Page 79 of Fury In Death

“I think it’s white.” She turned into him, held on a minute. “Do you ever just really need to be home?”

“I do. And we are.”

“Yeah, we are.”

Galahad, more used to Roarke getting the evening meal, still didn’t want to miss the opportunity. He followed Eve into the kitchen, wound through her legs, meowed charmingly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the routine.”

She programmed fish and chips because Roarke favored it, and she liked it fine. Gave Galahad some of the little cat candy. The way he went at it, she often wondered if they laced it with some illegals.

She took out the plates, along with brown bread.

“Well now, that looks brilliant.” Roarke handed her a glass of wine.

She took one long sip before she sat. “You go first. On the explaining.”

“John Dearling, twice divorced, currently on his third marriage, is habitually unfaithful. He cheated on his first ex-wife with his second ex-wife, among others. And cheated on his second ex-wife with his first, among others, including his current wife. He’s cheating on her with both his first and second ex-wives.”

“So he’s a dog.”

“Pathologically, it seems.”

“Why would ex number one and ex number two roll around with him when they have to know he’s a dog? Sometimes—hell, lots of times—people are just sad and stupid.”

She added a snow shower of salt to the chips, sampled one. “Or he has a magic dick.”

“I’d think if he had a magic dick, he wouldn’t be twice divorced. In any case, he has an account I assume he keeps secret from wives, past and present, but it’s legitimate. While he does receive annual bonuses from Banner-Wyst as well as a generous per diem for travel, it’s nothing like your two victims. No offshore or numbered accounts.”

Roarke lifted his glass. “And nothing tossed his way thirteen years ago.”

“So he’s probably clear. Tell me this: If you wanted to blow up an apartment building, occupied, and make it look like an accident, a gas leak, make it look like that so a thorough investigation by experienced experts would sign off on it, how would you do it, or who would you hire to make it go boom?”

As he considered the question, and Eve, he ate some fish. “First, you’ll be pleased to know that never in my long and illustrious career have I blown up an occupied building.”

“You’ve probably had to take a few down, right? Buy the property for whatever, but the building on it’s crap, condemned, would cost more to rebuild than demolish.”

“I prefer buying what can be saved with an investment of time, skill, and money, but yes. I’d want a good structural engineer and demolition expert for that. For what you’re asking, just the latter. Why?

“Okay, here’s why. In July of 2048, the apartment building Steven Redman lived in with his pregnant wife and their two-year-old son exploded. The explosion and resulting fire killed the wife, the kid, and many other tenants.”

“Why not Redman?”

“It’s confirmed that he, as he often did, walked a few blocks to a twenty-four/seven to get ice cream for his wife. He was on his way back when the building went up. Several witnesses had to restrain him physically from running inside. He had a breakdown, entered a state of catatonia, where he remained for seven years.

“His family—the sister, his parents—got him the best care manageable, the best facility, doctors, treatment, all of it.”

“Until six years ago?”

“Until six years ago, when he got out of bed, took his clothes, and walked out of a staff exit. Poofed. The family filed a missing persons, no luck. They hired what I judge as a solid private investigator. No real luck.”

“You think he’s in New York now, and has killed the two victims on your board.”

“I know it. Thirteen years ago, both those victims received big-ass payoffs from Banner-Wyst, continued to get high-dollar annuals. The first vic and Redman worked together—and Chu was given Redman’s job, his position, and a big raise in salary when Redman went down. They were friends, Redman and Chu. Dent also worked with them.”

“On what would be the question.”

Eve gestured with a chip. “That’s the question. Either that, or something else Redman stumbled across was bad enough, dirty enough he wouldn’t go along. He was clean, Roarke. I can go over his background with you, but to sum up, clean. A good man, family man, devoted to his wife and son, looking forward to having a daughter, soon to move into a nice brownstone. Everyone I talk to says the same. Great guy, family man, smart—really fucking smart. Honest, working to better lives, the world, all that.”