Calculated in Death (5 page)

“I’ll start a run, see if any of the names we’ve got has a vehicle that matches.”

“Let’s find out what work she was bringing home, and see if we can figure out why.”

Knowing her job, Peabody pulled out her PPC as Eve zipped out of the garage. First things, first.

“I’ve got Sylvester Gibbons as her immediate supervisor. If I’m figuring this right, she works in a division that does independent audits. Businesses, corporations, trust funds.”

“Audits. That’s when they’re looking for something hinky.”

“I guess. Or just making sure everything’s right.”

“Something hinky,” Eve repeated. “One way to screw up an audit or at least delay it—kill the auditor.”

“That’s pretty harsh and extreme. And if numbers are hinky, it’s going to come out anyway, right?”

“Maybe they need time to fix it. You snatch the auditor, find out what she knows, what she’s put on record, who she’s talked to. Get the information, kill her, set it up as a mugging. Now you’ve got some time to fix the numbers, or if you’ve been dipping into the till, put the money back. If it’d gone smooth, everybody thinks Marta had some really bad luck. They don’t start poking around in her work straight off. We could be ahead of them. Contact Judge Yung.”

“Now?”

“Preemptive strike. No money guy’s going to want to hand over a client’s documents to the cops. We need a warrant, one that covers everything the vic’s worked on in the past month. Yung will clear the way for that, save us time.”

“It’s like having a judge on tap. I didn’t mean that in the bribery, judge-in-the-pocket kind of way.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t give her any more information than necessary. We want to be thorough, cover all bases. You know the drill.”

“I’ve never drilled a judge before. And that still comes off shady. Or uncomfortably sexual.”

“Just get the warrant, Peabody.”

Eve thought about something else she had on tap. She happened to be married to a numbers geek. Money was his language, and he was seriously fluent.

She hunted for parking, and considered it her lucky day when she found a spot curbside only a block and a half from the victim’s office building.

“The judge says she’ll make the warrant happen,” Peabody reported, “but it may take a little time. Sensitive material, privacy issues. If we can show reasonable evidence the vic was killed due to her work, it’ll slide right through.”

“We might show evidence if we looked at the work.” But she’d figured as much. At least the wheels were already grinding.

The sky began to spit an ugly, icy sleet, causing other pedestrians to quicken their pace. In seconds, an enterprising street vendor hauled out a cart, popped it open to reveal a supply of umbrellas for about triple their usual rate.

In seconds more, he was mobbed.

“I wouldn’t mind one of those,” Peabody murmured.

“Toughen up.”

“Why doesn’t it just snow? At least snow’s pretty.”

“Until it’s in grimy black mounds against the curb.” Shoving her hands in her pockets for warmth, Eve quick-stepped the last half block. She shoved through the lobby doors, shook her head like a dog, and shot out little drops of cold.

She badged the man at the security podium. “Brewer, Kyle, and Martini.”

“Fifth floor. Is this about Ms. Dickenson? I heard the media report before I came on.”

“Yeah, it’s about Ms. Dickenson.”

“It’s true then.” His lips tightened as he shook his head. “You gotta hope it’s a mistake, you know? She’s a nice woman, always says hi when she comes in.”

“You weren’t on last night?”

“Off at four-thirty. She logged out at ten-oh-eight. I checked the log when I came in, because of the report.”

“Did she work late routinely?”

“I wouldn’t say routinely, but sure, sometimes. All of them do. Tax season?” He waved a hand in a
forget about it
gesture. “They might as well live here.”

“Has anybody come in, asking about her?”

“Not to me. I mean she gets people, clients, and whatever who come in asking for her and the firm. They have to sign in.”

“Any problem showing us the log for the last week or so?”

“I don’t see why it’d be a problem.”

“How about making a copy for our files.”

Now he shifted, foot-to-foot. “I’d like to clear that one with my boss. If you’re going up, you could stop back on the way out. I think he’ll be okay with it, considering.”

“Good enough. Thanks.”

“She was a nice lady,” he said again. “Met her husband and kids, too. They came in to pick her up now and then. Nice family. It’s a damn shame, is what. A damn shame. First bank of elevators on the right. I’ll talk to my boss.”

“Thanks again. Check in with Uniform Carmichael,” she told Peabody. “See if he’s got anything.”

“If the security guy knows, the office knows,” Peabody pointed out.

“Yeah, kills the element of surprise.”

“And makes it just a little less awful.”

Not so much, Eve thought when the elevator doors opened. She heard someone weeping, the sound muffled behind a closed door. The two people—one man, one woman—behind the reception desk stood, holding each other.

No one sat in the dignified—and boring—cream and brown waiting area.

The woman eased away, made an obvious effort to compose herself. “I’m very sorry, all appointments are canceled for today. We’ve had a death in the family.”

“I’m aware.” Eve took out her badge.

“You’re here about Marta.”

“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody. We’re investigating her death. We need to speak with Sylvester Gibbons.”

“Of course. Yes.” She pulled some tissues out of a holder. “Marcus?”

“I’ll get him, right away.” The man dashed off.

“Would you like to sit down? Or coffee? I mean would you like some coffee?”

“We’re good. How well did you know Ms. Dickenson?”

“Very well. I think very well.” She dabbed at her eyes. “We—we took an exercise class together, twice a week. And we talked every day, I mean every workday. I can’t believe this happened! She’s careful, and it’s a good area. She wouldn’t have fought or argued with a mugger.” Tears welled and overflowed again. “They didn’t have to hurt her.”

“Has anyone been in asking about her?”

“No.”

“Have there been any problems between her and someone in the office, someone in the firm?”

“No. I’d know, you hear everything on the desk. This is a good company. We get along.”

Nobody got along all the time, but Eve let it slide. “How about a client, any trouble, complaints?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“People don’t like being audited. Has anyone caused any trouble about that, about the work she did?”

“Legal handles that sort of thing. I don’t understand. She was mugged, so—”

“It’s routine,” Eve said. “We need to be thorough.”

“Of course. Of course. I’m sorry. I’m so upset.” She choked on the words as she dug out fresh tissues. “We got to be pretty good friends with the class we took.”

“Did she talk about her work with you, about the audits?”

“Marta wouldn’t gossip about an audit. It’s unprofessional. And if she’d gossiped, it probably would’ve been with me. You get, well, loose, when you’re sweating together. And sometimes we’d go have a drink after—a reward. We talked about our kids, and clothes, and that sort of thing. Men—husbands.” She smiled weakly. “Neither of us wanted to talk about work when we were out of the office.”

“Okay.”

“I—oh, Sly!” She said the syllable on a smothered wail, then dropped down in her chair, covered her face with her hands.

“Nat.” A stringy man with flyway blond hair and watery blue eyes stepped around the reception desk, patted the woman on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go home?”

“I want to stay, to help. We couldn’t reach everyone who has an appointment. I just need—a few minutes.” She rose, dashed off.

“It’s going to take longer than minutes.” He passed a weary hand over his face, turned to Eve and Peabody. “Lieutenant Dallas?”

“Mr. Gibbons?”

“Yes. Ah, we’re not ourselves this morning. Marta—” He shook his head. “We should go back to my office.” His movements ungainly, as if he couldn’t quite deal with the length of his limbs, he led the way through a cubical area—more tears, more watery eyes—and down a short hall where office doors stayed closed.

“Marta’s office . . .” He stopped, stared at the closed door. “Do you need to see?”

“We will, yes. I’d like to talk to you first. Is the door secured?”

“She would have locked it when she left, that’s policy. I unlocked it when I came in, after I heard . . . Just to see if there was anything . . . Honestly, I don’t know why. I locked it again.”

They passed a break area where a few people sat speaking in muted voices, and to the end of the corridor.

Gibbons’s office took a corner, as supervisors’ often did. It struck Eve as minimalist, efficient, and scarily organized. His desk held two comps, two touch screens, several folders neatly stacked, a forest of lethally sharpened pencils in several hard colors, and a triple picture frame holding snapshots of a plump, smiling woman, a grinning young boy, and a very ugly dog.

“Please sit down. I—coffee. I’ll get you coffee.”

“It’s all right. We’re fine.”

“It’s no trouble. I was getting coffee,” he said vaguely. “I was in the break room, trying to . . . comfort, I guess. We’re not a large department, and we’re part of a, well, tightly knit firm. Everyone here knows each other, has interacted, you could say. We—we—we have a company softball team, and we celebrate birthdays in the break room. Marta had a birthday last month. We had cake. Oh my God. It’s my fault. This is all my fault.”

“How is that?”

“I asked her to put in some overtime. I asked her to work late. We’ve been shorthanded this week, with two of our auditors at a convention. They were due back, but there was an accident—a car accident. One has a broken leg, and the other’s in a coma. Was, I mean. I just got word he came out of it, but they’ve put him under again for some reason. There’s no brain damage, but he has broken ribs and needs more tests and . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry. That’s not why you’re here.”

“When did you ask Marta to work late?”

“Just yesterday. Yesterday morning when I talked to Jim, the one with the broken leg. They won’t be able to travel back. They’re in Vegas, at a convention. I told you that. Sorry. They won’t be able to come back to work for several days, at least, and we had audits pending. I asked Marta to pick up the slack. I worked until eight myself, but then I took the rest home. Marta was still here. She said thanks for dinner, Sly. I ordered us some food about six. For myself, Marta, and Lorraine.”

“Lorraine?”

“Lorraine Wilkie. She and Marta both worked late. Lorraine and I left at the same time, but I’d given Marta the bulk of the work. She’s the best we have. She’s the best. I didn’t know she’d stay so late. I should’ve told her to leave when I did. I should’ve gotten her into a cab. If I had, she’d be all right.”

“What was she working on?”

“Several things.”

He took out his pocket ’link when it signaled, glanced at the readout, hit ignore.

“I’m sorry, that can wait. Marta was finishing up an audit of her own, had just begun another. And I gave her three more—one assigned to Jim, and the others to Chaz. And I asked her to look over some work done by a trainee.”

“Would Marta have told anyone about these assignments—details, I mean—names?”

“No. That information would be very confidential.”

“We’re going to need to see her work. I’ll need you to give me access to her files.”

“I . . . I don’t understand.” He lifted his hands, palms up, like a man offering a plea. “I’d do anything to help. But I can’t give you confidential material. I don’t understand.”

“Mr. Gibbons, we have reason to believe Marta wasn’t the victim of a random mugging, but was abducted when she left the office, taken to another location where she was killed. Her briefcase was taken. That would have contained at least some of her work, some of her files.”

As his hands lowered, he simply stared. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. I don’t understand you.”

“We have reason to believe Marta Dickenson was a specific target, and that she may have been killed due to her work.”

He sat down heavily. “They said—on the report—it was a mugging.”

“And I hope they’ll keep saying that for the time being. I’m telling you it wasn’t, and I’m telling you to keep that confidential. Who knew she was working late last night?”

“I . . . I did; Lorraine; Josie, Marta’s assistant; Lorraine’s assistant. My admin . . .” Head slightly bowed, he pushed his hands repeatedly through his thin hair. “God. My God. Anyone might’ve known. It wasn’t a secret.”

“Cleaning crew, maintenance, security?”

“Yes, well, the crew came in to clean while we were working. And security requires logging in and out. I don’t understand,” he repeated.

“Just understand we need to see what she was working on.”

“I—I—I need to talk to Legal. If I could, I swear to you, I’d give you everything, anything. She was my friend. You think someone killed her because of an audit?”

“It’s a theory.”

“I don’t see how this can be.” He began to rub his fingers across his brow, back and forth, back and forth.

“Talk to your lawyer. Tell him a warrant’s in the works. We’ll get it. Judge Yung will see to it.”

“I hope she will, and quickly.” He pushed to his feet. “I think you must be wrong, but if there’s any chance—any—I want you to have what you need. She was my friend,” he repeated. “And I was responsible for her here, in this workplace. I don’t know how I can ever tell Denzel . . . It’s my fault, any way it happened. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not,” Eve said flatly, because she thought he needed it. “It’s the fault of the person who killed her.”

GIBBONS GAVE EVE ACCESS TO MARTA’S OFFICE,
then, as requested, went to find the assistant.

Though smaller than her supervisor’s, Marta’s office held the same level of organization, efficiency. She’d brought her own touches, Eve mused—the family photos, a lopsided pen/pencil holder that had to be the work of a child, or a very untalented adult. Some sort of leafy green plant stood lushly in the window.

Eve noticed the sticky note stuck to the front of a mini-AutoChef.

“Five pounds.”

“To remind herself she wants to lose it before she programs something fattening. You’ve never had to worry about your weight,” Peabody added. “When you do, you use all kinds of tricks and incentives.”

“She liked her work, according to every statement. But this wasn’t a second home, the way some offices are. She made it comfortable, but she doesn’t have a lot of personal stuff. The photos, the pencil holder, not much else.”

She had more in her own, smaller space at Central, Eve realized. Little things—the paperweight mostly to give her something to pick up, fiddle with; the sun catcher in her tiny window, just because she liked it there; the silly talking gun Peabody had given her, because it made her laugh.

She’d had a plant once, but since she’d nearly killed it with neglect, she’d passed that off.

Eve turned to the desk ’link, ordered a replay of the day before.

Inter-office stuff, nothing that popped. A couple communications with clients, which she noted down, another with Legal on a thorny question Eve didn’t even understand, one to the nanny to tell her she’d be late, and could she stay and help Denzel with dinner for the kids, then the final two with her husband.

As she shut it off, she glanced up, saw the pale, tear-ravaged face of the woman in the doorway.

“I heard her voice. I thought . . . When I heard her voice.”

“Josie Oslo?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m Josie. I’m Marta’s assistant.”

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. You should sit down. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“I didn’t hear before I came in. I never turn on the screen in the morning. I never have time. When I got here Lorraine—Ms. Wilkie—she was crying. Then everybody was crying. Nobody knew what to do.”

She looked around the room in a helpless search that had her pressing her knuckles to her mouth. “Sly—Mr. Gibbons was a little late. He tried to contact Marta’s husband, but nobody answered, and he tried to talk to someone at the police, but they didn’t tell him anything, not really. And he said we should cancel any appointments for today and tomorrow. We could go home. Nobody really went home, not yet.”

“It helps to be around other people who knew her,” Peabody said, and gently led Josie to a chair.

“I guess. When I heard her voice, I thought,
See it’s a mistake
. I’ve been trying to tell everybody it has to be a mistake. But it isn’t.”

“No, I’m sorry, it isn’t a mistake.” Eve leaned back against the desk. “How long have you been Marta’s assistant?”

“About two years. I came on right out of college. I’m going to grad school part-time.”

“Have there been any problems lately?”

“Marta’s printer broke. But I fixed it.”

“Anything out of the ordinary,” Eve qualified.

“No, I don’t think so. That’s not true! I forgot. Jim and Chaz were in an accident, a car accident in Las Vegas. They went to a convention out there and were supposed to be back yesterday, but they were in a cab that got hit, and Chaz—that’s Mr. Parzarri—and Mr. Arnold were hurt. That’s why Sly had to give Marta and Lorraine the extra work. That’s why Marta was working late. That’s why.”

“As her assistant you know what she’s working on. You keep a log of incoming contacts, appointments.”

“Yeah, sure. Yes.”

“Have there been any contacts recently that caused concern, that were upsetting or unusual?”

Josie’s eyes cut away. “No.”

“Josie.” Eve spoke just sharply enough to have the woman’s gaze zipping back to hers. “You need to tell us.”

“Marta said I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“That was before.” Peabody sat down beside her. “You want to help Marta, to do what’s right for her and her family.”

“I do. I really do. She didn’t want Sly upset, and she said she’d take care of it.”

“Take care of what?” Eve demanded.

“It was just . . . Ms. Mobsley. Um, Marta was doing the audit on her trust fund because the trustees ordered it. Marta was just doing her job, but Ms. Mobsley was really upset, really mad about it. How it’s her money, and she wasn’t having any dried-up numbers cruncher giving the assholes—that’s her word, okay—any lever to cut her off. She said Marta was going to be sorry if she didn’t do what she wanted.”

“What did she want?”

“I think, I guess, she wanted Marta to, you know, tweak some numbers so everything looked fine. But the thing is, I’m not supposed to talk about accounts and people.”

“You’re relaying information to the police about a possible threat,” Eve reminded her.

“It’s just I helped run some of the numbers, research some of the data, and well, Ms. Mobsley was sort of cheating. She was taking funds she wasn’t supposed to, and covering it, sort of, so it looked like approved expenses. And the trustees are the client, so Marta had to give them a clean report. Marta told her if she kept harassing her she’d have to report the communications to the trustees, and the court. And Ms. Mobsley got mega-steamed. Marta had me come in and close the door, and she told me—I heard some of it anyway—but she said since I was assisting on the audit, I needed to know. And I needed to tell her asap if Ms. Mobsley or anyone else contacted me about the audit, or tried to pressure me about it.”

“Has anyone?”

“No. People like Ms. Mobsley don’t notice assistants, I don’t think. I was supposed to tell her—Ms. Mobsley—if she contacted the office again that Marta was unavailable. But to log the call and everything she said. If it didn’t stop, she was going to tell Sly, and they were going to inform the trustees.”

“Do you have Mobsley’s full name and contact information?”

“Yes, sure. Candida Mobsley. I can get you her address—addresses,” Josie corrected. “And the trustees. Should I tell Sly? Do you think I should tell him?”

“I do, but for now, tell me about yesterday. Did Mobsley try to contact Marta?”

“Not yesterday. We were so busy, and upset, too, because of the accident. Marta took on three audits, and two of them were barely started. I stayed late to help, but she told me to go home about eight, I think. I went home. I was really tired. My roommate just broke up with this guy, so we just hung for a couple hours.”

“Okay. Get Detective Peabody that information, and why don’t you ask Lorraine Wilkie to come in.”

“All right.” Josie rose. “She was a great boss, I just want to say. She was mag to work for, and taught me a lot.”

Peabody waited until Josie went out. “Candida Mobsley’s all over the media. She’s been in and out of rehab for illegals and/or alcohol abuse, which is the excuse used when she wrecks another car, smacks another rival, tears up another hotel suite or whatever. Travels a lot. Third- or fourth-generation money that she’s apparently pissing through as fast as she can.”

“And you know this because?”

“McNab and I like to watch the gossip and celeb channels sometimes. It’s fun. She’s been engaged I don’t know how many times, and was married for about five minutes after a mega-multi-million-dollar wedding on this private South Sea Island estate. They said her dress alone cost—”

“I don’t care.”

“Sorry, got caught up. What I’m saying is, she’s really rich, really spoiled, and has a history of violent behavior.”

“Someone who could afford to hire a somewhat sloppy hit on an accountant she was pissed at.”

“Yeah, she could. Plus she ran with some rough types a couple years ago. The type who’d know how to hire a somewhat sloppy hit.”

“Okay, get her info, and we’ll have a talk with her. And why don’t you go on down, see if the security guy’s got the copy of the logs for us. If not you could try a little pressure there.”

“I love this job.” Bouncing a little at the prospect of interviewing the rich and infamous, Peabody walked out just as another woman came to the door.

Where Josie had been soft-featured, young, dewy, and clad in cutting-edge fashion, Lorraine was whittled down like a finely sharpened pencil. Thin and angular, with no-nonsense steel gray hair hacked short, she wore a mannish pants suit in banker navy with a crisp white shirt.

Her eyes might have been puffy, but they remained dry and steady as they sized Eve up.

“You’re in charge of finding out who did this to Marta.”

“I’m the primary investigator.”

Lorraine nodded briskly as she entered. “You look capable.” She sat, crossed her legs, folded her hands in her lap. “What do you need from me?”

Eve ran her through the basics. It seemed clear Marta’s coworker knew nothing about trouble from Mobsley. Added to it, she wasn’t as easy to manipulate into divulging information about the work as the soft-featured assistant.

“What we do here is very sensitive. We have an obligation to confidentiality. And the fact is, Marta and I worked on different accounts. We don’t overlap as a rule. In case of illness or termination—” She broke off, pressed her thin lips together briefly. “I’m speaking of employment termination—Sylvester will assign one of us to an audit or client.”

“Such as the accident requiring you and Marta to take on other work.”

“Exactly. This firm has a reputation, earned and deserved, for accuracy, discretion, and efficiency, and our department’s part of the reason for that reputation. Clearly Chaz and Jim will be unable to work for several days, if not weeks. The work can’t wait.”

“Due to the sensitive nature of the work, have you ever been threatened or harassed?”

“For the most part we’re dealing with corporations and large businesses. Their lawyers may jostle with ours, but most usually they’re too busy jostling with the courts who approved or ordered the audit. There have been times, over the years, when an individual learns who is doing the actual figures, and there are—on rare occasions—angry calls, rarer still a personal confrontation here at the office. In those cases, one has to assume there’s a reason for the anger and fear.” She lifted bony shoulders. “For the most part we work in peace and quiet, and in a very pleasant atmosphere.”

“How about bribes?”

Now Lorraine smiled. “Oh, it’s not unheard of for someone mired in an audit to offer the auditor or one of the other staff a bribe to cover up what the audit would expose. Taking one means the risk of prison or a very stiff fine, the loss of a hard-earned license, termination from the firm.”

“Bribe’s sweet enough, it could be worth it to some.”

“Maybe so, but it’s foolish and shortsighted. Numbers don’t lie, Lieutenant. Sooner or later, they’ll add up correctly, and that quick, easy money will have proven a very poor choice. Marta would never make that choice.”

“There’s no question in your mind on that?”

“None whatsoever. She enjoyed her work, and was well compensated for it. Her husband enjoys his, and is well compensated. They have children, and she would never, never risk embarrassing her family, exposing her children to scandal. And at the core of it, of her? Integrity.”

For the first time Lorraine’s voice wavered, and those dry, steady eyes went damp. “I’m sorry. I’m trying not to be emotional, but it’s very, very difficult.”

“I understand. You’ve been very helpful. If you think of anything, please contact me. Any detail at all.”

“I will.” Lorraine rose. “I walk that way in good weather. In fact, Marta and I often walked together. I live only two blocks from where they said she was found. I like to walk in the city. I’ve never worried about walking in that neighborhood. My own neighborhood. Now I . . . It will be some time before I walk easily there again.”

“One more thing,” Eve said as Lorraine started out. “Do you have any business with or knowledge of the WIN Group?”

“Win? As in win or lose?” She pursed her lips at Eve’s nod. “It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it. I don’t recall ever doing any work for or on them.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

She made the rounds with the rest of the staff, with Peabody when her partner returned with the log copy. While the statements filled in the picture of a woman well-liked by her coworkers, there were no real revelations. She couldn’t claim surprise when the warrant bogged in legal mires, but she left the offices with every confidence Yung would find a way.

And she had one lead out of it.

“We’ll track down this Candida Mobsley, but I want to go by the crime scene first, and I want to follow up with the two wits and a talk with Whitestone’s partners. Start that search for the snatch vehicle.”

She pulled away from the curb. By the time she’d maneuvered the handful of blocks, Peabody was asleep with her PPC in her hand.

Eve jabbed her with an elbow.

“Yes, sir! What?”

“There’s a deli up the block there. Go, fuel up. Get me whatever.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry. We hung with Mavis and her gang until about midnight. It’s catching up with me.”