Loyalty In Death Part 13

Eve made a low sound as the data popped. "Over two million in New York Security, another one and a half in New World Bank, just under a mil in American Trust, and a quarter million in Credit Managers."

"The last would be for living expenses," Roarke told her. "The other three are security and brokerage type accounts. Primarily long-term investments, managed by financial teams endorsed by those particular inst.i.tutions. It's smart business. She's mixing high risk, big gain, with conservative interest income."

"How can you tell that from the names of the banks and the amounts in them?"

"It's my business to know the nature of banks. If you break this down to the next level, you'll see she likely has a balanced mix of stocks, bonds, mutuals, and fluid cash to float into new investments as the market fluctuates."

He ordered the breakdown himself and tapped a finger on the screen. "There, you see she believes in her own company. There's a healthy chunk of stocks in Branson T and T, but she hedges her bets. She also has stocks in several other companies, including a number of mine. And including three that are in direct compet.i.tion with Branson. She doesn't invest her money emotionally."

"She's calculating."

"When it comes to her finances, she's smart and she's realistic."

"And she's got over four million to play with. Seems like a lot for an ad exec.

Computer, detail on-screen deposits and e-transfers during the one- year period."

Working....

When the data appeared, Eve lifted her eyebrows. "Look at that. An e-transfer from J. Clarence Branson's account to her living expense account. A quarter million every three months. A f.u.c.king million a year. Computer, list all transfers from subject Branson's account into the name of Lisbeth Cooke."

Working.... Data complete. Initial transfer of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars made July second, 2055. Transfers every quarter in that amount for period of one year. Transfers increased to two hundred thousand on July second, 2056, continuing at six-month increments until July second 2057, when transfers were increased to two hundred and fifty thousand."

"Nice work if you can get it," Eve muttered.

"He provided her with a steady and generous income." From behind her chair, Roarke rubbed absently at the tension in Eve's shoulders. "Why kill him?"

"A million a year?" She glanced back at him. "That would be nothing to you."

"Darling, it's all something."

"You probably blow that on shoes."

Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "If your feet aren't happy, you aren't happy."

She grunted, tapped her fingers on the desk. "So what if she got greedy, got tired of hanging out for a million a year? Kill him, and do it right, and she gets it all and gets it now."

"It's a big risk. It goes wrong, she's charged with murder and gets nothing but a cage for her trouble."

"She's calculating. She'd figure the odds. Computer, what is the value of J.

Clarence Branson's personal estate, not including any holdings in Branson Toys and Tools."

Working.... Roarke moved away to pour himself a brandy. He knew Eve would drink nothing -- save coffee -- while she worked like this. And since he wanted her to sleep, he bypa.s.sed the AutoChef.

She was up and pacing when he turned back. The belt of her robe had loosened, reminding him he had plans for her before sleep. Very specific, interesting plans.

Data complete. Estimated value, including appraisals of real estate, transportation vehicles, art, and jewelry is two hundred and sixty-eight million dollars.

"That's a h.e.l.l of an increase in salary." Eve scooped her hair back with her hand. "You deduct the minor bequests, the death taxes, and he'd have finagled some there to cut them back, and she stands to get about two hundred million."

"Mantz will argue she didn't know about the inheritance."

"She knew. They'd been together over three years. d.a.m.n straight she knew."

"How much am I worth, Eve, and how are the bequests in my will distributed?"

She glanced up briefly, irritation in her eyes. "How the h.e.l.l would I know?"

When he smiled at her, she blew out a breath. "That's different. We didn't make a business arrangement."

"True enough. But Mantz will still argue it."

"He can argue until his tongue falls out. She knew. I'm going to talk to her again, hit her tomorrow. Her story about the other woman and her insane fit of jealousy just isn't holding up for me."

She swung back behind the desk and called up the debit data. Dissatisfied, she studied it, sliding her hands into her pockets. "Expensive taste, but nothing out of line with her income. She bought a lot of men's jewelry, clothing. Maybe she had a guy on the side. That's an angle worth looking into."

"Hmm." Her robe was open now, revealing a delightful strip of flesh, black silk, and leather. "I suppose all of that has to wait until tomorrow." "Not much more I can do here tonight," she agreed.

"On the contrary." He moved quickly, tugging the robe off, then running his hands over her. "I can think of a great deal more." "Oh yeah?" Her blood was already on boil. The man had the most creative hands. "Such as?"

"Why don't I make a few suggestions." With his lips curving against hers, he backed her up against the wall. The first one murmured against her ear made her eyes cross.

"Wow. That's a good one. I'm just not sure it's physically possible." "Never know until you try," Roarke said, and began to demonstrate.

CHAPTER SIX

Peabody was already waiting when Eve arrived in her office in the morning.

"Thanks for the time off, Dallas." Eve eyed the slim vase of red, hothouse roses on her desk. "You bought me flowers?"

"Zeke did." The smile Peabody offered managed to be both whimsical and wry. "He does stuff like that all the time. He wanted to thank you for yesterday. I told him you weren't the type for flowers, but he thinks everyone is."

"I like flowers." Feeling slightly defensive about Peabody's take on her, Eve deliberately bent down and sniffed them. Twice. "What's not to like? So what's baby brother up to today?"

"He's got a list of museums and galleries. A long list," Peabody added. "Then he's going to go down and stand in line for discount theater tickets for tonight. He doesn't care what show, as long as he gets to see something on Broadway."

Eve studied Peabody's face, the concerned eyes, the teeth McNab had admired busily gnawing her bottom lip. "Peabody, people manage to do all the things he's planning and survive New York every day."

"Yeah, I know. And we went over all the warnings. Six or seven times," she added with a wry smile. "But he's just so... Zeke. Anyway, first he's going to contact the Bransons, again, see what they want him to do. He couldn't reach them yesterday."

"Hmm." Eve sat and began to poke through the interoffice and outside mail Peabody had already brought in and stacked. "Roarke and I sat in on the will reading last night. Cooke terminates her lover and inherits millions." Eve shook her head. "We're going to drop by her place this morning, have a little chat about that. Who the h.e.l.l is Ca.s.sandra?"

"Who?"

"That's what I said." Frowning, Eve turned over the disc pouch. "Outside package -- return address in the Lower East Side. I don't like packages from people I don't know."

"All outside deliveries are scanned for explosives, poisons, and hazardous materials."

"Yeah, yeah." But instinct had her reaching in a drawer for a can of Seal-It and coating her fingers before she opened the pouch and took out the disc.

"The virus killer on this thing in working order?"

Peabody looked sadly at Eve's computer. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"f.u.c.king piece of junk," Eve muttered and slipped the disc into a slot.

"Computer, engage and run disc."

There was a low buzzing, like a distant swarm of angry bees on the rise. Her screen blinked on, off, then with a whine came on again. "First chance I get,"

Eve vowed, "I'm paying a personal visit to those clowns in maintenance."

Disc in text only. Message as follows...

Lieutenant Eve Dallas, New York Police and Security, Cop Central, Homicide Division. We are Ca.s.sandra. We are the G.o.ds of justice. We are loyal.