Roarke gestured to the wall screen when he ordered data to transfer there. “He’s scattered and spread himself out, with numerous small to mid-size companies. None of them with holdings that cross the line into interesting.”
“What’s the line where they become interesting?”
“Oh, for me? Eight to ten million, unless I’m looking to acquire small, individual properties or businesses.”
“Oh yeah, anything under ten mil’s boring.” She rose to get the coffee. “Is he laundering or hiding income?”
“Not that I’ve found so far. He’s bought or established companies. Some he owns outright, others a controlling interest. Still others a small percentage. Some of his companies are arms of his other companies.”
He took the coffee she brought him, patted his knee in invitation, and laughed at her sour look. “Some of his companies own property—homes in Athens, Tokyo, Tuscany. He holds some of these interests through an Atlanta-based operation called—logically enough—Varied Interests. Others are held by the Morandi Corporation, which was his mother’s name.”
“Dead mother, as I remember.”
“Very dead. He was six when she ingested an unhealthy number of tranqs and supposedly fell or leaped from her bedroom window, twenty-two stories above the streets of Rome.”
“Where was Max Ricker?”
“Excellent question. According to statements in the very thin police file on her death, he was in Amsterdam when she jumped, or fell. Alex also has a company he called Maximum Exports, which owns—among other things—the antique store in Atlanta that was hit. There’s no criminal on him. He’s been questioned on various accounts by various authorities on various continents. But never charged.
“All of these business activities and the structuring are perfectly legal,” he told her. “Close to the edge on some, but never over. I’ve no doubt, unless he’s a complete bint, he’s got a second set of books on every one of his enterprises, and considerable funds sheltered in coded accounts.”
Roarke sat back, sipping coffee. “He stays under the radar, you see. Very carefully under. No splash, no flash. Quietly successful businesses that make no real noise. Until you dig down, put them together and see there’s really one entity that’s worth about ten times what his official data lists for him.”
“And there’s probably more.”
“Oh, very likely. I can find it, now that I’ve got his pattern. I could find those coded accounts, with enough time.”
“Those would probably still be on the legal side. What about the illegal side?”
“Some of these may be fronts. Or I’ll find smaller, more obsure businesses that serve as fronts. An antiques business—of which he has several w
orldwide—is always a handy way to smuggle all manner of things. There’s an easier way for me to find out if he’s taken over some of his father’s trade. I can ask people who know people.”
“Not yet. For one, I don’t want the people who know people to signal him we’re coming to see him. For another, I don’t want to get so bogged down in Alex Ricker, when there’s no clear evidence he’s involved. Coltraine’s the priority. I’m going to run her financials. I’m going to run them from here because I don’t want to set up any flags there either. I’m hoping she was clean, and if she was clean, I don’t want to be responsible for even a whisper she might’ve been dirty.”
“I’ll run them. I’ll do it,” he said when she started to protest. “I can do it faster, as we both know. And it’ll be easier for you if you don’t have to do it yourself. I know it troubles you to look at one of your own this way.”
“It’s worse. She’s dead. I can’t ask her. She can’t defend herself. She can’t say, ‘Fuck you, bitch, for even thinking it.’ ”
She dragged a hand through her hair, then crossed the room to stand and look out the window. “And here I am, using illegal means to try to find out if she was tangled in something wrong. If she was on the take, or Alex Ricker’s weasel.”
“As chief medical examiner, Morris could access this case file?”
“Yeah, he could find a way to get it. So by making sure this area of investigation isn’t in that file, am I protecting him or myself?”
“Darling Eve, I see nothing wrong with doing either, and both. If you find the worst, he’ll have to know. If you don’t, what good would it do you or him for him to know you felt compelled to look?”
“You’re right. You do it. You’ll be faster.”
She stayed at the window, staring out at dark and light. Had Morris taken a soother, given himself a chance to sleep, to put it away for a few hours? Or was he staring out at the dark and the light?
She promised she’d find the answers for him. But what if those answers were the woman he loved was a bad cop, a liar, that she’d used him? What if the answers were as painful as the questions?
“Eve.”
She turned, braced. “What?”
“I can do another level or two, try some tricks, but what I’m seeing here is a woman who lived within her means. You may be interested to know a New York City detective third grade makes a bit more than an Atlanta detective. But the cost of living balances that out. She paid her bills on time, and now and then went a little over budget on her credit card and carried a balance for a month or two. There aren’t any unusual deposits or withdrawals, no major purchases.