She got up, walked into her closet, and realized all at once she had to actually think about clothes for the first time in weeks. And to think about it inside a deep, thick forest of clothes.

  “Shit. Shit. I’m out of practice.”

  “It’s midsummer.” From behind her—quiet as a cat—Roarke laid his hands on her shoulders. “Go for the cool and light. Here, I’ll steer you through it until you get back into the swing of it.”

  He took down pants nearly the same shade of pearly gray as his suit. “A splash of pink in the top would set this off, but I know you better.”

  “Damn right.”

  “So white it is, and the linen jacket with the thin line of darker gray leather at the lapels and cuffs. You’ll want dark gray boots and belt to pick that up.”

  “Okay.” She took the jacket, noted it already had the magic lining inside. “Is this new?”

  He just smiled. “Possibly.”

  Now she glanced at the label. “Leonardo.”

  “He does know what you like as well as what suits you. We’ll have to go by, see the progress on the house. In three weeks it’ll be considerable.”

  “Okay. We’ll make time. I’m going to get an earful on it from Peabody anyway.”

  They both heard the domes he’d set back on the breakfast plates clang to the floor.

  “Bloody hell.”

  As he marched out to scold the cat, Eve dressed.

  When she came out to get her badge and weapon, he’d set the domes back in place. And the cat was nowhere to be seen.

  “He tried to play the innocent bystander.”

  Amused, Eve strapped on her harness. “Okay.”

  “When I made it clear I knew better, he stalked out, as if insulted by the lack of trust.”

  “I wonder what your business rivals would think if they knew you argue with your cat.”

  “I wouldn’t call it an argument.”

  After shrugging into her jacket, she stepped to him, took his gorgeous face in her hands, kissed him. “I’ve got enough time to set up my murder board. Case board,” she corrected, “before I head out.”

  “Want help with that?” he asked as he walked out with her.

  “I’ve got it, and you must have a solar system to buy.”

  “That’s not scheduled for another twenty minutes.”

  “In that case, you could generate the ID shots—that includes Webster. I’ll take care of the crime scene images.”

  When they got to her office, he did just that, then got them another round of coffee as she arranged everything to her liking on her board.

  “A high-powered magnet,” she mused as she worked. “To handle the window lock from the outside.”

  “It’s one way. Low-tech lock,” he pointed out. “Low-tech tool.”

  “Maybe, and if I’m wrong about this being a pro job, or at least someone with solid B and E experience who doesn’t mind killing a retired cop.”

  She stepped back, studied the board. “It sure isn’t much for now.”

  “You’ll get more.”

  “Yeah, I will. And I’m going to go do that.”

  “My best to Peabody.” He drew her in, kissed her forehead, then her lips. “Take care of my cop.”

  “Affirmative.”

  He thought of Elizabeth Greenleaf, facing the first day of her life without the love of it. And slipped his hand in his pocket, rubbed the gray button he kept there as he watched the love of his leave.

  She drove downtown knowing she’d arrive on scene well ahead of Peabody, but she wanted that solo walk-through. In the quiet, in the light of day.

  It felt good to sit behind the wheel, driving on familiar streets, bombarded by familiar sounds. Too early yet for the ad blimps to paste the air with their hype for bargains. But maxibuses farted along on their stops and starts to pick up early shifters, disgorge the night shifters.

  Most street LCs would’ve called it around dawn, but she caught sight of a couple of them, likely aiming for a bagel and schmear and some shoptalk after a long night’s work.

  Dog walkers herded their charges—all sizes and shapes—and day nannies headed in to herd theirs.

  With the windows down she caught the scent of cart coffee and breakfast burritos. Then a block later, the unfortunate stench of a broken recycler.

  She heard the metallic clang as shopkeepers rolled open their security doors for the day, and the bouncing beat of bass from another open window.

  Rather than hunt for parking, she pulled straight into a loading zone and flipped on her On Duty light.

  She studied the building from the sidewalk. The bedroom of the apartment faced the side street and the apartment building across it. No shops or restaurants street level on either building.

  She’d send some uniforms to knock on doors on the off chance somebody looked up or over and saw activity on the fire escape.

  She walked around to it, looked up.

  Easy enough to bring the ladder down to street level, just needed a hook. Since she’d brought one with her for that purpose, she crooked it around the bottom rung.

  It rattled down.

  Would anyone have noticed the sound? Why would they? She studied the rungs, noted the dust on the handles confirming the sweepers had worked there, too, as requested.

  She climbed up.

  She’d reached the second floor before someone stuck a head out of a window. The woman of about fifty had angry eyes and a really large kitchen fork.

  “What the hell you think you’re doing?”

  Eve took out her badge.

  “Fine. What the hell you think you’re doing, Officer?”

  “Lieutenant. My job, ma’am. Did you see anyone on this fire escape last night, between eight-thirty and nine-thirty?”

  “No. We didn’t have a fire, and this is a decent neighborhood. If I’d seen someone sneaking around out here, I’d’ve given ’em what for and called the cops.”

  The woman lowered the kitchen fork, but didn’t put it down. “Did somebody break in the building?”

  “We’re working on establishing that. You’re directly below apartment 321. Did you hear anything from overhead last night—again, between eight-thirty and nine-thirty?”

  “No. That’s the Greenleafs. They’re quiet, respectful people. And we got a solid building here. You don’t hear your neighbors unless they’re stomping around or playing music or screen too loud.”

  Now she put down the fork, leaned out a bit to look up. “They got trouble up there?”

  “Yes, ma’am, they do.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Eve crouched, saw a bedroom inside, the bed already tidily made. “How did you see me out here?”

  “I heard the ladder go down, so I got this.” She tapped a finger on the fork. “And I came for a look-see.”

  “You’ve got your windows open.”

  “Getting some air in here.”

  “Were they open last night?”

  “Close them up before we head out to work. I open them when we get up, get some air. Wouldn’t have them open at night. It’s a good neighborhood, but you don’t wanna be stupid, do you? Probably wouldn’t’ve heard the ladder when you say anyhow. We’d’ve been watching some screen in the living room.”

  “Okay. Appreciate it.”

  “Hope it’s not bad trouble.”

  So saying, the woman shut the window, turned the lock.

  Eve continued up and now crouched at the Greenleafs’ bedroom window, tried to imagine finessing that little thumb lock with a magnet.

  Maybe not impossible—certainly not for Roarke—but tricky and tedious. Worth it, would be worth it, if you wanted to stage a murder as a suicide.

  She straightened, looked up.

  But easier ways.

  Find a way to get in a few days before, and bank on no one noticing the unlocked window.

  She ran it through as she climbed back down.

  Middle of the day, most of the tenants at work. Repair person, delivery person—nobody notices.

  A lot of trouble, a lot of damn trouble, which meant the appearance of suicide ranked as important, or nearly, as the killing.

  After shoving the ladder back up, she took the hook back to her car.

  She mastered in, took the stairs.

  Decent soundproofing, she noted when she came out on three. She could hear some muffled voices—a screen turned up too loud—and what struck her as the inevitable wail of a baby, but it sounded as if the baby suffered in some far distant tunnel.

  Working-class building, a solid one, people up and getting ready to start their day, or those night shifters grabbing a meal before turning in.

  She engaged her recorder, sealed up, then unsealed the door. Inside still smelled of sweepers’ dust. The streaming sunlight highlighted thin layers of it, had motes dancing in beams.

  Eve went to the bedroom first, set her field kit on the bed before moving to the window.

  She’d locked the window to secure it the night before, and unlocked it now. As she remembered, the lock moved smooth, easy, silent.

  She looked toward the closet. Beth Greenleaf fussing about shoes and earrings. She hadn’t put the rejected pair away, but set them by the closet.

  Moving to it, Eve looked at the two-level shoe rack—mostly her shoes—and crouching, picked up what she assumed were the new pair.

  No marks on the soles.

  Still crouched, holding them, she looked back at the window.

  Chat, chat, chat, she imagined.

  I don’t know why I bought these. Blah blah blah.

  Back turned to the window, putting the new shoes down, picking out another pair from the rack.

  Eve replaced them, walked back to the window, once again slid her hand under the privacy screen, flipped the lock.

  Three seconds, no problem.

  Elva Arnez could’ve done it.

  No connection, no motive—so far—but the means. And the means required a partner to do murder.

  Yeah, yeah, they’d have a follow-up conversation, and she’d have one with the cohab.

  She unlocked the window again, and this time opened it. Silent and smooth like the lock. She climbed out, eased the window down.

  Now counting off in her head, she opened it, climbed in, closed it behind her.

  Seven seconds. Up to ten if you’re slow and careful.

  “Then he takes out the stunner, crosses to the door. He stops, listens.” She followed the route herself. “A careful look out. Slip out of the room and you’d see him from here, back to the door, in his chair. Game on-screen, the sound masks any you make. Step up behind him, jab the stunner to his throat, fire. Fast. He convulses, slumps. Get that message on the screen, as close to TOD as possible. Press his fingers to the weapon, drop it.

  “Do you check, make sure he’s dead? Maybe. Then you go back the way you came. You’d have to linger a few minutes to hear Webster at the door, but if you did—and why would you?—you’d bolt. No time for the magnet trick if you used it to get in. Just get out, get gone.”

  Still running it in her head, she went out to open the door at Peabody’s knock.

  “Hey, welcome home—hell of a welcome.”

  “Yeah.”

  “First, before we get down to work, was it wonderful?”

  “It was wonderful.”

  And she was pretty sure Peabody had more red streaks in her hair. How did that happen? Why did it happen? But it was nothing to the bright pink jacket.

  Eve didn’t know whether to be relieved or just tired that her partner had switched her usual pink cowboy boots (her own fault) for pink skids.

  “Sorry you didn’t get any time to ease into things.”

  “It’s how it goes. A lot harder on Captain Greenleaf.”

  “Yeah.” Peabody’s brown eyes shifted to cop mode. “A nice place. Homey, clean, but lived-in. Webster found him?”

  “In here.” Though she’d put it in her report, Eve ran it through briefly. “It’s not going to be suicide. We’re not calling it until we talk to Morris, but it’s not self-termination.”

  “He’d have made a lot of enemies.”

  “Look around. What do you see?”

  “A nice place,” Peabody repeated as she walked through it. “Really clean. There’s sweeper dust and all that, but under it, clean. Seriously tidy. Some pretty things, but no jumble. The office is his space. From the living room setup, I’d say they hang together here, watch the screen. Lots of family photos. Some kids’ drawings on the friggie.”

  She moved into the bedroom, opened the closet. “His clothes are all organized. Hers not as much. It looks like she was shoving through them trying to find something or make up her mind what to wear.”

  “Did you hear that?”

  “What? I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Exactly. I just unlocked the window, but you didn’t hear it. Point of entry.”

  “You think the friend—upstairs neighbor, right—who was here unlocked the window for the killer?”

  “She was here. It’s worth another look. I ran her and the cohab, and I got nothing. But it’s worth another look.” She locked the window again. “Roarke says you could use a magnet to finesse the lock from outside the glass.”

  “Seriously?” Peabody walked over. “Yeah, I can see that now that I think about it. Easy access to the fire escape, from the street, or from above. But why go to all this trouble to make it look like suicide?”

  “Another question.”

  A good question, Eve thought. A cop question.

  “I don’t have the answer yet, but it’s going to matter. You just want him dead? Lots of less complicated ways. But you want it to look like suicide, in his own home, with him taking himself out because of guilt and regret for working in IAB.”

  She looked back toward the office. “You have to know the wife’s going to find him, so maybe you want that, too. It’s personal, Peabody. It matters. Still … he didn’t suffer, died unaware. It’s the family left behind who’ll suffer. Maybe that matters, too.”

  She stepped back. “Let’s go have a talk with the neighbors. Contact EDD, have them come in for the electronics. We’ll come back, go through the scene one more time, but I want to make sure we don’t miss the neighbors.”

  Chapter Five

  Eve resealed the door before they started upstairs.

  “I’m just going to say—really fast—we’ve had a lot of progress on the house while you were gone.”

  “Yeah, we figured. We’re going to get by.”

  “You’ve just got to! I finished the water feature. It’s wild mag, I mean mag-o-rama. And I won’t say any more because I just want you to see.”

  “We’ll get there. Arnez and Robards, two floors up, directly above the Greenleafs. Convenient.”

  “Yeah, it is. How long have they lived here?”

  “Coming up on a year.” Eve paused outside the door. No door cam, but solid locks. “And that pushes on the other side. A long time, and they’re friendly. But.”

  She knocked, waited.

  Denzel Robards answered. He wore a gray work shirt with his name in a white oval and gray baggies over a slight frame. A mixed-race male just shy of thirty, he limited his facial hair to a precise line of stubble running along his jawline up to the lobes of his ears. His eyes, a pale green, looked tired.

  Eve held up her badge. “Mr. Robards, Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, NYPSD. We’d like to come in and speak to you and Ms. Arnez.”

  “She’s, ah, getting dressed. We didn’t sleep much last night. You’re here about Martin. God.” He rubbed his tired eyes. “Yeah, come in. I’ll get her. Ah, you can sit down if you want.”

  He shut the door, walked back to the bedroom.

  Same floor plan, Eve noted, as the one below.

  Not as neat and clean and lacking, from what she could see, the personal touches of family photos. More contemporary furnishings, more neutral colors.

  A jumbo wall screen, a quiet gray gel sofa placed to enjoy it, a couple of scoop chairs. A table—darker gray—near the kitchen with a shiny white vase of fresh flowers centered on it.

  She’d just angled herself to get an eyeline on the second bedroom—an office setup, workstation facing the door—when the bedroom door opened.

  Arnez’s eyes looked tired, too, and a little damp with it, though she’d done her best to disguise the fatigue with facial enhancements.

  She wore a navy dress today, belted, slit pockets, and navy heels with a white toe cap. She’d twisted her hair up to show off silver triangles that dangled from her ears.

  Work mode, Eve concluded. High-end boutique manager mode.

  “Lieutenant Dallas.”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you so early. This is my partner, Detective Peabody.”

  “I’m going to make you some tea, baby.” Robards ran a hand up and down her back. “You sit down now, and I’ll bring you some tea. We’ve got coffee if you want it. Elva doesn’t drink it.” He tried for a smile that didn’t quite make it. “I don’t know how she gets out of bed in the mornings.”

  “We’re fine, thanks.”

  “You sit down now,” he repeated, and nudged Elva onto the sofa, stroked her cheek. “Be right back.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze, nodded. “Please sit down. I can’t stop thinking about Martin, about Beth, their family. I’ve gone over and over that few minutes I saw him before we left, and it was all so … ordinary. So usual. I can’t believe this happened.”

  “You’d become very friendly with the Greenleafs?”

  “Yes. Well, with Beth especially. She’s so funny, and she’s so sweet. She and Darlie came into the shop I manage right before Denzel and I moved into the building. We just hit it off, then I realized we were moving in right upstairs.

  “She brought us cookies when we did.” She blinked as tears swirled. “And we’d see each other in the lobby sometimes, or around the neighborhood. Then she invited us down for a Sunday brunch.”

  She smiled as Robards came back with her tea. “Denzel wanted to make an excuse.”

  “I didn’t want to get all friendly, you know?” He shrugged, sat beside Arnez. “Didn’t see getting all tight with a couple of old people.” Now he winced. “Sorry, that sounds wrong.”