Page 26 of Concealed in Death

Seconds later, the door opened.

“Frank, I didn’t mean you had to— Oh, sorry, I thought you were my neighbor.”

The man wore cutoff sweats, a tank, and a gleaming layer of sweat over a pretty impressive build. Eyes a few shades darker than his skin skipped from Eve to Peabody, then back again, as he shot forked fingers through his close-cropped hair.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Samuel Penbroke?” Eve asked.

“Yeah. Sorry, I just finished a workout.” He used the towel slung around his neck to swipe at his cheek.

“I’m Lieutenant Dallas, and this is Detective Peabody.” Eve drew out her badge. “NYPSD. Can we come in, Dr. Penbroke?”

She saw it, the change on his face, in his eyes. From polite curiosity to a terrible blend of hope and grief.

“Linh? Is it Linh?”

“It would be easier if we came inside.”

The hope died as he took an unsteady step back. “She’s dead.”

Eve stepped in to a wide, welcoming foyer scented by the bold red lilies on a stand. Peabody closed the door.

“We have some information, and some questions. Can we go in, sit down?”

“Please just tell me, is it Linh?”

“Yes, sir, we’re here about Linh.”

“My wife—” He had to stop like a man catching his breath. “She’s still in the gym. I need you—she should...” He walked slowly to a house intercom. “Tien. Tien, there are people here to see us. You need to come.”

It took a moment, then two, before a female voice, quietly annoyed, responded. “Sam, I haven’t done my meditation. Ten minutes, and—”

He cut her off. “Please come out now.” He turned toward the right where the big, sparkling tree stood in front of the windows. “Please, this way. We’ll sit down. My wife—that is—it’s our day off. We take a day off together.”

He glanced toward a grand piano, and the family photos arranged on it. Among them stood the one of Linh they’d used for the Missing Persons report.

“My family,” he began, and Peabody took his arm to guide him to an oversized chair.

“You have a lovely family, Dr. Penbroke. Are those your grandchildren?”

“Yes. We have two grandchildren. A boy, he’s four, and the baby is just two.”

“They must be excited about Christmas.”

“They are very excited. They... Tien.”

She was petite, like her daughter, and trim, but with a wiry toughness Eve recognized.

She wore the wedge cut Elsie had imagined for Linh. Her eyes, a strong green that made a compelling contrast with the golden skin, still carried that quiet annoyance though she smiled politely as she came into the room.

“I’m sorry. We were using our gym. We’re barely fit for company.”

“Tien. They’re police.”

It came again, that flipped-switch change. Tien reached for her husband’s hand. “Linh. You found her. You found our daughter.”

“I’m sorry to inform you,” Eve began.