“Not really. He’s Edward’s friend. We’ve socialized, of course, but I’d consider us acquaintances.”
“He’s not a brother then.”
“No,” Easterday said flatly, and the hand holding the teacup trembled. He set the cup down. “I’m finished with this. I don’t see how it’s in any way helpful, and you put me in the position of being disloyal to dead friends. I want to rest now.”
“Yes, you should. I’ll be right up,” Petra told him. “I’ll show the officers out, and be right up.”
To Eve, the weight on his shoulders seemed heavier as he left the room.
“We have good security,” Petra said briskly, “and I’ll make certain it’s in full use. He won’t go anywhere without me. I can hire private security to stay with him until this is resolved if you think I should.”
“I think it wouldn’t hurt. He shouldn’t keep any appointments alone,” Eve said as she rose. “That’s how both victims were lured.”
“He’s not like them—not the way you mean. He loved them, deeply, but he’s not like them. I’m not Mandy Mira, Lieutenant. Believe me.”
“I do.” Eve held her gaze. “I believe you. Thanks for your time, and your cooperation.”
Eve stepped outside, took a long breath. “Impressions, Peabody?”
“He knows things, things he hasn’t told his wife. Things he doesn’t want her to know. And he’s scared shitless. But she’d know if he cheated on her, and it came off sincere when he said he’d been faithful.”
“He didn’t use that word,” Eve pointed out. “He said he hadn’t had affairs, hadn’t had other relationships. That’s a distinction to my ear.”
“I don’t hear it.”
“He doesn’t cat around like his friends—and, yeah, she’d know if he did. She’d toss him out for it. But rolling in the sheets at a hotel, having drinks, maybe dinner, conversations? That’s different from targeting a woman, raping her, then moving on.”
“Well, Jesus.”
“Yeah. Add he knows things. Add he’s scared. Scared and angry, and defensive. He’s part of the brotherhood, Peabody, and loyalty to them, trying to hide what he’s part of from his wife, could get him or one of the others killed. Let’s see if we can shake more out of Betz.”
—
The Upper East Side home of Frederick Betz had once been a small, exclusive boutique hotel for the ridiculously rich. The ridiculously rich made it a prime target during the Urbans. It hadn’t been razed, but it had been gutted with all the original marble, stone, wood, gilt, crystal, and silver leaf chipped, hacked, pried, and hauled off.
It sat, a sad, graffiti-laced shell, for nearly two decades before Betz—an enterprising soul—bought it for a song and dance right on the edge of the revitalization trend.
He spent fully ten times the cost of the shell to turn it into his personal palace. In spending his millions, Betz proved, beyond a shadow, money couldn’t buy taste.
On the arching front door of glossy red lacquer, fat cherubs in what looked like G-strings cavorted with sly-eyed centaurs and winged horses. Three-headed dogs snarled; fierce-eyed dragons spat fire.
Some of the cherubs were armed with bow and arrow, and looked ready to use them.
Eve couldn’t decide if it was meant to be whimsical or obscene.
“It’s just creepy,” Peabody stated.
“Yeah, that’s the best word.
Eve glanced at the palm plate, noted it attached to the wall of the building with shiny gold fingers, and decided it took all kinds.
Of what, she’d never know. But it took all kinds.
She rang the bell, centered in a tangle of gold vines.
Good morning, the computer intoned in a rich and fruity British accent. Mr. and Mrs. Betz are not currently receiving guests. Please leave your name if you wish one of their staff to contact you.
“Scan this,” she ordered, and held out her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. It’s imperative I speak with Mr. Betz immediately.”
One moment.
The red light beamed out, scanned the badge.
Your identification has been verified, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Regretfully, Mr. Betz is not in residence at this time. If you would like to contact his personal assistant or his administrative assistant—
“I’ll take Mrs. Betz,” Eve interrupted.
Regretfully, Mrs. Betz is not in residence at this time. If you would like—
“Screw this. Who is in residence? I’ll speak to any damn human being in the house.”
One moment.
“Contact his office,” Eve told Peabody, “see if you can talk to a human. I want to know where the hell he is.”
“One moment,” Peabody couldn’t resist saying, stepping out of range as she took out her ’link.
Before Eve decided whether to snicker or snarl, she heard locks disengaging.
“Lieutenant. Detective.”
“Sila. You work here?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The cleaning contractor bobbed her head, stepped back to let them in. “For about six months now. Mrs. Betz, she fired her other cleaning company, and she got our name from Senator Mira. Is something wrong?”
“There might be. I need to find Frederick Betz.”
“Oh, golly, I don’t know where he might be. I know Mrs. Betz said how she was going to their place in Bimini, I think it is, with the baby and the nanny, and the nanny’s helper.”
“The nanny has a helper?”
