She looked hopefully toward Eve’s AutoChef, where there was real as opposed to the sludge disguised as coffee in the bull pen.
“Go ahead. Then sit down. I’ll bring you up to speed.”
“Missing diamonds. It’s like a treasure hunt,” Peabody decided. “Like booty. It could be fun.”
Saying nothing, Eve passed her one of the on-scene stills of Andrea Jacobs’s body. Peabody let out a hiss between her teeth. “Okay, not so much. No sign of forced entry? Sexual assault?”
“None apparent from the on-scene.”
“She could’ve brought someone home with her. Bad choice. People make them.”
“We’ll check that out. I ran her debit card. Her last transaction, which looks like clearing the evening’s tab, was at Club Six-Oh. Sixtieth and Second, at eleven fo rty-five on Thursday night. Estimated time of death was between midnight and one.”
“So she’d have gone straight to the Gannon residence from the club. If she had company, she found it there.”
“We’re in the field,” Eve said, gathering the file. “We talk to Gannon’s ex, Jacobs’s employer and coworkers, hit the club and swing by the morgue to harass people.”
“I always like that part. I get to flash my new badge,” she added as they walked out. She flipped her jacket open to reveal the detective’s badge hooked to her waistband.
“Very nice.”
“My new favorite accessory.”
The powers-that-be at Tarbo, Chassie and Dix obviously subscribed to the theory that a display of excess drew in clients whose finances needed planning. The midtown offices were spread over four floors with a main information center the size of the Yankees’ outfield. Eight young men and women, certainly hired as much for their perky good looks as their communication skills, manned an alarm-red island counter that could have housed a small suburb. Each wore a personal communicator and manned slick minidata and communication centers.
Each obviously practiced superior dental hygiene if their dazzling, identical smiles were any gauge.
Around them were smaller counters with more perky, toothy men and women in snappy suits, three waiting areas with cushy-looking chairs, equipped with screens for passing the time with magazines or short vids, and a little, tastefully planted garden with its own tiny blue pool.
Bouncy, repetitive music danced through the air at a discreet volume.
Eve decided she’d be in a padded room for mental defectives in under a week if she worked under similar conditions.
She walked to the main counter over a springy silver carpet. “Chad Dix.”
“Mr. Dix is on forty-two.” The beaming brunette tapped her screen. “I’ll be happy to have one of his assistants escort you. If I might have your name, and the time of your appointment?”
Eve laid her badge on the glossy red counter. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. And I’d say my appointment is now. We can get up to forty-two ourselves, thanks, but you might want to tell Mr. Dix we’re on our way.”
“But you have to be cleared for the elevator.”
Eve picked up her badge, wiggled it back and forth. “Then you’d better take care of that.” She pocketed the badge and strode to the bank of elevators with Peabody.
“Can I be bitch cop next time?” Peabody whispered as they waited for the doors to open. “I really need to practice.”
“Seems to me if you need to practice, it’s not a true calling, but you can take a shot.” She stepped onto the elevator. “Forty-two,” she demanded. And leaned back on the side wall as the car whisked them up. “Take the assistant they’re going to toss in our way.”
“Hot dog.” Peabody rubbed her hands together. Then rolled her shoulders, circled her neck.
“Definitely not a true calling,” Eve muttered, but let Peabody lead when the doors opened on forty-two.
This floor was no less opulent than the other, though the color scheme was electric blue and silver rather than red. The waiting areas were bigger, with the addition of wall screens tuned to various financial programs. This information station was the size and shape of a small wading pool, but there was no need to bother with it as the assistant clipped hurriedly through the double glass doors that slid soundlessly open at her approach.
This one was blonde with the sunshine hair done in a mass of corkscrew curls that spilled and spun around her head like a halo. She had pink lips and cheeks and a body of impressive curves tucked snugly into a narrow skirt and jacket the color of cotton candy.
Not wanting to miss her chance, Peabody stepped forward, flipped her jacket open. “Detective Peabody, NYPSD. My partner, Lieutenant Dallas. We need to speak to Chad Dix regarding an investigation.”
“Mr. Dix is meeting with a client, but I’d be happy to review his schedule and clear some time for you later today. If you could give me some idea of the nature of your business, and how much time you’ll require.”
“The nature of our business is murder, and the time we require will depend entirely on Mr. Dix.” Peabody dipped her head, lowered her eyebrows in a stern look she enjoyed practicing in the bathroom mirror. “If he feels unable to meet with us here and now, we’ll be happy to take him downtown and hold our meeting there. You can come with him,” Peabody added.
“I… If you’ll give me just a moment.”
When she scurried off, Peabody elbowed Eve. “ ‘Our business is murder.’ I thought that was good.”
“It didn’t suck.” She nodded as the blonde came bustling back. “Let’s check the scores.”
“If you’ll come with me, Mr. Dix will see you now.”
“I thought he would.” Peabody started to saunter after her.
“Don’t rub their noses in it,” Eve muttered. “It’s tacky.”
“Check.”
They moved through a fan-shaped hallway to the wide end and another set of double doors. These were opaque and opened when the assistant tapped.
“Detective Peabody and Lieutenant Dallas, Mr. Dix.”
“Thank you, Juna.”
He was behind a U-shaped workstation with the requisite window-wall at his back. His office suite had a luxurious sitting area with several wide chairs and a display shelf holding a number of antique games and toys.
He wore a stone-gray suit with muted chalk stripes, and a braided silver chain under the collar of his snowy white shirt.
“Officers.” His expression sober, he gestured toward chairs. “I assume this has something to do with the tragedy at Samantha Gannon’s. I heard about it last night on a media report. I haven’t been able to reach Samantha. Are you able to tell me if she’s all right?”
“As much as can be expected,” Eve answered. “You also knew Andrea Jacobs?”
“Yes.” He shook his head and sat behind his desk. “I can’t believe this happened. I met her through Samantha. We socialized quite a bit while Samantha and I were seeing each other. She was… It probably sounds clichéd, but she was one of those people who are just full of life. The reports are vague, even this morning. There was a burglary?”
“We’re in the process of verifying that. You and Ms. Gannon are no longer seeing each other?”
“No, not romantically.”
“Why is that?”
“It wasn’t working out.”
“For whom?”
“Either of us. Sam’s a beautiful, interesting woman, but we weren’t enjoying ourselves together any longer. We decided to break it off.”
“You had the codes to her residence.”
“I… ” He missed a beat, quietly cleared his throat. “Yes. I did. As she had mine. I assume she changed them after we broke up-as I changed mine.”
“Can you tell us where you were on the night in question?”
“Yes, of course. I was here, in the office until just after seven. I had a dinner meeting with a client at Bistro, just down on Fifty-first. Juna can give you the client’s information, if you need it. I left the restaurant about ten-thirty and went home. I caught up on some paperwork for an hour or so, watched the media reports, as I do every night before I turn in. That must have been nearly midnight. Then I went to bed.”