“For our report.” She studied him, smiled blandly. “Checks all the boxes.”
“I have no idea. I told you before I didn’t have a set plan. I just stopped when the mood struck. New England’s ripe with odd little B and Bs. I can’t remember the names.”
“That’s okay. You’ll have the paper trail—credit card data.”
His jaw tightened like a drum. “I didn’t use credit or debit. I used cash.”
“Really? No record for expenses, taxes?”
“I explained—clearly, I think—it was really a holiday for me.”
“At a charging station for your car, a meal on the road?”
“Cash. You said Jordan was killed Tuesday morning. What does where I stayed or ate over the weekend, or any of it, relate to that?”
“Loose ends nag at me. If you happen to remember one of your stops, just let me know. I’ll tie off that loose end. Thank you again.”
With Peabody Eve strode to the elevator. “He’s not the smart one.”
“No. No, he is not,” Peabody agreed. “A lot of that was rehearsed, probably in the mirror.”
“Over rehearsed, at that. And he’s not real good with the—what is it—ad lib. Too much information gushed out to demonstrate cooperation at the beginning. He never once expressed any regret his fellow art lover got himself murdered. Never asked any questions pertaining to. Comes from being a sociopath—just can’t relate.”
“Gushing’s right. Just how did he know the Richie in Banks’s apartment was a charcoal?”
Eve smiled, shot a finger at Peabody. “Bang. Doesn’t say, Oh yeah, I saw a Richie up in Jordan’s apartment. Doesn’t say, Yeah, yeah, Jordan mentioned he had a charcoal by Angelo Richie. Instead he pretends it takes him a minute to place Richie at all, then doesn’t connect him to Banks—smarter if he had. But he knows what he took out of the apartment Monday night, so it’s on his mind, and he just rolls it out.”
“I thought you might haul him in after that.”
“I could sweat him. We could break him. And we’d nail him on eighteen murders, forced imprisonment, and so on. But I don’t know, yet, if he’d flip on his partner, and we want them both.”
“We could flip him.”
Eve shook her head. “Depends on the partner. What we’re going to do is break from the interviews while we contact Captain Terrance Iler’s CO at the time of the terrorist incident. Let’s make sure Terry’s dead.”
“Jesus, you think his dead brother’s not dead and his partner?”
“Let’s confirm. And we need to contact this Felicity Mortimer. Maybe have a chat there. That’s why we need to break off the interviews until we do.”
She stepped off the elevator, walked to the desk. “Rhoda, is there an office we could use?”
“Of course—just one minute.” She tapped her earpiece. “Adam, cover the desk for five, please. Thanks. Come with me,” she told Eve. “You can use my office.”
She led the way back, paused outside a nice little break room. “Would you like anything?”
Since she wanted to keep her thoughts cool, Eve opted for cold. “I could use a tube of Pepsi.”
“Detective?”
“Same for me, but diet.”
“The chicken noodle soup’s very good. You’ve been here over three hours,” Rhoda pointed out. “Without a lunch break.”
“Roarke approved,” Eve commented, and making Rhoda smile.
“My office is the second on the left. I’ll just bring in the soup and drinks.”
20
She had to admit Rhoda was right about the soup.
While she ate, Eve tracked down Colonel Xavier Unger, had a long chat while Peabody did the same with Felicia Mortimer.
When Eve finished, she sat back, stared up at the ceiling and thought it all through. She sat up again when she heard Peabody end her conversation.
“Report.”
“Felicia met Terry when he was stationed in Germany, and she was doing some postgrad work. She’s a linguist—a UN interpreter now. They hit it off right away, both native New Yorkers, both living in Germany. Started dating. Got serious enough she put off coming home until he had leave. Meet-the-family time on both ends. Long distance relationship, but it held. He got assigned to South Korea. They met twice while he took R & R in Tokyo, had more time when he came home on leave. She’d have said yes.”
“Impressions.”
“She loved him, would have made herself into a military spouse, and she felt they’d build a solid foundation away from his family. She liked them—apparently his mother particularly. She found his father too controlling, emotionally distant and—from what Terry told her—he was always expected to serve.”
“Another second-son thing?”
“Maybe. Sort of. She said his older brother—that’s our guy—wasn’t athletic or tough as a kid, and Terry was. Older bro, a little frail, but very protective of little bro. Used to read him stories.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. Terry Iler was almost ten years younger than his older brother. The parents traveled a lot, so it was nannies, staff, and big brother. It sounds like Iler took the big brother job seriously. So Terry went into the service because it was expected, but according to Felicia, he thrived there. He found his place there. The old band of brothers thing—sisters, too. He loved the Army, made captain inside four years. When he was killed, she says her whole world fell apart. She spent more time with his family after that. She and Iler leaned on each other. She went to grief therapy, gradually pulled out of it.
“Nearly three years after he died, she met someone. They got married last summer.”
“There’s a trigger. The bitch isn’t honoring hero baby brother’s memory. Decides to have a life.”
“Is he a memory?” Peabody asked.
“Yeah. His CO not only has confirmation—DNA—but saw Captain Iler pulling wounded to safety before Iler rushed back for more. The second explosion took him out. CO’s a solid eyewit on it.”
“So the hero dead brother isn’t the partner.”
“No, but the partner’s military. That’s the connection, the bond between them. Iler’s weak, and not as smart or clever as he thinks. He has money, he knows art, he knows the market enough to play in it, but he’s never been in combat, never trained, never laid out or been in an op. The partner’s that end of it. The partner knows explosives. The brother died in an explosion, and the target of the attack on the base was ordinance as well as personnel. A lot of the men and women who died or were wounded in the attack were trained in demolition and explosives.”
“Band of brothers.”
“You’re the sharp Peabody today. The brother of my brother’s my brother. What brings these two together—greed, profit, gambling. But now we’ve got more. The grieving brother with the often-absent, controlling father.”
“If the father hadn’t controlled and expected, maybe the brother doesn’t join the Army and end up dead.”
“Keep ringing that bell. The father’s to blame for the loss of the child. The mother doesn’t stand between to protect. Will the father give his life for the child? Let’s find out. And, hey, might as well make some money on it.”
She checked the time. “I want to run this through with Mira. Set me up on that, then let’s get these interviews done.”
“We’ve got Iler.”
“Now you lost valuable points. The partner may be here, on the list, in the building.”
Peabody scowled. “I didn’t think of that.”
“It’s fifty-fifty. We’ve got to run it all the way.”
“You made Iler nervous, Dallas, pushing on the weekend.”
“I wanted to make him nervous. If he’s nervous enough maybe they don’t try for number three. I’m putting eyes on the building—outside. We’ve got Rhoda and her team inside. Set me up with Mira while I talk to Rhoda and get the cop’s eyes going.”
She strode out, gestured Rhoda over. “I’m putting a surveillance team outside.”
No hitch in Rhoda’s stride, she merely nodded. “I’ll let the doormen and security know.”
“Who takes over for you when you go off shift?”
“Aaron Vogal’s our night manager.”
“Is he as good as you?”
Rhoda smiled. “I trained him myself. He’s excellent.”
“I need steady, and discreet.”