Page 32 of Fury In Death

“Maybe, but then it’s not glad-handing, which implies someone who makes a point of shaking everyone’s hand and putting on the glad to see and/or meet you whether or not.”

“You know, that sounds right.”

Eve just shrugged. “Some things make sense, some are stupid as shit.”

“That also sounds right.”

Chapter Five

By the time they got to the car, Peabody had already started the run on Madeline Reece Banner.

“Okay, she grew up primarily in London, Brit father, American mother, two younger siblings. The family moved to Atlanta when she was fifteen. Looks like her father took a transfer with promotion for his work—international finance. She speaks Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Japanese.

“She went to Columbia University,” Peabody continued as Eve wove through traffic, “and worked as an interpreter at the UN. That’s not small potatoes.”

“I’m not going to ask why small potatoes when there are other food items that come in various sizes. Small watermelons, that makes more sense.”

“Okay. She’s got a couple of busts—protests, environmental and humanitarian issues. She’s for the environment and humanity, by the way.”

“Good to know.”

“After she married Banner, she went to work for his company as an interpreter, then did the professional parent thing with their daughter. Then, when they moved to Long Island, she didn’t return to the company. She hosted or spearheaded fundraisers, activism, events for politicians, causes, and issues. A definitely leftward bent.

“After the divorce, she lived in Manhattan—a condo that was part of the divorce settlement. She still owns it, though her primary residence is London. Her parents moved back there when her father retired. Daughter, married, one offspring, also lives in London, and runs the Reece Family Foundation.

“The ex-wife’s not hurting financially—got a big chunk, and also inherited a chunk from her paternal grandfather. She maintains an interest in politics, causes, and issues, and puts her money and her time where those interests lie.

“She’s never remarried,” Peabody added, “but as of ten years ago lists a Marshall Petigue as cohab. Why is that name familiar?”

Curious enough, Peabody clicked on it. “Okay, yeah, he was the Brit prime minister back in like the forties. A widower. His wife died in a crash on a humanitarian mission in Africa. He raised their two kids—young teens—never remarried.”

“What does all that tell you?”

“It tells me if Banner-Wyst is screwing around and she knows something, she might be inclined to share. Although she hasn’t gone public with anything in a lot of years.”

“Maybe no one asked the right questions. See if you can set up a conversation with her.”

Five minutes later, Peabody pocketed her ’link.

“The ex, her daughter, her mother, and others are currently on an all-female, no-electronics retreat in the Himalayas. Contact to be restored next Monday.”

“Okay, we’ll keep her in the pocket.”

Eve swung around a maxibus, braked at a light.

“We’re going to play this as routine at Banner-Wyst, procedure, filling in background on the victim, who was obviously a valued member of the company. How we appreciate any help given in our pursuit to find his killer. Blah and blah.”

“Sort of glad-handing.”

Eve had to laugh. “Okay, that fits. You don’t get to head up a trillion-dollar company without being smart, or at least cagey. Push the wrong button too soon, we’ll be dealing with corporate lawyers and bogging it all down.”

“Being cagey, they won’t tell us anything they don’t want us to know.”

“That’s right. It’ll be interesting to see what they want us to know.”

Banner-Wyst housed itself in a steel and glass tower in Midtown. People glides circled the exterior, and on a sunny day people traveled up, traveled down.

That told her the glass, considering security, would be reinforced and one-way.