Page 58 of Calculated in Death

The offices of Alexander and Pope opted for fussy dignity. Heavy furniture, art in thick gold frames—lots of paintings of people riding horses with dogs running alongside.

Everybody spoke in hushed tones in reception, as they might in a surgical waiting room.

But as Eve and Peabody were escorted back, she heard the busy sound of ’links beeping, voices dealing, feet scurrying.

Sterling Alexander’s office reflected his reception area with its deep tones, deep cushions, gracefully faded carpets, ornately framed art.

He sat at his desk, a prosperous-looking man with dark hair. The perfect touches of elegant white at the temples added distinguished to his sharply chiseled features.

He gestured Eve and Peabody to chairs with a flick of his hand, and dismissed his silent assistant the same way.

“Pope will be here momentarily. I’ve already spoken to Stuart Brewer, and to Jake Ingersol—you know who they are. I’ve also spoken with our legal counsel. I understand you have a job to do, procedure to follow, but my partner and I must act quickly to protect our company, our investors.”

“Understood. Were you acquainted with Marta Dickenson?”

“No. We worked with Chaz Parzarri. His supervisor informed us he’d been seriously injured while out of town, and our audit—which is required by our bylaws—would be taken over by this Dickenson woman. Then we’re told she’s been killed. And now the office is compromised and our confidential financial data stolen. It’s obvious what’s happened.”

“Is it?”

“Parzarri’s accident must have been engineered so this woman could get her hands on our data. Whoever did that, dealt with her. One of our competitors, I suspect.”

“Do you have competitors that aggressive?”

“It’s an aggressive market, as you should know as your husband is certainly fully involved in real estate.”

“It seems unnaturally aggressive to put one auditor in the hospital and murder another just to access financial data. But,” she said before he blustered in, “we’re investigating all avenues. As we are, I need to ask where you were on the night of the murder.”

A red flush bloomed across his cheekbones. “You would dare?”

“Oh, I would. If you refuse to answer, which is your right, I’ll take that in a way you wouldn’t care for.”

“I don’t like your attitude.”

“I get that a lot, don’t I, Peabody?”

“Yes, sir, you do.”

“Young woman—”

“Lieutenant,” Eve slapped back.

Alexander’s chest heaved twice. “My father founded this firm before you were born. And I’ve run it for the last seven years. We brokered the governor’s country home.”

“That’s nice. I still need to know your whereabouts. It’s routine, Mr. Alexander. It’s not personal.”

“It’s personal to me. I took my wife and a few friends to dinner at Top of the Apple.”

“That would be after you met Jake Ingersol of the WIN Group for drinks.”

Like Galahad before breakfast, Alexander stared holes in her.

She wasn’t tempted to offer him bacon.

“Yes. We discussed business that I have no intention nor obligation to disclose to you. I returned home to meet my wife, and the car took us to the restaurant for our eight o’clock reservations. We didn’t leave until nearly midnight.”

“Okay.”

There was a soft tap, something like a mouse scratch at the door.