“The tour was always the highlight of their annual dinner party. Ken Sato will be able to help you understand what you’re looking at there. He was practically drooling when we walked through the house last winter. Chinese New Year,” he added, thinking back on a happier event. “They always have their party on Chinese New Year.”
“We’ll need contact numbers for the Chamberlains’ next of kin,” Kovac said. “By the family photos, it looks like they have a couple of kids.”
“Yes, a son and a daughter. My secretary can give you their information. Charles and Diana.” He made a bit of a face. “Sondra was caught up with all things royal and British. Her family name was ‘Spencer.’ They were somehow distantly related to the family of Princess Di.”
“Thank you for your time, Professor,” Taylor said as they all rose. “Sorry for your loss.”
Kovac placed his business card on the desk. “If you think of anything we should know, just call. We’ll be in touch.”
“Was Professor Chamberlain going to get the job?” Taylor asked as they moved toward the door.
Foster’s brow furrowed as he frowned. “We haven’t made the decision yet.”
“But . . . ?” Kovac prompted.
“He was high on the list, and then his student assistant filed a complaint against him with the Office for Conflict Resolution.”
“A complaint about what?”
“She alleges his behavior is—was demeaning, condescending, and sexist, and created a hostile work environment. You can imagine we don’t want to start off this new chapter in East Asian studies with something like that making the news.”
“Who should we speak with about that situation?” Kovac asked.
“Inez Ngoukani. The office is in this building, on the sixth floor. I’ll call down and let her know you’ll be coming.”
“How did the professor feel about his assistant ratting him out like that?” Taylor asked.
“Lucien was extremely upset about it, as you might imagine, but the girl wouldn’t back down. He finally agreed to go through mediation in the hope of ending it. We wanted the matter settled and put to rest before we had to make our decision.”
“We’ll need the name and contact information for the student, too,” Kovac said.
“Yes, of course,” Foster said with a rueful look. “It’s Diana Chamberlain. Lucien’s daughter.”
*
“SO THIS GUY WAS some kind of a dick,” Kovac said as they got on the elevator. “His own kid reports him for being an ass right when he’s up for a big promotion. Families. Gotta love ’em.”
“You don’t think the daughter could have killed them, do you?” Taylor said. “Beating the old man to death with a pair of nunchucks? Running her mother through with a sword? Hard to picture a woman doing that.”
Kovac shrugged. “She could be a freaking Amazon for all we know. I’m not going to think anything until we meet her, except that dear old narcissist Dad must have been royally pissed with her for messing up his chances for the big dream job.”
“It had to take something pretty obnoxious for the daughter to make a formal complaint. I mean, she’s his grad student. Why would she take that on in the first place—and why would he have her in his department—if they didn’t have a good relationship to start with?”
“I had a feeling about that guy,” Kovac muttered. They walked out of the building, and he stepped off to the side, digging a cigarette out of his coat pocket.
“Which guy? Foster?”
“Our stiff. Murdered in a silk dressing robe.” He lit up, thought of Liska, felt guilty, and then took a long, satisfying drag and blew it out slowly. “What kind of guy puts on a silk dressing robe to go downstairs in the middle of the night? He’s gotta be gay or he’s gotta be a prick.”
“I know what not to get you for Christmas.”
“I don’t want pajamas, either,” Kovac said. “I don’t see the point of wearing clothes to bed.”
“That’s more information than I needed.”
Kovac took another pull on his smoke, imagining the bruise he would have ended up with if Liska had been there. She would have hauled off and socked him in the arm as hard as she could.
“What’s your story, anyway, Stench?”
Taylor’s eyebrows sketched upward. “You want to know what I wear to bed? This is getting weird.”
“No. What’s your story? Your family background.”
“I grew up in Plymouth. Mom, dad, kid sister.”
“Nice family? Good family?”
“Nice family, yeah, middle class, living in the ’burbs. My dad worked for Pillsbury. My mom made us go to church on Sunday.”
“Your parents loved you, raised you right.”
“Yeah.”
“You joined the army, but you came back here to settle down, to be near the family.”
“My dad passed away. Head-on crash with a drunk driver. I came back to help my mom out.”
“You’re a good kid,” Kovac said. “You probably never did anything to give your parents ulcers.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Kovac laughed. “Oh come on. I know. I can tell by your haircut. You were captain of the football team, lettered in three sports, took the homecoming queen to prom, and always used a condom.”