In Death 31 - Indulgence in Death

and a fancy case for them.”
    “That would be Delaflote’s, I imagine.”
    “Moriarity doesn’t let this guy in, hang around for two hours while the cooking’s happening. It’s a waste of time, and too risky.” She circled the patio, considered the angles. “Maybe he lets him in, leaves, comes back. We’ll check security, but I don’t know why he’d leave anything on it. It had to be light out when the vic got here.”
    She walked in and out again. Seeing it, Roarke thought, letting herself see it in different ways until one clicked.
    “Late supper deal,” she said when she came out. “Had to be. There’s not enough food for a party. It looks like a fancy dinner for two, late supper. There’s an open bottle of wine, and a glass. That’ll be the vic’s, too. So where’s the wine for supper? Where’s the champagne? There’s none in the fridge in there, chilling. The owners probably have a wine cellar, or a wine bar somewhere in there. But . . .”
    “Delaflote likely selected and brought the wines he wanted for the meal,” Roarke finished.
    She nodded. “So this guy’s doing his private chef thing, having some wine while he’s at it. Gets some of it prepped. There’s some sort of fishy-smelling stuff in the fridge, sealed up. But I’m not buying the owners left fishy-smelling stuff in there, then took off for vacation. Even I know better than that. So he’s made some of the stuff, got the chicken in the cooker, he’s got salad crap washed and in this draining thing. Takes a little break, comes outside here into the garden to catch a smoke.
    “Wait, where’s the staff? Don’t fancy cooks like him have minions to do the grunt work? Peel, chop, like that?”
    Roarke glanced toward the unfortunate Delaflote. “It’s a bit late to ask him.”
    “We’ll check on that. Anyway, he’s out here, having his break. Moriarity’s either with him or comes out. He’s got the weapon hidden somewhere . . . No, he comes out because he’s got the weapon with him. If he’d hidden it, somebody—the gardener maybe comes by a day early—might find it. He gets the vic to stand in front of that tree. Step back, pal, or step over. Has to be fast at that point because the vic didn’t run. No way anybody makes a dead-on shot like that, through the middle of a tree, when the target’s running.”
    Eve stepped over, angled herself outside the kitchen door, lifted her hand as if holding a weapon. She shifted a couple inches, then nodded. She’d bank the computer simulation would put the killer where she was standing.
    “Then he checks, just to make sure he’s scored his points, won his round. Does he tag Dudley to confirm? Take a picture, a short vid, something to bring his pal in. Share the moment. He goes in, shuts off the oven, and the fucker decides what the hell and takes the unopened wine, and he walks out.”
    “In and out, through the gates, without anyone seeing him. That’s a risk, too.”
    “Dudley wore a disguise at the amusement park. Moriarity would have one. Something that makes him look like what he’s not. Unless he’s an idiot, he doesn’t bring his own transpo close, take a service or a cab from right here. He has to walk awhile, put some distance in. He’s got to have the propeller thing—the mechanism for the spear—with him. He’s carrying some kind of case or bag for that, another for the wine. We can use that.”
    That was a break, she thought. A man walking carrying a case and a bag. That could be a break.
    “He’d look like some guy carrying stuff home from the market, but we can use that. He should’ve left the wine. Smug, greedy bastard.”
    “There’s a garden gate,” Roarke pointed out. “Smarter to use that, slip around the side, out the corner, than to go out the front and through the main gates.”
    “Yeah. Good thought.”
    “Sorry it took so long.” Peabody hurried out, puffing a little. “The subway was . . . oh, hi, Roarke.”
    “You can be you,” Eve said to Peabody. “And you can be you,” she said to Roarke.
    “While I’m being me, I’ll give you a few more minutes,” Roarke suggested. “I’ll find the security system, see if there’s anything on it of use to you.”
    “You could do that. The vic is Delaflote, Luc.” Eve began to catch Peabody up. “Fancy private chef, top of his field.”
    “Same pattern. What is that pinning him to the tree?”
    “We believe it’s a harpoon spear.”
    “Like for whales?”
    Eve couldn’t