At Peabody’s first “Awwwww,” Eve stepped out.
“She’s the best,” DeWinter began.
“I remember. She did good, solid work on the unidentified girls at The Sanctuary.”
“I could have assigned someone else, and you might have gotten some results quicker that would have been more than good enough. But with Elsie, though it may take a bit longer, you’ll have the next thing to a photograph.”
“I’ll wait for it. How much do you figure Mars paid to have all the work done?”
“I honestly don’t know, but certainly hundreds of thousands, just for the face work.”
“Not just for vanity,” Eve mused. “Nobody’s that vain.”
“Vanity and ego would be more Dr. Mira’s area than mine,” DeWinter commented, “but I’ve certainly worked on bones of subjects who’d paid for a great deal of vanity.”
“Not just,” Eve said again. “There’s a secret in her real face. She had secrets of her own. Peabody, now! Or walk to freaking Brooklyn.”
12
Since she moved her ass fast enough and didn’t have to walk to Brooklyn, Peabody used the drive time to gather information on Wylee Stamford.
“So, Stamford’s a Brooklyn native. His parents—thirty-three years married—live in Brooklyn Heights. The mother, originally from San Juan, came here as an au pair on a work visa, married the father, who was, at that time, employed as a city maintenance worker. The mother now owns and operates Your Kids, a day care and preschool. It gets a Class A rating, so it’s a really good one,” Peabody put in. “The father owns and operates a home repair and maintenance company. Interestingly, one sister works with the mother, the other with the father in their respective businesses.”
Peabody continued to scroll through as Eve crossed the bridge into Brooklyn. “A lot of baseball stats, which you probably already know. Like him being rookie of the year in ’55, various MVP deals and Golden Gloves. Blah-blah. But on the personal side, no marriages or cohabs. He’s still based in Brooklyn, and lives on the same street as his parents. His best pal since childhood is his personal manager. Four years ago he started the Stamford Family Foundation. The main mission is to expose underprivileged youths to sports—which includes a sports camp, scholarships, donated equipment, mentoring, transportation.
“Aw, he arranges, every year, for groups of kids to not only attend a home game, but to meet the other players. That’s nice. He sounds nice.”
“People who sound nice and can field like a god can still kill. Solid family ties,” Eve continued. “Loyalty—keeps old friends—gives back. But something in there sent up a flag for Mars, and she exploited it.”
“There’s a lot of information on him, a lot of articles, features, bios. He comes off as a sports phenom from a hardworking middle-class family who values his roots. No scandals, no pissy behavior. Went to NYU on a scholarship, played for the Violets … isn’t that kind of a sissy name for a ball team?”
“It’s team colors.”
“Okay.” But Peabody mentally rolled her eyes. “Kept up his grades—not dean’s list, but a more than respectable three-point-three. Not shabby academically in high school, either,” she said, scrolling back. “Kept up that low- to mid-three average all the way … Whoops, pretty big dip in—let’s see—seventh grade and into eighth. Barely scraped by there. Puberty can be a bitch, I guess.”
A flag shot up, high and bright, in Eve’s mind. “Check his juvie and medical records for that period.”
“Really? He’d’ve been like twelve.”
“If you’re Mars looking for dirt and you see that inconsistency, what do you do?”
“I dig deeper.”
As Peabody dug, Eve hunted for parking, settled on a lot.
Still digging as they got out, Peabody shook her head. “I’m not finding any juvie tags or … Wait, something. Urgent-care visit, records sealed.”
“Just one?”
“It’s all I can see. I mean he’s got other injuries and treatments—clearly sports related—but this one’s sealed.”
“Look for follow-ups, check the parents’ financials for medical bills. Later,” Eve said as she studied the block-long spread of Sports World.
They stepped in through the sliding glass doors.
If you played sports—or pretended to—she thought, you’d find everything you needed here. The retail section, bright and open, was divided into generous sections by sport: football, arena ball, baseball, basketball, soccer, hockey, lacrosse, and more. Screens played games going on somewhere in the world or highlights of games already done.
And all under a big, wide dome, like an arena.