“Scientists and educators, writers and big business types, too,” she added. “You have to have money, brains—and it probably doesn’t hurt to have connections—to get in the door.”
Peabody took a deep breath. “I know it’s fresh mulch and plantings, but it actually smells rich.”
“First time I’ve heard that rich smells like dirt. There’s our escort.”
Eve watched a woman—early forties—come out of the massive doors, walk down the white steps in black needle heels. The suit, slim, precisely knee-length, had a high collar and military cut.
She walked like a soldier, Eve thought, crisply, straight-backed. Her hair, also black, slicked back snugly into a knot and left her face with its almond eyes and dusky skin unframed.
She skirted the island, clipped along the bricked walkway.
“Lieutenant Dallas?”
“Yes.”
“Ms. Mulray, assistant to the headmaster. I’ll escort you and Detective Peabody.” She gestured toward the path. “Headmaster Grange is in a meeting, but has been informed of your arrival. She hopes not to keep you waiting long. I trust you had a pleasant trip from New York?”
It was rote rather than interest, so Eve answered in kind. “Uneventful.”
Mulray opened one of the doors, held it open into a security station backed with thick glass. Eve glanced at the half dozen scanners, the two uniformed campus security.
“As weapons of any kind are banned on campus, you’ll turn in your service weapons here.”
Eve said, “No.”
“I understand your reluctance, Lieutenant, but this is our policy.”
“I’m going with NYPSD policy. We’re police officers, your headmaster has been informed of our arrival and its purpose. The East Washington Police and Security Department has been so informed. Clearly you have armed campus security, as is protocol. We do not surrender our weapons.
“If this is a problem,” Eve continued, “we can interview Headmaster Grange off campus. Say, Cop Central in New York. Detective Peabody, contact the prosecutor’s office, request a warrant.”
“If you’d wait here a moment.” Stone-faced, Mulray stepped toward the glass. It opened for her, either signaled from a device on her person or through the security guards.
“Way to get in her face right off,” Peabody said in a low voice.
“I’m betting Grange wanted to try a little power play.”
“Should I really contact Reo?”
“Hold off until we see what she does next. If she wants to screw with us, we’ll go talk to Hayward first, come back with a warrant.”
Mulray walked back through the doors, and the doors remained open. “I apologize, Lieutenant, Detective. I misunderstood Headmaster Grange’s directive. You are, of course, authorized to maintain your service weapons.”
The words, clipped as her walk, didn’t quite hide a simmering flash of temper. Grange had dumped responsibility and embarrassment on her assistant, Eve concluded.
And she bet it wasn’t the first time.
“No problem.”
Eve stepped through and into the spacious entrance hall. The founder’s gold-framed portrait greeted them. Lester Hensen sat in judge’s robes—looking, well, sober and judicious.
It didn’t smell or feel like a school, Eve realized, and indeed she saw no signs of classrooms, or students. So administration only, she thought.
No mixing.
They passed another glass wall. Behind it a number of people worked at a number of stations. There a portrait of the founder, and one of the current headmaster, graced the walls.
Eve figured it would be like being spied on by the brass.