“Naked people.”
“Yes, sir. And black-and-white studies, like charcoal or pencil drawings and that sort of thing. She knows these three artists used that, ah, form and medium for some of their work.”
“Take her back to the gallery, see if she can pinpoint. And get me more data on whoever she pinpoints. All three, if that’s the closest she gets. I want locations and contact info on the artists asap.”
“Yes, sir.”
Something there, she thought when she clicked off. Something. And she’d pull that line as soon as she finished pulling the one on the Markins.
After finishing a run on both, she got up, grabbed her coat. “Peabody,” she said as she swung through the bullpen. “With me.”
Coat in hand, scarf already winding, Peabody hustled to catch up. “I’ve got ten dropped down to the bottom of the list. I get why you had them on there, but—”
“That’s on hold. Harvo ID’d the redhead.”
“The . . . oh, that redhead.”
“Delores Larga Markin.”
“Wait, Larga? Shoe Larga’s daughter? Oh, Largas are like art for the feet, like a song, like a poem.”
“I bet they’re like shoes.”
“Seriously the ult in footwear.” Peabody jumped into the elevator, struggled into her pink coat. “If I ever have five or six figures to spare, I’d buy a pair. But even the second line’s out of my reach, even on sale. But maybe . . .”
“Maybe we could also put your shoe fantasies on hold. Second-gen Larga’s married to a Hugo Markin. Daddy owns casinos. A lot of them. They tend to gamble in casinos. Check one. It turns out Markin also has several relatives in or retired from the military. Check two. Since his wife likely lost her pubic hair to Banks at the party before he died, it’s probable Markin knew Banks. Check three.”
For once, the elevator didn’t fill to capacity, so they rode it straight down to the garage. “The Markins live in the same building as the party hosts. We’ll kill two birds with one arrow and talk to the party people.”
“And that’s sort of check four.” Peabody climbed into the car. “It’s stone. You kill the two birds with one stone.”
“Have you ever tossed a rock at a bird?”
“No!” Appalled in her Free-Ager’s heart, Peabody strapped in. “That’s just mean.”
“And ineffective, I bet, since birds can fly. An arrow’s got to be quicker than heaving a rock that’s big enough to take out a couple of birds at a time.”
“But still,” Peabody murmured.
Eve whipped out of the garage. “Baxter and Trueheart are taking the gallery woman back to the gallery. She’s got three possibilities for the painting.”
“It’s not a literal rock or actual birds.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Peabody decided. “Do you want me to run the artists?”
“Trueheart’s doing that, and we’ll save time if she pins it down to one.” As she drove, ignoring the blasts of ad blimps and the farts of maxibuses, Eve decided it was as good a time as any.
“Nadine’s taking the rocker to this Hollywood thing.”
“I know.” Peabody gave a grin and the eye-roll equivalent of hubba-hubba. “He is frosty extreme, and seriously into her.”
“I don’t want to hear about their sex life.”
“Not that kind of into. Although . . . Anyway, going as a couple’s a major BFD for Nadine, I think.”
“Whatever. She’s taking him, but she has room on her transport and in the hotel.”
“You’re going! You’re going after all?” Peabody bounced in her seat, actually clapping her hands together. “You’re going to walk the red carpet of all red carpets! This is—”
“Oh hell no. Giant hell no. She’s got room for you and McNab. Feeney cleared it, so you can take off on Friday afternoon, report back Tuesday morning.”
Peabody said nothing, absolutely nothing. And stared straight ahead.
“What’s the problem?”
“I . . . I think I stopped breathing for a minute. You’re giving me time off to go to the Oscars? Nadine’s going to take us, and let us stay with her? Her and Jake the rock god?”
“She’s got room.”
Peabody kept staring ahead. “We’re in an active investigation.”
“I’ve got Baxter and Trueheart. And, strangely enough, I managed to close cases before I took you on. You’re not on the roll this weekend anyway,” Eve continued, “so I cut that OT out of my budget.”
“This is . . . I can’t think of a big enough word. I can’t think straight enough to make one up for it. As long as I can remember I watched the Oscars and all the beautiful clothes, the people.”
“Free-Agers watch Hollywood?”
“We’re not like monks, and I bet monks watch the Oscars, too. My granny? Man, she never misses. She has a big Oscar party every year. I still sort of watch it with her and the rest. I set up my home screen, have the family on my tablet so we all watch. Granny’s brutal when somebody wears something she thinks is stupid. It’s the best. And now I’m going to—Oh my God, what will I wear? I don’t have anything that’s Oscar worthy.”
“Roarke talked to Leonardo, so Leonardo’s covering that, for both of you.”
“I . . .” Now she turned her head, stared at Eve. “I’m wearing Leonardo to the Oscars?”
“Why do people say that? You’re not draping a big Leonardo all over you. Christ. Jesus Christ, if you cry the deal’s off.”
The tears came anyway. “I have to. Just for a minute. I know it’d be like torture for you. But for me? It’s like this amazing dream. I’m not even going to say I wish you were coming because torture. That’s how much this means to me.”
“If it means so damn much, why didn’t you say so before?”
“You gave us Mexico. You gave McNab time to recharge when he needed it. I’m not going to ask my partner, my LT, my friend, to do me another solid right on top of that.”
She let out a breath, scrubbed the tears dry. “Add to it, I never thought about going, not seriously. It’s so . . . beyond. It never really landed that we could.”
“Well, now you are.”
The building had its own parking, Eve had the gate scan her badge, followed the instructions for the visitors’ section. Pulled into a slot.
“Now get your head in the game.”
“I will.” But Peabody put a hand on Eve’s arm. “I wanted to be a cop. I studied you, and I wanted to be a New York cop. A Dallas-worthy cop.”
“For Christ’s sake.”
“Just one minute, okay? When you pulled me into Homicide as your aide, that was the biggest moment of my life. I’ve had other big ones. McNab, making detective, helping take Oberon down. All the bad guys, but her especially because she’s the opposite of what we are. This doesn’t come up to those because they’re life-changing. But outside of life-changing, it’s the biggest. Thanks.”
“Nadine’s the one hauling you.”
“She’ll get a whole bunch of thanks, too. And Leonardo, and Roarke. You first.”
“Okay, good. Now done.”
They got out, started the walk toward the elevator. “I’ve got to do this one thing.”
“If you try to kiss me,” Eve warned coldly, “I will mess you up.”
“I’m not even going to threaten to kiss you, or kiss you in my head—that’s how much this means to me. But I have to—”
In the garage, Peabody threw her arms in the air, tossed back her head and screamed. The sound echoed, ping-ponged, and made Eve’s ears vibrate.
“Okay. Whew.” Peabody huffed out another breath. “Now, head in the game.”
“Every dog in this building is barking. Glass has shattered. Small children are hiding under their beds.”
“Maybe.” Peabody pressed the call button. “But it had to come out so I could get my head in the game.”
“It better stay there,” Eve warned and, using her badge to bypass the lobby, called for the Markins’ floor.
The elevator opened in the center of an area with wide hallways leading to each of four corner units. And each, she assumed, had private, fully secured elevators of their own. She crossed to the southwest facing unit, rang the bell.
Please state your name and business.
Clipped and brisk, Eve noted, and answered in kind.
“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, NYPSD.” She held up her badge. “We need to speak with Mr. and/or Mrs. Markin.”
Your identification is being scanned . . . Your identification has been verified. Please state your business.
“We’ll state our business with Mr. and/or Mrs. Markin. Open the door or we’ll arrange to have one or both of them transported to Cop Central for interview.”
One moment.
“Why are comps always so damn nosy?” Eve wondered.
It took more than a moment, but the double doors opened. Since the woman inside hit about forty, wore what Eve thought of as domestic black, she deduced housekeeper.
“Lieutenant, Detective, if you’ll wait in the anteroom, I’ve notified Mrs. Markin’s admin. She’ll be with you very shortly.”
The housekeeper walked away, leaving them outside another set of open doors. The private elevator Eve had assumed stood to the right with fancy, decorative ironwork over a door of dull gold. On the opposite wall wide, sliding doors reflected the same tone. For coats and wraps, Eve assumed.
Through the open doors, the living area spread big as a ballroom with floor-to-ceiling glass offering the stupendously rich person’s view of the city, the great park, and on this clear day, the Hudson. Staircases swept in fluid curves on either side of the glass.
An enormous mirror ornately framed in that dull gold ranged over a flickering fireplace with a surround of polished stone the color of tropical seas.