Calculated in Death Read Free Page B

way.”
    “Thank you. Was it a mugging? I don’t understand. If someone had wanted her bag, her jewelry, she’d have given it to them. We made a promise to each other when we decided to stay in the city. We wouldn’t take stupid chances. We have children.” The hand holding the water began to shake again. “The children. What am I going to tell our kids? How can I tell our kids?”
    “Are your children home?” Eve asked him.
    “Yes, of course. They’re sleeping. They’ll expect her to be here when they get up for school. She’s always here when they get up for school.”
    “Mr. Dickenson, I have to ask. Were there any problems in your marriage?”
    “No. I’m a lawyer. My sister’s a criminal court judge. I know you have to look at me. So look,” he said with eyes welling again. “Look. Get it done. But tell me what happened to my wife. You tell me what happened to Marta.”
    Fast, Eve knew. Fast and brief. “Her body was found shortly after two this morning at the base of an exterior stairway of a building approximately eight blocks from her office. Her neck was broken.”
    His breath came out, tore, sucked back again. “She wouldn’t have walked that far, not at night, not alone. And she didn’t fall or you wouldn’t be here. Was she—was she raped?”
    “There was no indication of sexual assault from the initial examination. Mr. Dickenson, did you attempt to contact your wife between your last call and our arrival here?”
    “I’ve been calling her ’link every few minutes. I started around ten-thirty, I think, but she didn’t answer. She’d never have let me worry like this, all this time. I knew . . . I need a minute.” He got shakily to his feet. “I need a minute,” he repeated and rushed out of the room.
    The dog looked after him, then walked cautiously to Peabody, lifted a paw to her knee.
    “Sometimes it’s worse than others,” Peabody murmured, and gave the dog what comfort she could.

EVE SHOVED TO HER FEET, TOOK A TURN around the room as much to release tension as get a more solid feel for the Dickenson household.
    Framed photos scattered around—family shots for the most part showing the victim in much happier days with her husband, with the kids. Other shots of the kids—a girl of serious beauty still on the innocent side of puberty and a boy with an infectious cuteness that matched the voice on security.
    Art tended toward landscapes, waterscapes, all in soft, pretty colors. The kind of art people could actually understand, Eve mused. Nothing splashy or pompous, not in the art, not in the furnishings. They’d gone for comfort and what Eve supposed was kid-friendly. Maybe dog-friendly. Family-friendly.
    But there was serious money here. The real estate alone spoke of it in quiet, discreet tones.
    The fireplace—shown in one of the photos with Christmas stockings and kids and the big red flowers people decided they had to have at Christmas—still simmered. Real fireplace with real wood. He’d kept the home fires burning, Eve thought with another stab of pity that she reminded herself did neither victim or survivor any good.
    “Big space,” Eve said idly.
    “Two kids and a dog this size? They need it.”
    “Yeah. No house in the ’burbs, so they made one in the city. He’s a corporate lawyer, right?” She remembered from the quick run she’d done.
    “Yeah, full partner. Grimes, Dickenson, Harley, and Schmidt.”
    “Why do law firms actually sound like law firms? What’s his deal?”
    Peabody balanced her PPC and the dog’s massive head. “Specializes in estate planning, tax law. Money stuff.”
    “Like our wit. Interesting. See if there’s a connection between Dickenson and his firm and Whitestone and his.”
    “Dickenson’s firm has two floors in . . . Roarke’s building—his headquarters.”
    “More juicy real estate.”
    “No cross on him and the wit, but they might have some clients who overlap.”
    “I just bet they do.” She paused at the