Part 34 (1/2)

”But you think Moriarity did the killing.”

”His turn at bat.” She swung around a maxibus lumbering its way east with its load of sleepy pa.s.sengers. ”And yeah, that means Dudley would have to give him the layout. They want the kill as much as the win-more,” she corrected, ”so they keep the playing field even. I t's logical in a really screwed-up way.”

As Eve pushed her way across town, Roarke continued to play Peabody, in his own way. ”Frost and Simpson have owned and lived in the house for six years. They also have a place on Jekyll Island, off Georgia. And two children, one of each, six and three. Simpson's also a loose family relation on Dudley's maternal side. A niece of his mother's second husband.”

”Interesting. Increasing the connection, adding another link. I t just adds to the supposition he knows the house.”

”More interesting is that Frost and Simpson bought the house from Moriarity.”

She flashed a look at him as she blew through a yellow light. ”You're kidding?”

”I 'm not, no. He owned it prior, and for five years. I 'd say he already knew the basic layout without his friend's a.s.sistance.”

”They don't actually give a s.h.i.+t about the risk of tying themselves to the murders. No, they want to.”

”I t adds levels and layers to the contest,” Roarke commented. ”Gives it a more complex structure.”

”Yeah, adds a bigger rush. I t's part of the rules, part of the contest rules,” she said. ”They have to select a target that has some connection, and facilitate the kill by using another connection. I t ups the stakes. What are the stakes? What does the winner get?”

She swung in at a gate, studied the house behind it as she held up her badge for the uniform at guard.

Mansion, she corrected. I t didn't come up to Roarke's level, but what did? Still, it boasted three stories, took up an entire corner, sat prettilybehind a low wall.

When the uniform cleared them, she drove through, pulled up behind a pair of black-and-whites.

”There's going to be good security here.” Even as she climbed out of her vehicle she tracked the cams and sensors. ”Maybe they kept the system Moriarity had. He just had to break their codes.”

”Body's in the back, LT ,” a uniform told her. ”There's a patio garden deal back there. Gardener's who found him.” The uniform gestured toward the work truck. ”Said he was here to do some work, and said how the people who live here are away, down in Georgia. Been gone all week.

”House was locked,” he continued as he walked them in and through. ”No signs of break-in, no signs of struggle. Got plenty of valuables right out in plain sight. I t doesn't look like anything's been taken.”

”Did you clear the house?”

”Yes, sir, we did a walk-through. The place is empty, and in order. Except for the kitchen.” He gestured as they entered. ”Somebody was cooking.

There's a whole d.a.m.n chicken mostly cooked from the looks of it in the oven, and all this other stuff-food and cooking junk-on the counters.”

”Oven on or off when you got here?”

”Off, LT. The lights and the music were on, just like now. The vic's wearing an ap.r.o.n, and I gotta say, he's a sight to see.”

”Where's the gardener?”

”We got him, and his kid-bad day to bring his kid to work-in there.” He gestured. ”Looks like a maid's or mother-in-law's quarters.”

”Get started on the knock-on-doors. Anybody saw anything I want to know. Keep the wits secured until I send for them.”

”You got that.”

She stepped outside, and had to agree. I t was a sight to see.

She sealed up, tossed the can to Roarke, but continued to stand where she was a moment. Just taking it in.

”Garden area. Walls, sure, but it's outdoors, people walking or driving by beyond the walls. Buildings, too. People maybe looking out the window.

So it fits the rules.”

She turned her attention to the victim. ”He's got to be a cook, right? An important cook.”

”Chef. I f I 'm not mistaken that's Delaflote of Paris. And yes,” Roarke confirmed, ”he's important. One of the top chefs in the world. He owns a restaurant by his name in Paris, and occasionally cooks there. Primarily he serves private clients. Heads of state number among them.”

”I t fits. So Moriarity gets him here, likely using either Frost's or Simpson's ID and info. We'll want to check how he got here, and-”

”He travels on his own shuttle. I t's easy enough to confirm.”

She only nodded. ”Got him here, even got him to cook-or start to. Lured or forced him out here, then ... The chef in the garden with the-what the h.e.l.l is that pinning the poor, sorry b.a.s.t.a.r.d to that tree.”

”Some sort of spear?”

She frowned at him. ”What kind of spear? You're the weapon guy.”

”Well, for Christ's sake, whatever propelled it isn't here, is it?” But challenged, he moved closer, studied what he could see in the early-morning light. ”I t would have to have some velocity to go all the way through him and into the b.l.o.o.d.y tree far enough to hold the body weight. I wouldn't think it could be done by hand. I t's metal, not wood, and coated. Thin and smooth, and ... I think it's a harpoon.”

”Like for shooting whales?”

”Smaller mammals in this case and designed for spearing game fish, I would think. I t's not thrown, but propelled from a kind of gun. But that's best guess.”

”The chef in the garden with the harpoon. I t fits, so there's the hat trick.”

She walked over now, reopened her field kit. ”Be Peabody.”

”Peabody wouldn't have recognized a harpoon spear.”

She had to give him that, but simply pointed to the kit. ”TOD and ID.”

He'd seen it done often enough, and he had been the one to put himself into the Peabody subst.i.tute position. So he worked while Eve examined the body.

”No other visible marks on him. No defensive wounds.” She looked down, tagged a cigarette b.u.t.t for the sweepers. ”Probably his. Even Moriarity isn't arrogant enough to hand me his DNA on a b.u.t.t. What's he, about five seven? Spear goes right through the chest, another heart shot. You want to make it count, don't want the vic wounded so he could scream. Yeah, about five seven, and right through the chest, almost dead-f.u.c.king-center of this tree trunk. Like he had a target on his chest.”

”I t's Delaflote,” Roarke confirmed. ”Luc, age fifty-two, dual citizens.h.i.+p, French and American, primary residence in Paris. Unmarried at the moment, with three children from various prior relations.h.i.+ps.”

”I don't need all that yet.”

”I 'm being Peabody, and our girl is nothing but thorough. Time of death appears to be twenty-two-eighteenish.” He pointed when Eve frowned at him. ”As it's my first day on the job I 'd like a bit of slack, Lieutenant.”

She waved that away, walked into the kitchen, back out again. Studied the body. Repeated everything.

”Somebody had to let him into the house, or give him the codes so he could let himself in. What kind of client would give somebody the codes to their house? More likely, somebody let him in. There's all the food stuff. So either the vic brings that in or the killer had it.”

”From what I understand Delaflote insisted on bringing in his own supplies.”