Page 9 of Fury In Death

New York pulsed, she thought, but it sure didn’t sputter.

While she didn’t believe she’d hit another accidental, she inched warily toward the hope she’d caught one she could close quickly.

Peabody had family coming in. And when Peabody said big-ass whoop of a party, she—along with Peabody’s main man and EDD ace McNab, in coordination with Eve’s oldest friend Mavis and Mavis’s Leonardo—really meant it.

It wouldn’t surprise Eve if they hired trapeze swingers, dancing elephants, a marching band to celebrate the completion of their big, rambling, shared home.

Add in Mavis was pretty damn close to pushing out her second kid. Something Eve didn’t want to think about, as she’d yet to come up with a way to avoid being there, right there, at that downright terrifying event.

She pulled up at the location behind a police car, noted the building.

Two stories, single-family residence. A sturdy old building with the brick whitewashed, and double doors up a set of six steps.

Wide windows, privacy screened, and as she got out for a closer look, an excellent security system.

She supposed stately fit the feel of it all.

She went up the stairs, rang the bell, held up her badge.

The uniform who answered wasn’t fresh baked. By her judgment he’d come out of the Academy’s oven about a quarter century before.

“Officer . . . Regel.”

“Lieutenant. Got a puzzle for you.”

“I was afraid of that. My consultant, civilian, is on the way.”

“That’d be Roarke?”

“It would.”

Regel nodded. “I’ll pass him through. Where’s Peabody?” At Eve’s look, Regel smiled a little. “My kid went through the Academy with her. She’s with the five-four.”

“Peabody’s heading to Central to write up the one we closed right before I caught this one.”

“Keeps us busy. Anyway, tell her Nick Regel said yo.”

“Will do. What’ve we got, Regel?”

“DB, male—wife ID’d him as Lawrence Chu. He’s in the study, office, den-type room back there, to the left. Wife states she came downstairs. They were supposed to meet friends for dinner at eight, and she was a little annoyed he hadn’t come up to change. Door’s locked, he doesn’t answer, she’s more steamed at first. Then she’s a little worried. She gets the key, unlocks it, finds him on the floor.

“From the visual, my official determination is somebody beat the living shit out of him until he was dead. Room’s soundproofed if you were wondering. The whole place is. My partner has the widow in the back. Big kitchen and lounge back there. Officer Renee Seven. She’s still a little green around the edges, but she’s a solid cop.”

Second widow in one day, Eve thought.

“All right. I’ll take the body first.”

She carried her field kit over polished floors, beyond the short foyer where a staircase curved its way along the left and the living area spread beyond a wide case opening to the right.

Fireplace, white stone, maybe marble, furniture that ran to sleek and modern, all in neutral tones—whites, grays, taupes.

She wondered for an instant who made up words like taupe.

Modern art provided the color in slashes and splashes.

Powder room beyond the staircase, a kind of sitting room on the right, and beyond that her crime scene.

“Record on.”