Shadows in Death (In Death #51) - J.D. Robb Page 0,72

up Cobbe’s photo. “Do you know this man?”

Now she shoved her sunshades to the top of her head, looked at the screen. “Oh, yes, that’s Mr. Patrick. He adopted Sweetie just yesterday. I was tempted to keep her myself because that’s what she is, a sweetie. But you have to resist temptation when you foster.”

“His name isn’t Patrick, Ms. Undall. It’s Cobbe, Lorcan Cobbe, and he’s wanted by the authorities.”

“For what?”

“Are you aware a woman was killed in Washington Square Park recently?”

“Of course. I heard her husband was arrested.”

“He was, for hiring Cobbe to kill his wife.”

Her mouth opened and closed; she took a stumbling step back.

“Oh my God. I don’t see how that can be. I did the standard background check. You must have him mixed up. Mr. Patrick’s a widower with a young daughter. He adopted Sweetie for her.”

“The man who took the cat is Lorcan Cobbe. He’s a contract killer. We need any and all information you can give us regarding him.”

“Officer—”

“Lieutenant.”

“Fine, Lieutenant. Why in the world would a contract killer adopt a cat?”

Eve decided to treat it like a notification. “I regret to inform you, Sweetie is dead. Cobbe killed her. We’re sorry for your loss.”

“That’s not true.” Her milk-white skin went even paler. “Don’t say that.”

When she took another stumbling step back, Peabody gently took her arm. “Why don’t we sit down, Ms. Undall?”

14

“I don’t understand.” Tears slid down her cheeks as Peabody guided her to a chair. “I don’t understand how anyone could do that.”

“How did he get in touch with you?”

“Through the website. Oh, that poor, sweet thing. She’d had such a hard life. He contacted our headquarters through the website. Dory and I cofounded Caring Hearts six years ago. My husband’s a vet, and he examines and treats our rescues. Dory’s husband is a lawyer, and he helped us set up the nonprofit.”

In a signal to give her a moment, she waved her hands, then pressed them to her eyes.

One of the cats, sleek and Halloween black, leaped off the tree, then straight into Eve’s lap. She gave Eve a long stare out of eyes so green they glowed, sniffed at her, kneaded her way in a circle three times, then curled up.

That produced a watery smile as Undall brushed her fingers at tears. “That’s Regal, because she is. She’s usually considerably more aloof with strangers. I hope you don’t mind cats.”

“No, she’s fine. I’ve got a cat.”

Who would make her pay, Eve thought.

“Oh, that explains it. She knows you’re simpatico. And she’s missing Sweetie. Regal really took to Sweetie.”

“She’s beautiful,” Peabody said. “Ms. Undall, did Cobbe come here, to your home?”

“No, not here. He came to our office. We have a little office a few blocks from here. And twelve certified foster homes now. He called our office, asked about Sweetie, gave all the necessary information, filled out the online form.”

“When?”

“Yesterday afternoon, about three, I think. Michael took the information—he manages our office—and I agreed to bring Sweetie in so they could meet. He was so polite, so gentle with Sweetie. He had a charming accent. He said he was from Wexford, in Ireland, and he and his daughter moved here a year ago—his parents live here—after his wife died.”

Undall swiped at her eyes. “He said his little girl—she’s nine—came across our website, and saw Sweetie. She said Sweetie was all she wanted for her birthday. Her birthday’s today, and her first without her mom, so … He promised to send me a picture of Sweetie with his little girl.

“I let him take her. What have I done?”

“You took a sick, starving cat into your home,” Peabody said. “You took care of her. And you gave her to someone you believed, had every reason to believe, would give her a good, loving home.”

“He gave me five hundred, in cash. The adoption fee’s only four to cover the medical expenses, the food, the paperwork. But he said he wanted to make a donation. He told me how happy this would make his motherless child.”

To draw Undall’s attention to her, Eve leaned forward. “He’s a liar, and he’s good at it. You saw what he wanted you to see. You aren’t to blame for what he did. What was he wearing?”

“Wearing? Ah, jeans, I think.”

“Close your eyes,” Eve advised. “Picture him. You spent time with him, you wanted to evaluate.”

Undall closed her eyes. “Jeans, good ones. I accepted the donation—we can use it—because I could see he could afford it. Carbelli jeans, good