“Is it?”
“Parzarri’s accident must have been engineered so this woman could get her hands on our data. Whoever
did that, dealt with her. One of our competitors, I suspect.”
“Do you have competitors that aggressive?”
“It’s an aggressive market, as you should know as your husband is certainly fully involved in real estate.”
“It seems unnaturally aggressive to put one auditor in the hospital and murder another just to access financial data. But,” she said before he blustered in, “we’re investigating all avenues. As we are, I need to ask where you were on the night of the murder.”
A red flush bloomed across his cheekbones. “You would dare?”
“Oh, I would. If you refuse to answer, which is your right, I’ll take that in a way you wouldn’t care for.”
“I don’t like your attitude.”
“I get that a lot, don’t I, Peabody?”
“Yes, sir, you do.”
“Young woman—”
“Lieutenant,” Eve slapped back.
Alexander’s chest heaved twice. “My father founded this firm before you were born. And I’ve run it for the last seven years. We brokered the governor’s country home.”
“That’s nice. I still need to know your whereabouts. It’s routine, Mr. Alexander. It’s not personal.”
“It’s personal to me. I took my wife and a few friends to dinner at Top of the Apple.”
“That would be after you met Jake Ingersol of the WIN Group for drinks.”
Like Galahad before breakfast, Alexander stared holes in her.
She wasn’t tempted to offer him bacon.
“Yes. We discussed business that I have no intention nor obligation to disclose to you. I returned home to meet my wife, and the car took us to the restaurant for our eight o’clock reservations. We didn’t leave until nearly midnight.”
“Okay.”
There was a soft tap, something like a mouse scratch at the door.
“Come!” Alexander boomed out, and the mouse scuttled in.
“I’m sorry I was held up.”
The painfully thin man with a long face flanked by enormous ears offered Eve a soft-palmed hand. “Lieutenant Dallas, I recognize you. And Detective Peabody. It’s very nice to meet you, and before the premiere. My wife and I are looking forward to it. And you and Zelda, too, Sterling.”
“We don’t have time for small talk,” Alexander snapped.
“Of course. I’m sorry. I’m Thomas Pope.”
“We need to get this mess sorted out, Tom.”
“I know.” Pope held up his hands. “I know. I’ve contacted everyone we discussed. It’ll be all right, Sterling.”
“Someone’s trying to sabotage us.”