When she rose, Eve and Peabody followed suit.
“Do you know your husband’s family?”
“Many of them. Hugo’s not like most of them, actually. His grandfather, ‘The General,’ said to me on our wedding day that I’d be the making of Hugo.”
Her mouth twisted into a tight, bitter smile. “He was wrong.”
“Is he close to any of them?”
“It’s hard to say. If someone can be useful, Hugo is clever at exploiting a relationship. Until they’re no longer useful.”
“Okay, thanks for your time. Do you know if the party hosts are in residence today?”
“No, they’re not. It was a bon voyage party. Delvinia and Thad left the next day for Turks and Caicos. They’ll be yachting through the spring.”
14
“‘Yachting through the spring.’” Eve just shook her head as they rode the elevator down to the garage.
“Does Roarke have a yacht?” Peabody wondered. “Not that either of you would yacht through the spring or whatever.”
“No to both. He’s not big on boats.”
“A yacht’s kind of a super boat. Anyway, Hugo’s kind of a shit.”
“He’s a complete shit. And he still checks off a lot of boxes. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anybody but Hugo, enjoyed putting his wife in an awkward position with the cops during a murder investigation. Let’s check out his travel over the weekend. Convenient he got back in time for the party, one Jordan went to. I never like convenient. It brushes close to coincidence.”
“I think she was being straight when she said he is too lazy to kill somebody.”
“As she sees it,” Eve said. “Which doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be an accessory. He didn’t snap anybody’s neck, but I bet he wouldn’t mind watching it done. I bet he wouldn’t mind setting some family up, using somebody to blow up a bunch of people, if he got some juice out of it. Pleasure and greed—I think he lives by both.”
“And he’s a shit,” Peabody said as they crossed to the car.
“Exactly. We’re going to track down the couple yachting till spring. Maybe both killers partied first. I don’t think so, but maybe.”
She drove out. Then, as it was on the way, stopped at Banks’s art gallery.
“Let’s see if we have anything here.”
She double-parked, ignored the outrage of horns and shouted expletives as she flipped up the On Duty sign.
“Shouldn’t be long.”
The Banks Gallery was a glossy little place tucked amid glossy little boutiques and glossy little cafés.
A sign on the door said Ferme, but the lights shined. Eve gave the glass door a few good raps.
Trueheart strode into view, spotted them, came straight to the door. He unlocked it, pulled it open.
“Lieutenant. We weren’t expecting you.”
“In the neighborhood. What have you got?”
“Maisie’s—ah, Ms. Kelsi’s still stuck on three possibles. In fact, she’s leaning toward a fourth now that she’s looking at her notes and checking artists’ web pages.”
“Let me talk to her.”
He guided them through—a lot of movable walls covered with art. Some of it incomprehensible to her, some she thought nice enough. Banks had definitely favored naked people, but he’d displayed landscapes, cityscapes, seascapes, still lifes.