He looked down at Elvis, grinned. “Oh, sure. Forgot.” And tapped a finger on Elvis’s midsection. The long-dead king froze mid swivel.
“So, anyhows, we looked at the three safes, including the one inside a cabinet in a man-type den on the main level. All cleaned out—all opened with codes. Looking like one of the vics gave him the codes.”
“Strazza—it’s pretty clear his wife wouldn’t have them.”
“Right. Burglarizing, raping killer didn’t bother with electronics—at least there are plenty of high-end and portable still on the premises. Roarke says there are empty spots around where maybe art’s gone missing.”
“We’ll get insurance info, cross-check. Art, jewelry, any cash that may have been in any of the safes. Passports and IDs, credit and banking info. All that’s lucrative if you know how to turn it, and I’m not finding passports, IDs.”
“We’ll check the comps for financial info. We can take a whack at the security system, but like the house droids, whoever bashed them knew how to bash. And took the main drive with him.”
“You talk to the machines.” Eve pushed out of the chair. “I’ll be talking to people.”
“We do what we do. Hey, you look good.”
Eve narrowed her eyes. “What did you say?”
“Nothing personal.” He all but froze in place. “Just an observation. Lieutenant.”
“She does look good, doesn’t she?” Roarke spoke cheerfully, slapping a hand on McNab’s shoulder as he came in behind him. “Particularly considering she’s been up about twenty-four hours straight now. Your morgue team’s taken the body out and, as dawn has broken, your uniforms have barricaded off the early morning gawkers.”
“Okay.” She stared through McNab. “Have you run out of things to do, Detective?”
“Always something,” he said and vanished.
Roarke moved in, laid his hands on Eve’s hips. “You do look good.”
“I don’t have any of the gunk to take off the gunk.” She tapped her cheek.
“You’ll survive a few more hours of it.” He kissed the cheek she’d tapped, then the other. “I’ll take your other clothes with me as I need to go home and change myself at some point. Your car’s out front.”
“Appreciate it. I think he ruled her.”
“You’re talking about the Strazzas’ relationship.”
“Yeah. All her devices open, all his passcoded. His spaces secured, right down to the office john. Hers, open again. Her closet mirrors his. I think he selected her clothes. I get you pick out most of mine,” she said quickly. “But … they work. For me. And even when I find sexy girl underwear or whatever in my drawers, you don’t go Slut City on me.”
“Well now, my mind’s taking a stroll down Main Street of Slut City, and considering.”
“You think of me. The boots, say, may be styling in a way I wouldn’t think of, but they’re sturdy, comfortable, made for legwork, for chasing down bad guys. There’s a difference between that and filling my closet so I have to wear what you want.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“I hate to shop. You, for some reason, consider it entertaining. She doesn’t have a space in this house. Her own space.”
“That I noticed.”
“You made one for me. Here? He’s got the third floor, plus this office, a sort of manly den going downstairs, according to McNab. Nothing reflects her, is made for her. Maybe she wanted it that way, maybe she liked being ruled. Some do. But…”
She turned away, circled the room.
“You think not.”
“I don’t think yet. What I know is that her personal tablet reads like she’s staff. Lists and chores and menus. No photos, no notes to friends, sent or received. She lost her parents when she was nine, but there’s nothing in the tablet, nothing I’ve seen in the house to remind her of them. Or of the people who raised her. They have a daughter about her age. Were they friends or foes?”
“What would any of that tell you about the assault and the murder?”
“Don’t know until I know.” She leaned back on the desk. “He had male enhancement pills in his nightstand—not surprising for a man twice his wife’s age. And a silk blindfold and binding cord.”
“A little sexual bondage between willing partners is hardly surprising, either.”
“If it’s mutual,” she agreed. “He’s got a full med kit in the bathroom, and that’s not surprising for a doctor. It’s not surprising he kept it in a medical bag. A fancy one with his initials engraved on it, and with a lock it took me nearly ten minutes to pick.”
“I’m proud of you. But ten?” Roarke shook his head. “We need more practice, Lieutenant.”
“A lot of stuff in there—bottles, pills, syringes. I’m going to have everything analyzed. Just to be thorough. I need the vic’s lawyer, the insurance company. I have to hope EDD can pull that out of the comps straight off, save me time and trouble.”
“I think you can count on that.”
“Okay, then I’m going to leave the house to the sweepers for now, and head out, work down the guest list, see what kind of party we had going. Hit the party staff, swing by to see if I can get more out of Daphne Strazza, and … so on. Sorry about the quiet Sunday at home.”