“Maybe they weren’t lovers yet. Or maybe she didn’t know they’d get serious about each other.”
“Maybe.” Eve bypassed the security desk and used the code Reva had given her to access the elevator to the top floor. Instead of the doors opening, the computer gave a warning buzz.
You are not cleared for this elevator. Please return to the security and/or information desk for instructions on how to access the public entrance of Bissel Gallery. This elevator is for private use only.
“Maybe she gave you the wrong code,” Peabody suggested.
“I don’t think so.”
Eve walked to the main security station. “Who used that elevator last?”
The young, prim woman in black curled her lip. “I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t bother,” Eve told her and slapped down her badge. “Just answer the question.”
“I’ll need to verify your identification.” With her nose still in the air, she scanned Eve’s badge, then slid over a palm plate. When Eve’s ID was verified, she tucked the palm plate away again. “Is this about what happened to Mr. Bissel?”
Eve merely smiled. “I beg your pardon?”
The woman sniffed, then turned to her log book. “Mr. Bissel himself was the last to use that elevator. It goes directly to his studio. His employees and clients use the one to the right. That will go to the gallery.”
“You have the code for the studio elevator.”
“Of course. It’s required that all tenants file their security and passcodes with us.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not permitted to give out that data, not without proper authorization.”
Eve wondered if stuffing her badge up the woman’s snooty nose would qualify as proper authorization. Instead, she shoved her own memo book onto the desk, tapped the screen. “Is this it?”
Once again, the woman turned to her data unit, keyed in a complex series of numbers. She glanced at her screen, then Eve’s. “If you have it, why are you bothering to ask me?”
“It doesn’t work.”
“Of course it works. You just didn’t do it properly.”
“Why don’t you show me how to do it properly?”
Heaving a sigh, the woman gestured to a coworker. “Watch the station,” she snapped, then clipped her way over to the elevators on hair-thin heels.
She coded in, and when she got the same result as Eve, coded in again. “I don’t understand it. This is the proper code. It’s registered. Building security checks all passcodes twice a week.”
“When was the last check?”
“Two days ago.”
“How long will it take maintenance to bypass?”
“I have no idea.”
“Is there access from the gallery to the studio?”
Obviously aggrieved, she marched back to her station, called up the diagram for the top level. “There is. There’s a security door between them. I have the passcode for that.”
“Which, I imagine, is about as much good as the one you have for the elevator. Give it to me anyway.”
Eve pulled out her pocket ’link as she walked to the gallery elevator. “I need you at the Flatiron Building,” she said the minute Roarke answered. “Bissel Gallery, top floor. The security codes for the direct elevator to his studio has been changed, so I can’t access it. I’m going to try to get through the door between the gallery and the studio, but I’m figuring I’ll find the same block.”