Home > Leverage in Death (In Death #47)(18)

Leverage in Death (In Death #47)(18)
Author: J.D. Robb

“So you’ll help me figure out other ways they might manipulate the market.”

She pulled to the curb in front of a tower of silver and glass rising sleek as a sword into the evening sky.

“I’ll deal with the doorman,” Eve said, jumping out to confront the man in classic black livery. Before she could speak, he smiled.

“How can I help you, Lieutenant? Sir,” he added as Roarke stepped out.

Eve shifted modes. “Jordan Banks.”

“Of course. Mr. Banks should be in. He arrived only twenty minutes ago.”

He moved briskly to the wide glass doors which swept open to a deep lobby done in blacks and silvers, splashed with classy arrangements of red flowers. The air, fragrant with them, carried the hush of a church as they moved over the black tiles to the security desk.

“Lieutenant Dallas and Roarke for Jordan Banks,” the doorman told the man at the long counter.

“Of course. Sir,” he said, turning his gaze to Roarke, “should I call up to announce you?”

“No,” Eve said, definitely.

“Fifty-first floor. Number 5100 for the main entrance.” He pushed a button that had one of the silver elevator doors sliding silently open. “Enjoy your visit.”

“Thank you.” Roarke touched a hand to Eve’s arm as they walked into the elevator.

“Your building.”

“It is, yes.”

“So you don’t do business with wankers, but you rent to them?”

“I imagine I rent to scores of wankers, as even they need a roof over their heads.”

She looked up at the silver ceiling. “Some roof.”

“It’s rather nice, isn’t it?” He leaned in, and though she sent a narrowed eye toward the security cam, kissed her. “There’s an equally nice restaurant just next door, as I recall, if you’re hungry.”

“Home’s better for that.”

“It tends to be.”

They rode up, smoothly, silently, to fifty-one.

A wide corridor, more splashes of red flowers, bursts of art against silver walls, and the double doors of 5100.

“Good security,” Eve commented, noting the door cam, the palm plate, locks. She pressed the buzzer, then stepped out of view so the camera would pick up only Roarke.

As she expected, the door opened without Banks or the security comp inquiring.

“Well, this is a surprise.” He glanced at Eve as she shifted. “And hello.”

She supposed that was the slick charm—the slow smile, the deepening of puppy-brown eyes in a boyishly handsome face. A lot of tousled brown hair with streaks worked in from the sun, or a skilled colorist, framed the face. A sweater of pale gold and dark brown trousers casually covered a trim body.

About six feet, Eve calculated, and the right build according to Cecily Greenspan’s description.

“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.”

He barely looked at her badge, kept the puppy eyes on her face in a way she suspected most women would find flattering.

She wasn’t most women.

“Of course, Roarke’s wife. I’ve seen you on-screen. Read quite a bit about you. Please, come in. It’s good to see you, Roarke.”

He extended a hand. Roarke shook it, coolly polite.

“The lieutenant’s here on police business.”

“That sounds ominous.” But Jordan’s smile never dimmed. “Have a seat. I hope ‘business’ doesn’t mean we can’t have a drink.”

“It does—but you can have all you want.”

The living area exploited the view with a wall of glass and a wide terrace beyond it. Twilight slid over the city, all soft light while buildings speared and lanced into the deepening sky. It fell glimmering on the river.

Jordan gestured to a conversation grouping of sofas and chairs, all in black and white, making Eve think of a chessboard. A long, narrow fireplace ran flickering along a wall. Over it ranged charcoal and pencil studies of nudes—male and female.

Quiet music gurgled in the background.

“I have an aperitif,” he said, picking up a glass of pale gold liquid. “It’s coffee, black for you, isn’t it? My droid can see to that.”

“No, thanks.” Eve sat to put a stop to the pleasantries. “You were in a relationship with Willimina Karson.”

“Yes. I—that is to say, we ended it several weeks ago. Amicably.”

He sat as well, comfortable, at ease.

“You’re aware, are you not, Ms. Karson was seriously injured this morning in a bombing at the headquarters of Quantum Air?”

His face fell into somber and sorrowful lines—as sketchy, to Eve’s mind, as the charcoals. “I heard this morning. It’s beyond horrible. All those people! An employee of Quantum, an executive? I can’t imagine the mind-set, just can’t. Thank God Willi wasn’t killed, and I’m told is expected to fully recover.”

“Who told you?”

“I . . . heard the bulletin. I confess I’ve been glued to the reports throughout the day as I was sick with worry for Willi. The merger’s going through, even after all this, and she’s doing better already. Such a relief! Have you learned why this man, this maniac, did this?”

“You used some faulty glue if you missed the fact that Paul Rogan was as much a victim as the others who died or were injured this morning. You were aware Quantum and Econo have been in negotiations for several months?”

“Yes. Well aware, yes. Willi has an amazing head for business, and while my strengths run in the art world, she did share some of the ins and outs with me while we were romantically involved.”

He flashed that smile again, lifted his aperitif in an easy toast. “Much as the Icove book and vid indicate you share some of your work with Roarke.”

“You knew the particulars?”

More sober lines replaced the smile as Jordan shifted, leaned in just a little. “It was, and will be, a major shift for Econo, and Willi. She’s not in any way impulsive, and factors in advice, opinions as well as spreadsheets and figures.”

“She consulted you?” This from Roarke, baiting more than biting with a lifted eyebrow. “On this major deal?”

Jordan lifted a hand, palm up. “I do come from a business family, after all. A family that negotiates, deals, buys, sells—you certainly understand the scope. Naturally, Willi sought my advice and opinion, as understandably, your wife seeks yours.”

“And did she follow your advice and opinion?” Eve asked.

“I believe she weighed them carefully. I certainly encouraged the merger. Econo, in my opinion, can use a kind of polish, and Quantum will provide it. Did you know Pearson?” Jordan turned his attention to Roarke again. “A wonderful man. It’s a tragedy. I’ve sent my condolences to his wife, his daughter, his son. Oddly, Liana, his daughter, reminds me of Willi. Fascinating women, businesswomen with considerable style.”

“And disposable income,” Roarke said with a cold, cold smile.

Jordan froze under it.

“Who else was interested in your advice and opinion on the merger?” Eve demanded.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Who did you talk to about the merger, any details of it, as it was being negotiated and set up?”

He tried for insulted. “Whatever Willi discussed with me would have been confidential. I would never betray her trust in me.”

“Bollocks to that,” Roarke said mildly. “You’re a bloody sieve, as I learned myself at your cousin’s wedding when you tried to rope me into investing in some deal you were working—and gave me plenty of confidential details in an attempt to sweeten the pot.”

“I don’t recall—”

“I do, and could . . . refresh you if the lieutenant would give us a moment alone.” Roarke leaned forward. “Shall I refresh you?”

“I didn’t invite you into my home to be threatened and insulted.”

“I didn’t hear any threat.” Eve settled back. “But we’ll pass—for now—on the refreshing. You’re going to want to think who you talked to, shared details with—trying to score a deal or impress someone.”

“I listened to and advised Willi out of affection.” He spoke stiffly now. “I have more interesting things to talk about than some business merger. As I said, my interests are in the arts. Now, if that’s all, I have an engagement this evening.”

“You’re going to want to think,” Eve repeated. “Because if Roarke says you’re a sieve, you’re just that. Twelve people are dead. The woman you were romantically involved with is in the hospital. I’m willing to bet when I check—and I will—you didn’t contact the hospital to inquire on the status of a woman you parted ways with—amicably—only weeks ago.”

That brought on the faintest flush. Embarrassment, maybe, Eve thought. Anger more likely.

“You’re going to want to think who you talked to about the merger, who may have pumped you for details. You’re going to think carefully about someone with an interest in the stock market, someone who likes to gamble, someone who may have a military background.”

Banks set his glass aside. “I know a great many people, and many of those have interests in the stock market, many enjoy gambling—”

“Do you?”

He broke off, picked his drink up again. “I have financial advisers who worry about such matters. Art, as I said, is my field.”

“But the CEO of Econo consulted you regarding a major decision?”

“Pillow talk.” He brushed it away. “And a woman’s natural inclination to consult a man with some experience. Frankly, I had no real interest in Willi’s business, and certainly didn’t dine out on the details of it. In any case, we haven’t been involved for weeks. Now, you’ll have to excuse me.”

Eve rose. “You’re going to want to think,” she said again. “Because if my investigation links you to the men who instigated the bombing, I’ll find a way to tie you as an accessory. You wouldn’t like it.”

   
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