In Death 21 - Origin in Death

got fresh for you, Dallas."
    "In the sense of what?" Eve demanded impatiently.
    But Roarke took his time, personally pouring coffee all around. "Ir. the sense of large bequests and annuities channeled through various arms of Icove's holdings. On the surface, extremely generous and philanthropic. But added up, pushed through the surface and carefully examined, questionable."
    "How?"
    "Nearly two hundred million-so far-over the last thirty-five ears that I can't account for through his income. A man gives away that kind of green, it should put a bit of a dent here and there in his rockets. Not so." He drank coffee.
    "Indicating another source of income. A hidden source."
    "It would seem. I suspect there's more. I've only just started on this line. Interesting, isn't it, that a man with a questionable income would moose to donate it-quietly, even anonymously-to worthy causes. Most would buy themselves a nice little country."
    "Anonymously."
    "He's gone to considerable trouble to distance himself from the donations. A lot of layers between. Trusts, nonprofits, foundations, all crisscrossing, padded between with corporations and organizations." He shrugged. "I don't imagine you need or want a lesson in tax shelters or the like, Lieutenant. Let's just say he has excellent financial advice, and had elected to dump these funds without taking credit for them. Or the considerable write-off on his income. Then again, he isn't reporting the income."
    "Tax evasion."
    "In a sense. Difficult though, even for the Internal Revenue to squeeze anything out, since the money was shifted to charities. But surely there's an infraction."
    "So we need to find the source of the income." Eve took her coffee, circled the office. "There's always a trail."
    Roarke's lips curved, slyly. "There isn't, no. Not always."
    She shot him a narrowed look. "Somebody who knows how to erase trails ought to be able to find one."
    "Somebody should."
    "Maybe start at the back end," Peabody suggested. "Places that got the money."
    ''Give me, say, the five biggest beneficiaries," Eve said to Roarke. "You can shoot it to my office at Central."
    "I'll do that. The biggest, by far, is a small private school."
    "Brookhollow?" Eve felt the sizzle.
    "Gold star for you, Lieutenant. Brookhollow Academy, and its higher-education companion, Brookhollow College."
    "Pop." Eve turned back to her wall screen with a thin, satisfied grin "Guess who got her entire education at those institutions."
    "It rings," Peabody agreed. "But it could be argued he sent his ware there because he believed in the school and put his money in it. Or h; put his money in it because his ward went there."
    "Check it out now. When was it established, by whom? Lists of faculty, directors, whatever the hell. Find me a list of the current students . And the names of female students who took the tour with Avril Hannson."
    "Yes, sir." Peabody hurried to Eve's desk unit and set to work.
    "This feels hot," Eve said, then looked over at Roarke. "It's good lead."
    "My pleasure." He tipped her chin up with his finger, touched his lips to hers before she could object. "On a personal front, would you like me to contact Mavis about Thanksgiving? We're getting close to the mark, and it appears your plate's more full than mine at the moment."
    "That'd be good."
    "Anyone else?"
    "I don't know." She shifted, uncomfortable. "I guess Nadine, maybe Feeney'll probably be doing a family deal, but I'll run it by him."
    "What about Louise and Charles?"
    "Sure. Fine. Are we really doing this?"
    "Too late to turn back." He kissed her again. "Keep in touch, will you? I'm caught up now." He strolled back into his office, shut the door.
    "I love McNab."
    Even as she turned toward Peabody, Eve could feel the muscle under her right eye vibrating toward a twitch. "Oh man. Do you have to do this?"
    "Yeah. I love McNab," Peabody repeated. "It took me a while to resize it, or get there, however it works. But he's the one. If you were to drop down dead, and Roarke decided I could comfort him with wild
    sex I probably wouldn't do it. Probably. But even if I did, I'd still love McNab."
    "At least I'm dead in your sexual fantasy."
    "It's only fair. I wouldn't cheat on my partner. So I probably wouldn't have sex with Roarke, should the opportunity arise, unless both you and McNab were killed in a freak accident."
    "Thanks, Peabody. I feel a lot better now."
    ''And we'd probably wait a decent interval. Like two weeks. If we could control