When the elevator opened on twenty-one, they walked into another dignified lobby. The frills here, if they qualified, hit low-key. The wide, sternly black reception cou
nter was manned by two bright-looking twentysomethings who flanked a woman who might have held her station for decades.
Straight-backed, deep-cushioned chairs—more black—formed a waiting area where no one currently waited.
Eve opted for experience, and walked to the woman with a snowy cap of hair, deep red nails, and a dark suit relieved from austerity by a peacock pin on the lapel.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, NYPSD. We need to speak with Marshall Cosner.”
If the badge and request surprised her, Ms. Experience didn’t show it. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Cosner?”
“No. If he’s not currently available, we can arrange one. At Cop Central.”
She met Eve’s eyes directly, and unless Eve missed the mark, she caught just a hint of amused disdain. “If you’d wait a moment, I’ll check Mr. Cosner’s availability.”
Instead of using the inter-office ’link or her headset, the woman rose, walked to the side door, disappeared through it.
One moment became two, then three, but eventually she came back out with a woman in a short, snug red suit that strained against generous breasts.
This one looked barely legal and had about a yard of tousled waves in guinea gold.
The older woman glided back to her station with the slightest of smirks while the blonde picked her way toward Eve and Peabody on towering red heels.
“I’m Mr. Cosner’s assistant.” Her voice sounded like a woman who’d just had energetic sex and was ready for a snuggle. “He’ll see you now. You can come with me.”
Eve followed, mildly amazed anyone could, well, mince along and still have hips that swayed like a pendulum. It had to be an innate talent.
They moved past cubes.
“Mr. Cosner is very busy this afternoon,” the assistant added as they moved past a few small offices. “But he has a lot of respect for … civil servants,” she finished, obviously digging up the term assigned to her.
The family might have stuck Cosner on the lowest rung of the law firm, but he still rated a corner office.
He had the door open so as to be seen behind his fancy desk, in front of his corner window, pretending to talk on his ’link.
The way he’d angled himself, Eve could actually see the blank display screen.
He had a smooth shock of deep blond hair, perfectly streaked as if the sun had threaded its fingers through it, and the warmly gilded tan of a man who might have spent his winter sailing a yacht in the South Seas.
His eyes, a bold blue, scowled below brows drawn sternly together. The disapproving mouth completed the image of an important man on an important call.
“I need that completed before the end of the business day. No excuses. I have another meeting.”
He set the ’link down abruptly, and the scowl became a bright, charming smile as he rose.
“This is an honor!” He came around the desk, hand extended, a leanly built man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, crisp shirt the same blue as his eyes, a tie of muted stripes that added hints of burgundy.
“The famous Eve Dallas! Muffy, get us some cappuccinos while Lieutenant Dallas and her stalwart partner tell me what brings them here today. Please, please, have a seat.”
Eve decided to let it play out, sat in one of the navy leather visitors’ chairs.
She noted though he reigned in a corner office, it was still on the small side. The wall shelves held not law paraphernalia but awards and trophies—golf, tennis. He took a seat behind the desk that, while polished and important, held no sign of any work in progress.
No framed law degree because he didn’t actually have one as yet.
“I followed the Icove case very closely, so of course, I read the book, saw the vid. Fascinating—horrifying, of course, but fascinating. More so as my family actually knew the Drs. Icove. Or I should say, thought they knew the Icoves. The masks people wear.”
He shook his head as Muffy picked her way back with a tray.