Both she and Peabody took out badges. “Lieutenant Dallas,” Eve said, “and Detective Peabody. Looks like your meeting broke up. Funny, we didn’t see anyone leave.”
He looked momentarily confused, and those nervous eyes slid to Bruberry even as the admin spoke.
“It was a ’link conference.”
“Yes, a ’link conference. With London.”
“That’s handy.” She kept her eyes on Cavendish in a way that told him she knew he was already lying. “Since you’ve got a few minutes now, we have some questions in connection with an investigation.”
“So I’m told.” He gestured, started to sit. When he didn’t offer a hand, Eve shot hers out deliberately. She wanted the feel of his.
He hesitated, and she saw his gaze dart toward his admin yet again before he took Eve’s hand in his.
A little soft, she noted, a little damp.
“What’s the nature of your investigation?”
“Homicide. Natalie Copperfield and Bick Byson. Are those names familiar to you?”
“No.”
“You don’t watch the media reports, I take it. Don’t scan the newspapers.” She flicked a glance of her own toward a wall screen framed in the dark wood that dominated the room. “These individuals were murdered three nights ago in their respective residences. Both were employed by the accounting firm of Sloan, Myers, and Kraus. And funnily enough, Natalie Copperfield handled the accounts for your home operation. But that name doesn’t ring for you?”
“I don’t retain the names of everyone I might hear of or read of. I’m a very busy man. As far as accounting, Ellyn – my assistant – deals with that area.”
“I’m aware of Ms. Copperfield,” Bruberry stated. “What does her death have to do with this firm?”
“At this point, I’ll be asking the questions,” Eve said coolly. “Where were you, Mr. Cavendish, three nights ago between the hours of midnight and fourA.M.?”
“At home, in bed. With my wife.”
Eve lifted her eyebrows. “You can’t remember the names of two people who’ve been all over the media reports, but you know – without a second’s hesitation or without checking your book – where you were three nights ago?”
“At home,” he said again. “In bed.”
“Have you had any contact with Ms. Copperfield or Mr. Byson?”
“No.”
“That’s odd. Don’t you find that odd, Detective, that Mr. Cavendish would have no contact whatsoever with the person who handles his firm’s accounts?”
“I have to say I do. Me, I’m on a first-name basis with the guy in Payroll back at Central.”
“I may have, at some point, met – ”
“I corresponded and met with Ms. Copperfield,” Bruberry interrupted. “When necessary. Such matters are, primarily, dealt with through our home office in London.”
“And just what do you do here?” Eve asked, speaking directly to Cavendish.
“I represent our firm’s New York interests.”
“Which means?”
“Exactly that.”
“That clarifies it. And you also represent the legal interests of Lordes C. McDermott, who was a client of Bick Byson.”
“Ms. McDermott is a family relation, and naturally is represented by our firm. As to her financial manager, I couldn’t say.”
“Really? Gee, seems like one hand doesn’t keep a grip on the other around here. And, second gee, I don’t think I said Byson was her financial manager, just that she was a client.”
Cavendish fiddled with the knot of his tie. Nervous tell, Eve thought.
“I assumed.”
“While we’re at it, your whereabouts on the night of the murders, Ms. Bruberry?”
“At home. I was in bed before midnight.”
“Alone?”
“I live alone, yes. I’m afraid that’s all the time Mr. Cavendish can spare.”
Eve got lazily to her feet. “Thanks for your cooperation. Oh,” she continued. “Your firm also represents…” She took out her memo book as if to check on a name. “The Bullock Foundation.”
And there, she noted, just that little ripple over the face. The tightening of the jaw, the flicker in the eyes. Another brush of the fingers over the knot of his tie. “That’s correct.”
“Ms. Madeline Bullock and Mr. Winfield Chase were recently in the city. I suppose you met with them while they were here.”
“I…”
“Ms. Bullock and Mr. Chase had a luncheon meeting here with Mr. Cavendish. That would have been on Monday afternoon. At twelve-thirty,” Bruberry added.
“You had your meeting, and your lunch with them here. In the office.”
“That’s correct,” Bruberry snapped before Cavendish could respond. “Would you like me to find my notes on the menu?”
“I’ll let you know. This has been just swell. Thanks for the time.” Eve turned to go, hesitated at the door. “You know, it’s odd that while you’re so busy representing your firm’s New York interests, you didn’t take regular meetings with the senior accountant who looks after their finances.”
“I’ll see you out,” Bruberry said when Cavendish remained silent.
“That’s okay. We can manage it.”
Somebody’s got a secret,” Peabody said when they were back on the street.
“Bet your ass. That guy had guilt and fear plastered all over him. Could be we’ll find he’s just cheating on his wife or wearing women’s underwear.”
“Or both if he’s cheating with his admin. She’s definitely the alpha male in that duet.”
“You got that right. Stupid to lie about knowing Copperfield, and he was.”
“Puffed up. You know,” Peabody continued when Eve lifted a brow. “I’m too important to know the little people. And it’s a way of distancing himself from the big stew.”
“Big stew being murder.” She got behind the wheel, tapped her fingers on it. “They weren’t prepared. Never considered the cops would question them, so they went with first instinct. Deny everything. Let’s see if we can track down Lordes McDermott, get another angle on this.”
Peabody pulled out her PPC to get an address. “Got a place on Riverside Drive.”
“’Link number?”
“Right here.”
“Try it first. Let’s make sure she’s home, or where she might be if not.”
Lordes McDermott was not only home, but appeared to have no problem having her day interrupted by the police.
They were escorted into her home by a uniformed maid, and through a wide, two-story atrium into a spacious sitting room done in a bold contemporary style with flashing color, glinting metallics, and glittering glass.
Lordes looked comfortably at home in New York black, soft boots, dull gold jewelry. Her hair was short, near the color of a ripe eggplant, and worn with short, spiky bangs over a pair of sapphire eyes.
On the low glass table was a skinny white pot, three oversized white mugs, and a white triangular platter loaded with donuts.
“Don’t tell me cops, coffee, and donuts is a cliché.”
“It’s a cliché for a reason. Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”
“Have a seat. You must be here about Bick and his Natalie. I’m damn sick about it. He was a lovely guy.”
“When did you last see him?”
“December fifteenth.”
“Good memory,” Eve commented.
“No, not really. I looked it up when I heard about what happened. We had a wrapping-up year-end business meeting right before the holidays. Here in this room, actually. He was a nice guy.”
“Did you know Ms. Copperfield?”
“I met her a few times. Bick brought her to a couple of dinner meetings at my request. I like knowing who the people handling my business are involved with. I liked her, too. They had that nice glow on together, anticipation. How would you like your coffee?”
“Black, thanks.”
“Light and sweet for me,” Peabody added.
“Are you talking to all of Bick’s clients?” Lordes asked. She poured the coffee with the gold wedding band on her hand gleaming. “I was surprised when you contacted me.”