Page 11 of Devoted in Death

“Work?” Eve repeated as they lowered the lights, went out into the hall. “He’s got an office upstairs, does bill paying and so on there.”

“No, music work. He has a comp in the music room. I thought it was a closet at first, but it’s a small work area. He’s got music on there, compositions he’s working on, and recordings he must listen to. No other business or communication on it. Music only.”

“Okay.” Eve fixed a police seal to the door. “You might as well have EDD pick up the electronics, go through them.” She didn’t think any of the geeks in the Electronic Detectives Division would find anything relevant, but it paid to be thorough.

“Send a query to the officer who caught the missing persons. Give him or her the status, take anything he’s got, which at this stage is likely nothing.”

“Got it.”

“It’s 508 for the mother, right?” Eve got in the elevator, requested the fifth floor while Peabody sent the email. “Anything back from IRCCA?”

“It’s early, and we only sent it about an hour ago. They’re always a little backed up. You’re thinking he wasn’t the first?”

“Why does somebody torture, for what looks like about forty-eight hours, and kill a cellist? Maybe it was personal. Maybe one of those of-the-moment types wasn’t as happy to keep it that way as the droid says. Maybe some other big, fat violin player wanted that first chair. Maybe the vic knew something about something or someone that somebody else wanted to know. Lots of angles yet. And one of them is he wasn’t the first. The heart’s bugging me. How many E’s on the list?”

“Can’t say right off, but I saw an Ethan, an Elizabeth, an Edgar, an Ellysa at a quick glance. Since there’s a couple hundred names on there, we’ll probably find a few more than that.”

They walked out on five, where Mina McKensie had the unit closest to the elevator. Same security, Eve noted, and pressed the buzzer.

In short order the light on the security cam blinked to green.

“Good morning. May I help you?”

The voice was rich and fruity and British.

“Lieutenant Dallas, Officer Peabody.” She held up her badge for the scanner. “We need to speak with Mina McKensie.”

“Yes, of course.”

Locks disengaged; the door opened.

Another droid, Eve thought, this one created to mimic a distinguished gentleman with a shock of dark hair silvering at the temples. He wore butler black.

“Please come in. Ms. McKensie hasn’t yet come down. I’ll inform her you’re here.”

He escorted them into the living area where the vic’s mother had gone more contemporary than her son. Still classy, Eve mused, but sleeker, slicker, more primary colors, bolder art.

“If you’d wait here. Please sit and be comfortable. May I provide you with any refreshment?”

“No, thanks. Just Mina McKensie.”

“Of course.”

He moved to the curve of stairs and walked up.

She’d know, Eve thought. She’d know as soon as the droid said the cops were downstairs. There’d be a desperate glimmer of hope, but she’d know.

Eve caught the movement, looked up. Mina hadn’t dressed as yet, and wore a full-length cream-colored robe, silk and fluid. On her face—an arresting face of sultry eyes against golden skin—Eve saw the hope fighting to overcome the grief.

Her hands whitened at the knuckle on the rail as she came quickly down.

“Dorian. Please, say it quickly. Say it fast.”

“Ms. McKensie, we regret to inform you your son was killed.”

She held up both hands as if she could shove the words away, lowered as carefully as an invalid into a chair of lipstick red.

“You’re sure it’s Dorian. You’re absolutely sure?”