18
The hostess at the uppity upscale French restaurant obviously approved of Eve’s topper, as she greeted her and Peabody with a warm and welcoming smile.
“Good afternoon! Under what name will I find your reservation?”
“Under no name, but you’ll find this badge under Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”
Warm welcome turned to quick alarm. “Oh! Please, will you be discreet? Is there a problem?”
“Depends. I want you to check back for a reservation under Stephen Whitt for April twenty-seventh. Dinner. Eight o’clock.”
“Mr. Whitt, of course. Party of three. Mr. Whitt often dines and lunches here.”
“You were working?”
“Yes.”
“How about you step away from your station a minute?”
“Oh, but … Henry? Would you take over for me for just a moment? Could we step outside?” she asked Eve in a whisper—discreetly.
“Sure.”
Once they did, the woman let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, but we wouldn’t want any of our guests disturbed or upset.”
“Right. What time did Mr. Whitt arrive?”
“He brought his guests in just a minute or two before eight. He’s always timely. Jordan, the evening maître d’, escorted them to their table himself.”
“Okay.” Eve played a hunch. “What time did Mr. Whitt step out, maybe to use his ’link?”
“Oh. I think it was—I’m not sure exactly—but about ten? He’s very considerate that way, and will step outside if he needs to make or take a call. We discourage ’link usage while dining.”
“Sure you do. How long was he out?”
“A few minutes. Five, six. No more than ten. Less, certainly, than ten. He wouldn’t have left his guests for more than a few minutes.”
“You saw him go out and come back?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“I do. I need your name.”
“Grace Levin.”
“Does Mr. Whitt have an upcoming reservation?”
“I don’t believe so. He often makes one for lunch the day of.”
“If he does, if he comes in, it’s important you don’t mention this conversation.”
“But—”
Eve took out her badge again, pointed to it. “Do you understand important? And discreet, Ms. Levin?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Do you know the names of his servers from that night?”
“Yes.”
Once she gave them, Eve sent her back inside.
“He thinks he’s covered himself.” Eve rocked back on her heels. “First, he doesn’t really expect to be brought into it, but you need cover. He has the limo, the clients, a restaurant where he’s known and respected. He fakes the need to use his ’link. Certainly has the limo waiting—just a matter of timing. Gets the package out of the limo because it’s probably quicker to walk. Plus, he doesn’t want to be seen making the drop, using the jammer. It only takes a few minutes. Go back in, apologize for the interruption. Let’s have some frigging brandy or whatever.”
“Slick,” Peabody agreed as they got back into the car. “But the holes? The servers, the hostess, maître d’, the driver. The clients—and we could get the names if we needed them. Somebody’s going to notice he’s gone out for a few minutes. The car service guy’s going to know he called for the limo, got something out of it.”
“He’s used to doing what the hell he wants. Even the getting yanked out of school? Not because of his behavior. Because Rufty changed the rules, and his parents weren’t going to let some headmaster claim they had a bad seed.
“He may sweat it a little now. But even so he’s thinking he’s covered. He’ll convince, or try to convince Cosner they’re both covered. Let’s check the club.”
They got nothing additional from the club, but for the club itself.
Eve got back into the car after a brief conversation with a couple of women who’d been mopping the floors.
“No door cam,” she said. “No man on the door. A single-level club with a single bar, a dingy atmosphere. Not a dive, but closer to that than a trendy place like you’d expect a couple of rich guys to hang in.”
“But location and lack of security equal a plus if you’re a couple of rich guys planning a murder. Circumstantial,” Peabody added, “but it’s building.”
“Let’s put a damn roof on it before they send another package.”
“You think they will?” Peabody shifted to Eve as they streamed through traffic. “Now that they know, have to know, we’re looking at them?”
“Cosner, maybe not. But Whitt?” Eve powered through a light, switched lanes, and took the next right at the tail end of the pedestrian flood across the intersection. “He’s made of arrogance. If anything he’d push up his schedule now.”
“I can see that,” Peabody realized. “Those bitches think they scare me? Shit, Dallas.”
“We issued the warnings, Peabody, and that’s all we can do there. We build it up. If it’s just the two of them, one of them—likely Cosner—has the equipment, the supplies where he lives. They both live alone. Possibly they have a separate workspace, and we’re going to look there.”
“Also possibly they have that mad scientist on the payroll.”
“So we look there.” Eve pulled into the garage at Central. “Known associates, old friends—maybe from Gold—employees. Possibly it’s a dealer connection of Cosner’s, so we look there, too.”
“A lover, maybe? Another addict.” As they got on the elevator, Peabody played with the angle. “They get him or her a decent place to stay, keep her supplied with her drug of choice, and she cooks the agent in exchange.”
“Not bad. We haven’t found a romantic or sexual relationship with either of them, nothing that sticks. So maybe one they’ve kept buried. We’ll take a closer look at their finances, looking for regular outlays. See if we can find any property they—or either of them—rent or own other than where they live. Investment properties. Who’d look twice normally?”
She ditched the elevator for the glides. “Let’s get more hands in this. Check and see if EDD can spare McNab or Callendar. If not, we’ll cull somebody from the bullpen.”
“You really think they’ll hit another target?”
“In Whitt’s place, with his mind-set? It’s just what I’d do. Tag EDD,” she said as they walked into the bullpen. “I want to write this up before Rodriges gets here.”
Eve went straight into her office, straight for coffee. After updating her board, her book, she wrote her report, added a list of questions for Mira.
Since she expected Rodriges shortly, she’d dig into finances later. For now, she put her boots on the desk, angled toward the board to study and think.
Whitt’s father’s photo on the wall of Grange’s office. The timing of the divorce. Maybe try to talk to the wife, see if they could convince her to confirm the affair.
Because there’d been one. Maybe still was.