Page 63 of Calculated in Death

Intrigued, Eve gave the photo of the Your Space partner another study. Attractive, mixed race, leaning Asian. A dark wedge of hair around a lively face with light green eyes.

“How and where?”

“I’m looking for it,” he said. “Oh yeah, they hired her—her company—to organize and streamline my mother’s office. I mean, the office where my mother works. I was over there one day, and met her. Is she a suspect?”

“I don’t think so, but give me a take.”

“Friendly, energetic. Ruthless my mom said, but in a good way. Mom liked her, I know that. She said how she wished my aunt would hire her. She’s kind of a pack rat, my aunt. And when she found out I was a cop, out of Central, she said how she bet we could use a good organizer, made kind of a joke about fighting crime through spacial efficiency. I thought it was pretty funny.”

He scanned the board as he spoke. “She and her company are connected to the Dickenson murder.”

“There are a lot of connections to the Dickenson murder.”

“Big business, big money.” At Eve’s questioning look, he flushed just a little. “That’s Young-Sachs and Biden. They get a lot of media, business, and gossip. The new breed of movers and shakers, and that kind of thing.”

“Take?”

“Well, for me spoiled, entitled, and showy. That’s probably not fair since it’s media stuff, and that gets overblown.”

“No, I’d say it’s fair and accurate in this case. And add assholes.”

“I guess that one was my take, too.”

“I’d say that sums it up. What do you need, Trueheart?”

“Oh, sorry, Lieutenant. Nothing really. I... just wanted to thank you for giving me a chance at the detective’s exam.”

“You earned the chance, and Baxter made a solid case for you. The rest is up to you.”

“Yes, sir. I won’t let you down. You took me off sidewalk sleeper detail,” he continued quickly. “You brought me into Central and assigned me to Baxter so he could train me. He’s taught me a lot, Lieutenant. A lot about a lot. I’m not going to let either of you down.”

“You do good work, Trueheart. As long as you do, you can’t let anybody down.”

“Yes, sir. All I want is to do good work. And a detective’s shield,” he added with a quick and easy grin.

“Don’t screw up the work, study, you’ll have the shield. Now beat it.”

Alone, she closed her office door, got her coffee. She sat at her desk, propped her feet up. Drinking, she studied the board.

Spoiled, entitled, and showy for one group. She’d define another as pompous, angry, and envious—with a side of timid thrown in.

And the third? Ambitious, tightly woven, and efficient.

But did any of those attributes equal murder?

Your Space. It just didn’t click. Maybe there was something she wasn’t seeing—yet—but she’d set them aside for now.

Young-Biden. They had more than the previous generation, and did less to earn it. Young-Sachs, not only sleeping with his admin, but depending on her for everything. From what Eve could see, he knew dick-all about his own company’s workings, and cared less if he got high during working hours. Maybe Biden knew more, she’d have a look-see on that, but from what she’d taken away from the brief meeting, he enjoyed his expensive suits, expensive lifestyle, and had no problem flinging insults around.

Alexander and Pope. Big-shot reveling in his big-shotiness. Treated his half brother like an underling, which Pope appeared to accept. Eve suspected Alexander treated everyone like an underling. Some Mommy resentment there, too, she thought, as the mommy had had the bad taste to give birth to Pope.

Was it funny or telling that Roarke’s name had come up in each interview?

She’d have to think about that, too.

She rose, rearranged her board. She had fifteen before her Mira consult. Enough time for another hit of coffee and a little more processing.

She didn’t manage to get her ass in the chair before somebody knocked on her door.