works for. She and her husband of thirty-eight years left two days ago to visit their daughter and her husband, who are expecting baby number two any minute. They drove to the transpo station themselves.”

“Busted it from long-term parking. Probably left it parked on the street somewhere when they were done. Go ahead and have airport security try to locate it,” Eve told her. “If it’s not there, let’s do the Gantrys a solid and put out an alert on it. We can get it back to them.”

“It would suck to come home, find your car stolen.”

“Worse things happen, but why should this? Let’s take the gardener and his kid.”

“There’s a kid?” Distress jumped into Peabody’s eyes. “A kid saw that?”

“Yeah, there’s a kid. Did I leave that out?” Grateful Peabody was there to deal with the kid factor, Eve opened the door.

Eve tagged it as staff quarters, probably a live-in housekeeper or Summerset type. Nice, attractive living area, roomy, nicely appointed.

The uniform sat in one of the oversized chairs, talking to the kid about baseball. A good touch from Eve’s point of view, and had her second grateful in a row when she saw the kid was about sixteen.

He sat with his father on a high-armed sofa, arguing with the cop over a call at third base in the previous night’s game.

The kid was spare and trim, with skin like rich, creamy cocoa and just an inch away from beautiful. She imagined girls’ hearts fluttered if he aimed those liquid brown eyes in their direction.

The father, also spare and trim, held a ball cap in his hands, and turned it round and round with nervous fingers. He didn’t have the kid’s beauty, but a weathered, sculpted face, and dark glossy hair that sprang in tiny ringlets.