“Those were some of the ends I was tying up. I’ll want to dig a bit deeper, but again on the surface, from skimming. Personal and business expenses, carefully and craftily—and the personal would be from his wife.”
“He’s stealing from his wife.”
“A bit at a time, and those bits, I’ve found, go back to the early days of their marriage. Not particularly greedy in it, but consistent. Some of it’s earned right enough, just separated out into these other areas—out of the family coffers you might say. Solo investments, some tax wrangling—all close to the line but not really over it.”
“What’s that one? The monthly direct pay deal. Six thousand, the first of every month.”
“Ah, you’ve a sharp eye. That would be the management fee, which includes thrice-weekly cleaning, all maintenance and so forth on a condo. Upper East Side. Bought with one of his shells about six months back. As there’s no coordinating income from the property, I wouldn’t call it an investment.”
“A place of his own—opposite end of the city from the family house.” Eve shifted again, angling her head as she followed the numbers. “Smells like a love nest to me.”
“It has that cachet. You’ll also see some outlay—hotels, restaurants, boutiques. Go back about four months, there’s considerable to design vendors, furniture.”
“Feathering the nest. What does that mean? Do birds use feathers to make their nest? Why would they? How would they? I don’t get it.”
“I couldn’t say, but I agree with the idiom. He bought it, furnished it, and as some of the outlets he paid out of these accounts are ladies’ boutiques, I’d say he also outfitted the bird he’s nesting with.”
“He’s got a side piece.”
When she started to rise, Roarke simply wrapped his arms around her. “I’m not done. Keep looking.”
She’d have looked better if she could get up, move, but she settled back. After all, he’d done the work.
“Cash withdrawals, three weeks running—back six weeks—for five thousand each. Paying somebody off? Has to be the vic. Wait, wait—it doubles at that three-week mark. Weekly again, but for ten thousand each. That’s not walking-around money.”
“Perhaps he walks in very rarified areas.”
“I’m calling bullshit there. That’s payoff, and it jibes with the accounting McNab pulled off Ziegler’s comp.”
“Why didn’t I know about this?” Roarke complained.
“Lost in the details, sorry. I just went over it before I came in. McNab pulled a kind of ledger from the vic’s home comp. Amounts, initials, he had them listed as legit services. Training, consults, massages—but that’s your bollocks.”
“Not mine.”
“Anybody’s. He also rated some—which have to be the sex scales—with a star system. He gave Kira Robbins two and a half out of three.”
“Your victim truly was more than a bit of a pig.”
“Yeah, but my pig. I’ve got these amounts corresponding to the initials JJ—listed as private training sessions. Didn’t figure they were. Can’t prove they weren’t. But seeing he withdrew the amounts, in cash, from hidden accounts? That says payoff loud and clear. It says, to me, Ziegler found out about the side piece, Copley paid him to keep it shut, then Ziegler got greedy. Doubled the payoff. Could start to piss you off. Maybe he wanted more yet.
“I need the side piece. I need to talk to her.”
“That I can’t get you.”
“Yeah, you can—have. You got hotels, restaurants, boutiques, the love nest. Somebody at those places knows her. I can find her. I will find her, and Copley will have told her something. Who can he bitch to about Ziegler hosing him, or his wife? His sex buddy.”
She circled around. “His wife claims they were mending things, that he suggested they take a trip. Maybe he’s broken it off with the side piece. That would piss her off, wouldn’t it? Nest just got feathered, and now he’s doing what a cheating husband usually does, runs back to his wife. His rich wife. Too much pressure from Ziegler,” she speculated. “And he caved.”
“You’re putting another suspect on your board. The mistress.”
“Mistress is too nice a word for a woman who lets some cheating bastard buy her shoes. I prefer lazy, greedy bitch.”
“Harsh, without knowing circumstances. Perhaps she loves the cheating bastard.”
“Nobody loves a cheating bastard. He has hidden accounts, he has a separate address, a side piece, and very likely he’s been paying his personal trainer blackmail. He definitely tops the list, with the wife and the greedy, lazy bitch right up there.
“Maybe she knew.”