the badge as if Eve had laid a fat, hairy spider on the counter. “Ms. Young is out of the country. Mr. Young-Sachs is in house, but in meetings, as is Mr. Biden. If you’d care to make an appointment . . .”
“Sure, I can do that. I can make an appointment to have Mr. Young-Sachs and Mr. Biden brought down to Cop Central for questioning. When would that be convenient?”
Now the eyebrows lowered to beetle over very annoyed eyes. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Excuse me a moment.”
She swiveled in her chair, presenting her back to Eve, and murmured rapidly on her headset.
When she swiveled back she kept her eyebrows level, her face impassive. “Mr. Young-Sachs will see you shortly. If you’ll go up to the forty-fifth floor, someone will meet you.”
“I’ll do that.” Eve walked over to the elevators, rolled her shoulders. “That felt good.”
“Why do people like that get so pissed off about having the boss talk to a cop?” Peabody wondered. “I mean, really, it’s not their ass in the sling.”
“I don’t know, but I’m glad they do.” Eve stepped into the elevator, ordered forty-five. “It gives me a lift.”
FLOOR FORTY-FIVE SHIFTED THE MOOD TO calm and plush with warm colors, thick rugs, leafy plants, and stylish waiting areas.
A six-foot blonde in towering heels and a short black suit greeted Eve with a pleasant, professional smile.
“Officer?”
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”
“Lieutenant. I’m Tuva Gunnarsson, Mr. Young-Sachs’s admin. May I ask what this is in reference to?”
“Police business.”
“Yes, of course.” The smooth voice and manner didn’t ripple. “If you’ll come with me.”
How the blonde managed to glide on the stilts seemed like magic, but glide she did, through the waiting area, through glass doors into a window-walled corridor, all the way to the wide double doors. She opened them both with a kind of flourish into her boss’s big, swanky office.
More glass, more plush in two conversation areas, a slick silver wet bar, three wall screens, and a command console in that same slick silver backed by a high-backed leather chair in fresh-blood red.
“Mr. Young-Sachs will be with you in a moment. Can I get you anything?” She opened a wall panel to reveal a kitchen area, complete with full bar and a gleam of ruby-colored glassware.
“No, thanks. How long have you worked here?”
“Six years, four as Mr. Young-Sachs’s admin.”
“What’s his title?”
“He serves as CFO. Ms. Young remains CEO. She’s currently out of the country.”
“So I heard. And Biden?”
“Mr. Biden is COO. Mr. Biden Senior is retired.” Her face changed subtly as she glanced toward the door. Eve detected a bump of heat as the boss walked in.
She could all but smell the cool admin’s pheromones pump out.
Late thirties, Eve concluded. Poster boy handsome in the requisite excellent suit. He had a rich man’s tan, a gym-fit body, and a quick, crooked smile women probably found charming.
He also had the pinprick pupils of the high if not the mighty.
“Sorry for the wait. Carter Young-Sachs.” He took Eve’s hand, squeezed it rather than shook, did the same with Peabody. “Let’s have a seat. Tuva, how about some of your amazing coffee. She does something special.”
He winked.
“I’m sorry, they didn’t give me your names.”
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”
“I thought I recognized you.” He wagged a finger, and the carved band on his middle finger glinted. “Roarke’s wife and the center of some Hollywood in New York excitement. Ty and I are going to the premiere. Tuva, we’re entertaining celebrities here.”
“Police,” Eve corrected. “We’re not here to be entertained or for the amazing coffee.”
“Might as well have some. I’m looking forward to the premiere, especially now that I’ve had this chance to meet both of you.” He settled back, spread his hands, every movement just slightly exaggerated with that chemically induced energy. “And what can I do for you?”
“Are you acquainted with Marta Dickenson?”
“Doesn’t strike a bell. Tuva?”
“She was the auditor from Brewer, Kyle, and Martini. She was killed.”
“Oh. Right.” He maneuvered his face into serious lines for a moment. “Old Man Brewer called me personally about that. Slipped my mind. She wasn’t the original auditor. That was . . .”
“Chaz Parzarri,” Tuva supplied as she brought out a tray of coffee.
“Right. Nice guy. He had some kind of accident. Bad luck for Brewer and the rest.”
“Can you tell me where you were night before last from nine to midnight?”
“Night before last?” He looked as if she’d asked where he’d been five years before, on a Tuesday, at two-fifteen sharp.