In Death 26 - Strangers in Death

Frankie!”
    “What is it, Syl?” The man at her left glanced over, then down at the badge. “Is there something I can help you with, ah…”
    “Lieutenant. I need to speak with Thomas Anders’s second-in-command, or whoever’s highest in the pecking order and in house now.”
    “That would be Mr. Forrest. Benedict Forrest. He’s in a meeting, but—”
    “Not anymore.”
    “Right. If you could give me a minute to contact his admin. He’ll come down and escort you upstairs.”
    “I can get upstairs myself. Tell the admin to get Forrest out of the meeting.” Eve got back in the elevator, rolled her shoulders. “That was fun.”
    “Pretty bitchy.”
    “That’s what was fun about it.”
    As Eve stepped off again, a stick-thin woman in high, stick-thin heels came bolting through a set of glass doors. “Ah, officers! If you’d come with me.”
    “You’re the admin?”
    “No, I’m the AA. Assistant administrator. I’ll take you to Mr. Walsh’s office.”
    “Who would be the administrative assistant, rather than the assistant administrator.”
    “Exactly.”
    “How does anybody get business done when they have to translate all these titles?”
    “Ah, Mr. Walsh is letting Mr. Forrest know you’re here. Apparently Reception didn’t get the nature of the business you’re here to discuss.”
    “No, they didn’t.”
    The AA opened her mouth, obviously thought better of it, and closed it. They wound their way through a busy hive of offices and cubes, then made a forty-five-degree turn into the efficient space of—his name was engraved on a small onyx plaque beside the door—Leopold Walsh.
    His workstation was a long, free-standing counter in sleek black holding the usual necessities of comp, data and communication unit, and little else. A second counter ran along the wall to support a laser fax, a secondary computer. A third counter served as a refreshment center with AutoChef and friggie. A trio of visitors’ chairs ranged together, backless cubes in pristine white.
    The only color in the room came from the showy plant with its vivid red blossoms spearing up from the middle windowsill of the generous triple glass.
    Supplies, she supposed, and any necessary paperwork would be tucked away in the cabinetry built into the wall.
    Altogether she preferred the miserly space and tattered style of her office at Central.
    “If you’d like to have a seat, Mr. Walsh should be—” The AA glanced at the door with obvious relief lighting her face. “Mr. Walsh.”
    “Thank you, Delly.” He stepped in, an imposing man with dark chocolate skin in a pin-striped suit. His hair formed a skullcap that set off a striking face of sharp angles. Deep-set eyes, the color of good, strong coffee, flicked over Peabody, fastened on Eve. “Leopold Walsh. Lieutenant…”
    “Dallas.” For form, Eve presented her badge again. “And Detective Peabody. We’re here to see Benedict Forrest.”
    “So I’m told.” He handed her badge back to her. “As you were told, Mr. Forrest is in a meeting.”
    “Badge trumps meeting.”
    “It would be helpful if you told me what this is in regards to.”
    “It would be helpful if I told Mr. Forrest what this is in regards to.”
    He wanted to stonewall—she could see it. And couldn’t blame him, as she’d have wanted to do the same.
    “Mr. Forrest—” He broke off, holding up a hand as the ear-com he wore blinked blue.” “Yes, sir. Of course. Mr. Forrest,” he began again, “is available. This way, please.”
    Benedict Forrest’s office was only steps away from his admin’s, but a world away from it in style. Here, the workstation held the necessary and the efficient, crowded together with what Eve thought of as guy toys—an autographed baseball on a pedestal, a handheld golf game, a couple of trophies, a sponge-weight toy football. Photographs and posters of sports figures or sports products juggled for space along the wall.
    Chairs were leather, deep, and looked comfortably worn.
    Forrest himself stood about three inches under his admin’s height. He wore a shirt open at the collar, casual khakis, and trendy gel-skids. There was a friendly, just-one-of-the-guys look about him with his tousled sandy hair, easy smile, cheerful hazel eyes.
    “You’ve been waiting. Sorry. I had to wrap things up. Ben Forrest.” He crossed the office as he spoke, shot out his hand. Eve shook, studying him as he offered his hand to Peabody.
    “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective