Page 20 of Fury In Death

“Yes, and with the five hundred K as down payment thereon.”

She nodded because it was a nice, steady buzz now.

“Work bonus so it was legit, no red flags on it.”

“He’s pulled small sums out here and there, eight, nine thousand at a time. But he’s careful with it, and careful to live within their means, or appear to. He and his wife have a joint account for household expenses, which both contribute to, both utilize. And each has individual accounts. The household and individuals look clean, though he occasionally trickles in a few thousand extra, which match withdrawals from the secondary. Nothing that would lift an eyebrow.”

“Well, mine’s lifting now.”

“I thought it might. They own the house outright,” Roarke continued. “Have a second home in the Hamptons. They’d started college funds for both sons in the sons’ infancy, added to it considerably with the windfalls, and put them through college, the eldest through medical school, the younger they helped start up his business.”

Slipping into her kitchen, he got them both cold tubes of water.

“I’ve run the first son’s financials, and they’re clean. In addition to his hospital work, he volunteers twice a month at Louise’s clinic.”

“So maybe Dr. Dimatto has some insight. I’ll tag her on it.”

“I thought you would. Bradley Chu’s wife’s a successful glass artist. I have the younger son’s running now on auto. I doubt there’ll be anything to add.”

Absently, she drank some water. “Because they don’t know. Chu knew something, hit on something about thirteen years ago. They paid him off, and kept paying him off.”

She got up to pace around her board. “Why kill him now, like this?” Shaking her head, she circled the board again. “If he suddenly got greedy—and I don’t buy it—they’d hire a pro, take him out like you said. Quietly or tragically.

“Not this way,” she said, tapping a finger on the board. “And why get greedy after thirteen years? The go-along guy, the compromiser? He’s got the big house, the vacation home, his sons are adults and established in their careers.”

She frowned, glanced at Roarke. “Side piece?”

“Nothing indicates through the financials.”

“I have to look there, but it doesn’t ring for me. Morris will tell me if he had an addiction, but what you’re telling me about his finances, he wasn’t draining them to pay for hits, wasn’t pulling from them to cover a gambling problem.”

“No, the Caymans account’s grown rather than diminished. He was careful with his money. Conservative.”

“A lot of good it did him,” Eve muttered. “Okay, he knew something they didn’t want going public, thirteen years ago. Paid him off, and he continued to work for the company. Which sounds like everyone’s satisfied. But if you cross the line once . . .”

Roarke tapped his tube against hers in toast. “You’ll likely cross it again.”

“So something else, something more. But he’s a company man, he’s sitting pretty. Why rock the boat?”

“Someone else may have wanted to.”

“And gone to him, as director. That person won’t be bribed or paid off, so discredited? Ruined career-wise, maybe personally? That’s an angle. Yeah, that could play. We’ll push on that.”

“Have a care there, Eve.” Roarke skimmed a hand down her back. “I did some poking there while running the Chu financials. Banner-Wyst, they’re aggressive. Under the humanitarian face—and they do good work, no question of it—there’s what strikes me as a kind of lust for power. Not just wealth, but the power that comes with it. Socially, politically. Banner guards his privacy, but Wyst, charming, outgoing, has made strong connections with power brokers, lawmakers, not just in East Washington but globally.”

“Just doing my job,” she said. “They’d have to expect it.”

“Have a care,” he said again, and kissed her forehead. “Now, if you’re going to have a go at them, you need some sleep.”

“Yeah, probably.” But she took a last look at the board. “They didn’t do this. You don’t reach as high as they’ve reached, have the scope, the success they’ve got, and lose control this way.”

“I have to agree there, as you’d know the cops would come to the door, even routinely.” Taking her hand, he drew her away from the board, out of the room.

“They didn’t do this,” she repeated. “Or odds are low they’d order a hit on a loyal employee, certainly this kind of hit. But.”

“They may have a very good idea who.”

“That’s right. You know, it’s your own fault when I have to tell you that you think like a cop.”