Ordinary people, Eve thought again, with money.
“She’d have been a lot higher on the ladder if she’d married Dudley.” Peabody shrugged. “But she’s not exactly scraping bottom. Anyway, with what you dug up last night she’s connected to Dudley and Moriarity with the cousin thing, the college pal thing. Makes you wonder, if we’re right about these two, how far back they’ve been into the nasty.”
“That kind of partnership requires absolute trust—or stupidity. I don’t think they’re stupid—or not completely stupid.” Eve considered. “And that kind of trust has to build over some time. Because if one of them cracks, it all cracks, if one talks, they both go down. And still . . .”
“Still?”
“If it’s competition, one has to lose. Losing would be not making the kill, or getting caught, or screwing up. I can’t turn it any other way.”
“Maybe neither one of them believes he can lose.”
“Somebody has to,” Eve countered.
“Yeah, but when McNab and I play, for instance, I’m always sort of shocked and pissed off if I lose. I go in knowing I’m going to win. Every time. It’s the same with him. I think because we’re pretty well matched in the games we get into. And separately we usually destroy whoever else we’re playing against.”
“It’s a thought.” Eve squeezed it a little harder. “It’s a good thought,” she decided. “They’re arrogant bastards. Maybe the concept of losing isn’t on the table.” She rolled it around in her mind, let it bump against the other elements. “The killings are planned. They’re orchestrated, and so far we know two were orchestrated back-to-back. There’s no impulse about it. Someone plots and plans and basically choreographs murder, there’s something in there that wants the kill. You can hide it, spruce it up with coats of polish, but that something’s going to eke through off and on.”
Peabody nodded. “Especially with or around someone who’s close enough to see it. So they, you could say, recognized each other.”
Recognition. Wasn’t that the same term she’d come to when considering her long friendship with Mavis?
“Yeah. I would say recognition’s a factor. What we need is to find other people who recognized them. We need to build on that until we have enough to bring them in, sweat them some. Or enough to get a search. Because they have to be communicating after a kill. There’s no way either of them would or could wait until the media hits to confirm the round.”
“On my fork, I haven’t found any connection between the vics, between the vics and Sweet or Foster, between the vics and Moriarity or Dudley, or any combination thereof, except for the known company connections.”
“Might still be there, something more subtle, or something that just doesn’t show.”
Connecticut was different, Eve mused. The space people could claim for their own purposes spread, with lots of green, lots of trees, gardens manicured as luxuriously as any society matron after a salon session. Vehicles showed off their style and shine on paved driveways—and as those private spaces increased in size, she caught glimpses of red clay tennis courts, the Caribbean blue of swimming pools, the dark circles of helipads.
“What do people do out here?”
“Whatever they want” was Peabody’s opinion.
“What I mean is, you can’t walk anywhere. There’s no deli on the corner, no handy glide cart, no buzz, no movement. Just houses.”
“I guess that’s why people live out here, or move out here. They don’t want the buzz. They want the quiet, and the space. You get to have both,” Peabody pointed out.
Using the navigation on her wrist unit, Eve turned into a driveway that circled to a house on a small rise. VanWitt had gone for a modified U-shape with the center two-story leg connecting the long, single-story juts in a mix of stone and wood and glass.
Flowers were cheerful and plentiful, trees tall and shady.
She angled where the drive widened into a small lot, and pulled in beside a spiffy little topless number in stoplight red.
“It’s pretty.” Peabody looked around as they walked to the main door. “Probably a nice place to raise kids with all this room. Low crime area, good schools.”
“You thinking of moving?”
“No. I want the buzz, too. But I can see how people aspire to places like this.”
A woman in cropped pants and a tucked white shirt answered the bell. “May I help you?”
“Felicity VanWitt.” Eve held up her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, NYPSD. We’d like to speak with her.”
“The children.” The woman’s hand rushed up to slap against her heart.
“It has nothing to do with the children.”
“Oh. Oh. They’re on a field trip in New York today, with their youth club. I thought . . . Sorry. Doctor VanWitt is in session. Can you tell me what this is about?”
“Who are you?”
“Anna Munson. I’m the house manager.”
“We’ll need to speak with Doctor VanWitt directly.”
“She should be done in about ten minutes.” Still she hesitated. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be rude, but we’re not used to having the police at the door.”
“There’s no trouble,” Eve told her. “We’re hoping the doctor can give us some insight regarding an investigation.”
“I see.” Clearly she didn’t, but she stepped back. “If you don’t mind waiting. I’ll let the doctor know you’re here as soon as she’s out of session.”
The house was as pretty and spacious inside as out, managed, Eve supposed, very well by Anna. Flowers looked to have come straight from the gardens, and had been arranged without fuss. Anna showed them to a sitting area with views of those gardens, and a pretty little house that served a sparkling swimming pool.
“Can I get you something cold to drink? I was just thinking about iced coffee.”
Eve couldn’t understand why anybody wanted to screw good coffee up with ice, and shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“I’d love some, if you’re making it, anyway.”
Anna smiled at Peabody. “It gives me an excuse to have some. Please, sit down, be comfortable. I’ll only be . . . did you say Lieutenant Dallas? Eve Dallas?”
“That’s right.”
“In the book? The Icove investigation? I read it last week. Oh, it’s so exciting—horrible,” she added quickly. “But I couldn’t put the book down. Dallas and Peabody. Imagine that. Doctor VanWitt’s reading it now. She’ll be thrilled to meet you.”
“Great,” Eve said and left it at that. She didn’t roll her shoulders to shift off the discomfort until Anna hurried out. “How long do you figure that’s going to happen? Ooh, the Icove book. Crap.”
“I don’t know, I think it’s pretty frosty. And you’ve got to admit, it changes attitudes. She was polite but suspicious, now she’s juiced we’re here.”
“I guess there’s that.” Eve wandered the room. Flowers, some family photos, nice paintings, comfortable furnishings in soft and serene colors.
Given the size and layout of the house, she suspected this was a kind of company room rather than a family hangout.
Anna was back quickly with a tray holding Peabody’s iced coffee, a second glass, and a cup of hot black. “I remember from the book you like coffee, Lieutenant, so I made some just in case. The doctor will be right with you. The other iced coffee’s for her. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No. We’re set. Thanks for the coffee.”
“It’s no problem at all. I’ll just . . .”
She trailed off as Felicity came in, another glass in her hand. “Anna, you left your coffee in the kitchen.” Felicity passed the glass, then walked straight to Eve. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Both of you. I’m absolutely riveted by the Icove story, and desperately hoping you’re here to ask me to consult on some fascinating murder.”
She laughed when she said it, bright and easy, and obviously not at all serious. She wore her hair short and brightly red, and her eyes, a deep, dark green, held warmth and ease.