In Death 23 - Born in Death

until—”
    “Please, in the name of God, don’t tell me any more.”
    “So it chills with you if me and McNab bunk there tomorrow night?”
    “Sure, bring the family, all your friends, strangers you find on the street. All are welcome here.”
    “Uptown! Catch you in the morning.”
    She clicked off, then sat on the edge of her desk staring at nothing in particular. Baby showers and double murders. Was she the only one who could see they didn’t mix? She wasn’t equipped for the first. It wasn’t in her makeup.
    But she’d tried, hadn’t she? She’d called the caterer, and she’d let Mavis invite a horde of people—many of whom would be stranger than alien mutants. And still, it wasn’t enough.
    “Why do I have to decorate?” she demanded when Roarke stepped to the doorway.
    “You don’t. In fact, I sincerely wish you wouldn’t. I like our home as it is.”
    “See? Me, too.” She threw out her arms. “Why does it have to get tricked out for a baby shower?”
    “Oh. That. Well…I have no idea. I really choose to remain ignorant in this particular area of societal customs.”
    “Peabody said we have to have a theme.”
    He looked momentarily baffled. “A song?”
    “I don’t know.” Confused, Eve covered her eyes with her hands. “And there’s going to be a throne.”
    “For the baby?”
    “I don’t know.” Now she pulled at her hair. “I can’t think about it. It throws me off. I was thinking about murder, and I was fine. Now I’m thinking about themes and thrones, and I feel a little sick.”
    Eve took a huge breath. “Who did she tell?”
    “Peabody? I thought she just told you.”
    “No, God, not Peabody. Natalie Copperfield. Who did she trust or respect or feel obliged to report to if she found something off? Which of her clients did she believe, while they might do something illegal, unethical, might offer a bribe, wouldn’t cause her real physical harm? Because there’s no way she’d have let her sister come over, talked about pancake breakfasts, if she believed there might be actual danger.”
    “First, I’d say who she told would depend on the level of the illegality she uncovered. It’s not impossible she went directly to the client or their representative. But more likely that she showed the data to a superior.”
    “Back where I started, running rings. No way to pin down who she might have told other than the boyfriend.”
    “As for her client list, there are some high-end companies here. Any or all of them has very likely had some slippery moments. You can’t operate large companies without some slippage. Then you pay lawyers to slide you out of it, or you pay fines, settle suits out of court. But I don’t know of any major scandal involving those on her lists. And I haven’t heard anything murmuring on the wind about illegal practices. I can tune myself to that wind a little closer for you.”
    “That’d be good.”
    She frowned at the board again. “Wait. What if the client isn’t the problem? What if someone inside the firm did something like Whitney suggested you could do.”
    Roarke cocked his head, nodded. “Fed one client private data on another. Interesting.”
    “You could demand a percentage, a kickback, even a monthly retainer for information given. One client’s got a deal coming up. You just access the files on any competitors your firm might also represent. Pass along some inside data for a fee. Maybe she sees something, like one client consistently nipping out another, or others in competitive areas. She questions the percentages of that, pokes around.”
    “It would explain her reason for not telling a superior—if she didn’t do so.”
    “Can’t tell someone over her head if she’s not sure who’s part of the unethical practice. I can do an analysis of comparative operations over the last twelve months, check out the clients who most consistently pump out above the rest of the field.”
    “I can do that for you.”
    “Yeah?” That seriously brightened Eve’s day. “You’d probably see it faster if there’s anything to see. I can take a closer look at the financials—incomes, outlays of the partners.”
    “They’d know how to hide income. They’re accountants.”
    “Gotta start somewhere.”

9
    IN THE MORNING WITH A SKY THAT LOOKED LIKE soured milk, Eve sat bleary-eyed over her second cup of coffee. It wasn’t the hours, she thought. It was the figures.
    Roarke plopped an omelette down in front of her. “You