“Lieutenant Dallas, what a pleasure. I’m an enormous fan. In fact, I’ll be in the Highland Center on Sunday, cheering for your Oscar win.”
“It’s not my Oscar, win or lose.”
“So modest. Ah, Detective Peabody, another pleasure. Let’s sit, have some coffee, and you can tell me what brings you to see me today.”
“We can start with Jordan Banks.”
“Such a shock!” He gestured them to seats by the fire. “Do you know I spoke with him the very night he died? At a party in this building. But then, I’m sure you do know. What can I tell you to help?”
“How well did you know him?”
“Not terribly well, really. We did play golf a few times—in a foursome. And would see each other at parties. Mutual friends and acquaintances. I might see him, now and again, if we were both at one of our casinos—my family’s casinos—at the same time.”
“Did he often frequent your casinos?”
“I couldn’t say, frankly.” In a picture of ease, Markin draped an arm over the low back of the sofa. “I recall seeing him a time or two. I think he enjoyed roulette, but that’s my best recollection only.”
“What time did you leave the party?”
“It must have been around one.”
“Was Banks still there?”
Markin shifted as if thinking, but the gleam in his eye told Eve he was amused by the questioning. “I’m not sure. It’s a large apartment. Not as large as this, you understand, but large enough. And it was a very . . . festive gathering. People spread all over. They have two levels rather than our three, but considerable opportunities to spread out, or enjoy a more intimate tête-à-tête. I believe Jordan indulged in an intimate tête-à-tête with my wife the night he died.
“Ah, here’s our coffee.”
A man in domestic black wheeled in the tray.
“Black for the lieutenant, cream with two sugars for the detective.” Markin smiled again. “I told you I was a fan.”
As the man poured, Delores Larga Markin came down the stairs. Her luxurious red hair spilled over the shoulders of a gray suit, high-necked, military in cut, with a double row of silver buttons down the jacket.
She wore silver booties with needle-thin heels and a line of red braiding up the sides. Square-cut diamond studs flashed at her ears, her only jewelry.
“Ah, here’s my beautiful wife. Come meet Lieutenant Dallas and her stalwart sidekick Detective Peabody. Renaldo, another cup.”
“No, thank you, Renaldo. I have another meeting shortly. I’m sorry I’m so pressed for time today,” she said to Eve.
“Oh, you can always squeeze out a bit more for interesting company. That will be all, Renaldo. Sit, sit, Dello.” He patted the cushion beside him. “I was just telling our guests about you and Jordan. You know, it occurs to me you must be the last woman to give him a ride before he died.”
Delores simply stared at him. Then she sat, keeping at least a foot of space between them. “Would you give me the room, Hugo? I’m sure you can make yourself available to Lieutenant Dallas if she needs to speak to you again. You have so much free time.”
“Why not?”
“Another couple questions before you leave, Mr. Markin. Your whereabouts this weekend. From Friday night through Monday morning.”
“That’s quite a length of time. Wasn’t Jordan killed Monday night, or rather early Tuesday?”
“Can you give us your whereabouts over this past weekend?”
“If I must. Spot-checking our casinos in the south. Mississippi, Georgia, Florida. I barely made it back in time for Thad and Delvinia’s party.”
“You have several relatives in the military, active and retired.”
“Do I?” He sipped his coffee. “I suppose you’re right. After all, we still call my grandfather ‘The General.’”
“You’re not interested in the military yourself?”