The victim had served as president, same salary.
Interesting.
The divorce had netted her a town house, which she’d promptly sold. He’d bagged the house in Isle of Palms, which he still owned. He got a boat; she got a car. And blah blah, Eve thought, pretty standard rich people settlement.
No criminal.
She turned to the board, frowned.
“Plenty of money to hire a thief, but why? No handling the whole thing quietly that way.”
She heard a bark of laughter from the bullpen. Baxter and Trueheart were back. She’d take all this home, bounce a few things off Roarke, update her board there. Swing by Barrister House on the way.
Maybe shake something loose.
Before she could shut down, her ’link signaled.
“Dallas.”
“Lieutenant Dallas, I’m Chloe Barrister. My dad…”
“Yes. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Her eyes, a strong blue, were swollen from weeping. She’d pulled her dark, curly hair back in a tail that left her face unframed and accented knife-edge cheekbones.
“We went—we went to the place to see my father. I don’t understand how… I need to know how. Why. What are you doing to find out who did this?”
“Everything we can. Finding out who took your father’s life is my priority. If you and your family are available, I’d like to come speak to you again. I’ll try to answer some of your questions.”
“Yes. Please. Yes.”
“I’ll be there within the hour.”
Eve shut down, shoved at her hair, then walked out to the bullpen. This time both detectives worked their comps.
“I’m in the field, then I’m home. Any thawing on the cold case?”
Baxter kicked back. “We talked to the vic’s sort of boyfriend at the time. Casual, not exclusive, but amiable with benefits. He’s married now with a kid on the way. Stuck to his story. They were going to meet up for dinner, but he had to cancel—a work thing. And that checks out now like it did back then.”
“Stuck in the office, with witnesses,” Trueheart put in. “Until afternine. Went out for a couple of drinks with some office pals, shared a cab with one of them, and got home about quarter to eleven.”
“TOD?”
“Twenty-three-fifteen. And yeah”—Baxter shrugged—“gives him about a little room, if he moved fast, to meet up with her, take a walk in the park, and kill her. But there’s no buzz, no vibe, no nothing.”
“Add one of his apartment neighbors saw him come in. They both bitched about the elevator being out again, and walked upstairs together.” Trueheart shook his head. “It came off he really liked her, but neither one of them were thinking about the long haul.”
“She liked to walk at night,” Baxter added. “That’s in the file, and both he and the best pal corroborated. But both of them said then, and now, they didn’t get why she’d have been in the park. She sometimes cut through there during the day, but never at night.”
When Trueheart picked it up again, Eve thought they’d developed that easy rhythm partners needed.
“The best friend vouched for the boyfriend. Said they all liked to just hang when they could get together. That’s the vic, the boyfriend, the best friend, and the guy she was seeing.”
“Married to him now, and got twin toddlers. Cute kids. And she had cake.” Baxter smiled with the memory. “Really good spice cake.”
“She’s taking a baking class for fun.”
“Yeah, go figure. She was adamant the vic wouldn’t have cut through the park at night, not alone. If she went through, she’d been with someone. Nobody ever turned up. So we’re going to turn them up. Right, partner?”
