J. Robb: Indulgence in death

With one glance she targeted uniforms.

“Newkirk, Ping, the other Carmichael, do whatever the detectives need you to do. Anything pops, anything even breaks the most discreet of wind, I hear about it. Full briefing and all reports in two hours. Conference room… Peabody?”

“C.”

“Conference room C, two hours. Sweat,” she ordered. “These cocksuckers are killing people the same way a kid steps on ants. Because they want to see them squish. More, they think we’re stupid, too stupid to bring them down. We’re going to prove them wrong. Peabody, with me.”

Eve headed straight to the AutoChef in her office for coffee, then jerked a thumb at the machine.

“I better not.” Peabody’s voice signaled sincere regret. “I was fading so I took a boost. Now I feel like my eyes are glued open and my nerves are all twitchy. I haven’t found the connection to the last vic and Moriarity.”

“Pass it to Carmichael. Uniform Carmichael. And why do they have to have the same name? One of them needs to change it. Anyway, he’s a vicious bastard on details. And, yeah, you’d find it,” Eve added before Peabody could protest. “But he’ll come with a fresh eye, and without the twitches. Plus I need you on other angles. Hold on a minute.”

She sat, copied the relevant files, and transferred them to the relevant cops.

“French guy’s wine and supplies.”

“Bought in gay Paree.” With so many details crowded in her head, Peabody took out her notebook to keep them straight. “He got the booking five weeks ago.”

“Five weeks. That’s good, that’s a confirmation of long-term planning. Dudley would know Simpson and her family would be in Georgia. She’d have to clear the vacation time in advance, and this is an annual family summer thing. They’d want to lock Delaflote in, had to suss out and plan the alibi, the timing. Probably practiced that, too.”

“Booking was done by e-mail, through what I’ve already checked was a temp account, assigned to Simpson for billing. The vic’s assistant has it listed as a surprise for the husband, for Frost. Intimate, romantic dinner for two, alfresco.”

“The garden. All set up for the garden,” Eve added, nodding.

“Late supper,” Peabody continued. “Delaflote’s travel fee-and he came in on his own shuttle-paid early this week, through Simpson’s account. Delaflote personally shopped for the food supplies and the wine on the day of departure. He has a major interest in a vineyard, and selected three bottles of Pouilly-Fuissé, a bottle of Sauternes, three bottles of champagne. All from the Château Delaflote label. I have the vintages for all of them, as the vic kept a kind of spreadsheet for jobs.”

She paused, and pleasure moved onto her face. “And Dallas, as the client hyped this as such a special deal, expense no object, the champagne’s from a limited edition label and vintage. They’re freaking numbered. He took numbers forty-eight, forty-nine, and fifty from the private reserve he kept back for special clients.”

Eve’s smile spread slowly, a reflection of Peabody’s pleasure. “Maybe I do love you.”

“Aww.”

“We find one of those bottles, we’ll nail them with it. Clean that report up. You’ll be presenting that to the ADA and the commander in a couple hours.”

“Oh, jeez.”

“Tag Feeney, and tell him when and where. I want a solid report from him for same. I want everybody ready and in the conference room on time. No excuses. I’ll set the commander and Reo for ten minutes after. Brief Carmichael-both of them. I’ll send you a report on Jonas as soon as I put it in order. Now go away. Shut the door.”

Before it shut, she was contacting Whitney’s office. She locked him in, then Reo, then moved onto Mira. If she’d had time, she’d have cheered when the temp came on-screen.

“Oh, hi, Lieutenant. Gee, the doctor’s in a session right now.”

“I’m going to send her a number of files, starting now and over the next hour. I need her to give them her immediate attention, and report to conference room C, Homicide Division, with her conclusions, at fourteen hundred and fifteen.”

“Oh, well, golly, I think she has an appointment at-”

“This is priority one. Commander Whitney and an ADA will also be attending. Doctor Mira’s presence is mandatory.”

“Oh, gosh. I’ll cancel her appointment, and-”

“Good. If she has any questions, she can contact me.”

Cutting the temp off, Eve shot Mira the report Peabody had written on Delaflote, the reports her other detectives had written on Jonas. She pushed through the ME’s reports, the labs, the prelim from the sweepers.

Then she cleared her head and began to write her own on each.

Twice she rose for more coffee, to check her time lines, to consult the computer on the time required to travel the distances from Dudley’s home to each crime scene-on foot, and by transpo. She brought up her map, studied it, then confirmed with the computer the most direct routes to and from each.

With nearly an hour left, she loaded up everything she could carry to take it to the conference room. She turned out of the office just as Jenkinson turned toward it.

“If you’ve got something, walk and talk.”

“Let me give you a hand.”

“I got it. It’s balanced.”

“Okay.” He fell into step with her. “We checked with the vic-our vic’s-usual car service. They took her to Dudley’s, and she told the driver she’d contact them for a time of return, which was booked to include travel home, then to the park location and back, or-depending on the time-straight to the park. She left it open.”

“Figuring if the party was a dud, she could take off, go home awhile before her appointment. Okay.”

“Yeah, but what she did was cancel pickup altogether, about two A.M.”

Eve felt that slow smile cross her face again. “Because she copped another ride.”

“We checked with every freaking legit cab company in Manhattan. Nobody picked up a fare at that location between two and three A.M. And nobody dropped off a fare between those times at the logical entrance to the park for the Great Hill. We gotta figure-”

“She got a lift,” Eve finished, and jerked her head at the conference room door, “with Dudley.”

“That’s our take.” He opened the door, followed her in. “So far Carmichael and the new guy haven’t hit on anybody, but they’re asking if anybody saw the vic and Dudley hanging together between the two A.M. and the two-thirty mark.”

“Okay.” She dumped her things on the conference table. “She sure as hell didn’t walk from the party to that point in the park in those shoes. No reason to cancel her pickup unless she had alternate transpo, and we’ve covered she didn’t book alternate transpo.”

A lot of other guests at the party, she thought, a lot of other alternatives for a lift. That would be the argument, but she would damn well knock it down.

“We’re going to push for a warrant to search all Dudley’s vehicles for her DNA. We find her prints, a stray hair, it adds more weight.”

“I think the other Carmichael hit something, because he started making those noises in his throat like he does.”

“Yeah, the grunting. Good.”

“Reineke gave Dickhead a shove, and Dickhead came through. It’s an Australian deal-the whip-made out of freaking kangaroo.”

“The hopping things, with the pouches?”

“Yeah. Freaking kangaroo. It’s seven feet long, eleven with the handle or grip, and that’s lead-loaded steel. Dickhead said it had a coating of some sort of leather cream, and he’s working on IDing the brand, and he’s still working on dating it, but says it ain’t no antique or anything. He’s saying the sucker’s handmade. So we’ve got Trueheart checking out Aussie whip makers. Dickhead comes through with the rest, that’ll narrow it.