Vendetta in Death by J. D. Robb Read Free Book Online Page B

include my data if you want it. The media hasn’t yet released any salient information on his death, but as you’re here, it’s murder.”
    “It’s murder, and it’s nasty.” She took two ’links, a memo book, and a few discs out of the drawer. “Close the door, ace.”
    He walked back, did so, and paused in the adjoining doorway. “Good morning, Peabody.”
    “Hey, Roarke!”
    He moved back to Eve, leaned a hip on the desk. “Caro will send you a copy of the data,” he began, speaking of his own efficient and trustworthy admin. “In the meantime, I can tell you McEnroy and his company have had their New York headquarters here for about six years. They’re in the first year of their second five-year lease, and have routinely paid the rent and fees in a timely manner. They have optedfor the building cleaning service—nightly—as well as our IT services and maintenance. They brought in their own decorators, but employ our live plant care service and often use our floral company, bakery, and other craft services.”
    “Did you know him?”
    “I did not, though one hears what one hears.”
    “What does one hear?”
    “He enjoyed golf, tennis, boating, and sex. His wife wasn’t always his partner in any of those hobbies. He preferred high-end clubs for all his sports. Give me an hour, I can tell you where he ordered his suits, his shoes, where he bought jewelry, and so on.”
    Roarke glanced around the office. “He wasn’t as discreet as his office decor might indicate.”
    “So cheating on his wife wasn’t a secret?”
    “He had a reputation. He also had one for being almost preternaturally good at matching clients, so the less savory business was often overlooked. His wife’s business more than a client’s, after all.”
    “Looks like somebody disagreed with that.”
    “And is that what killed him?”
    “Early evidence indicates. Somebody who disagreed left his body, naked, mutilated, castrated, essentially on his doorstep early this morning.”
    “Well then,” Roarke said mildly. “That would be a very severe sort of disagreement.”
    “Bet your fine ass. Whoever that was took some time letting McEnroy know she—most likely she—disapproved of his hobbies. Which, early evidence indicates, included drugging targeted females, some of whom worked for him.”
    “Ah, well then.” Rising, Roarke studied the view. “‘Less savory’ doesn’t quite come up to it, does it now? Do you suspect his wife?”
    “Unlikely, at least not directly.” You had to look at the spouse, Evethought. Always. “She and their two kids were in Tahiti. I confirmed that before I notified her. She’s heading back. Whoever did it—and there’s the possibility the wife was complicit—left a poem, and signed it Lady Justice.”
    “A poem. And a poetic signature.” He turned back to her. “Intriguing.”
    “You could call it that.” She’d already determined the ’links and memo books were passcoded. And he was right there.
    “Seal up.” She pulled a can out of her field kit. “And open these, will you?”
    He studied the can with resignation. “I hate this bloody stuff, but anything to serve.”
    He had the ’links and book cleared in a very short and annoying amount of time. Eve checked the book first.
    “He’s got the wife’s schedule, each daughter’s schedule in here. Travel, music lessons, blah blah, even playdates. What is it with making dates to play? Why don’t kids just, you know, play?”
    “I couldn’t say. But from the looks, he was either a very involved father, a conscientious husband—in this area—or having the schedules so outlined helped him find his windows for his own version of playdates.”
    She’d thought exactly the same. “It can be both. His schedule, too—family stuff, work stuff. And those a lot less savory playdates. Right? See here, he’s got dates and times, names of clubs—or bars, or venues of some kind. Here in New York, in London, Paris, Chicago, New