Born In Death

“And you’ve caught us out.” She laughed lightly, crossed her legs with a whisper of silk. “My son and I decided we wanted a little time, incognito, if you understand.”

“I know the term,” Eve said dryly, and Madeline’s smile didn’t falter a fraction.

“We did tell Robert – Robert Kraus – and several others that we were leaving New York. I’m sure you understand that being entertained can be just exhausting. Of course, you’re both young. You must enjoy the constant round of di

“I live for fêtes. Can’t get enough.” This time, that smile flickered toward a frown for just an instant. “You couldn’t just refuse an invitation? Or explain that you and your son wanted a few quiet evenings?”

“So much is expected of people in our position.” On a heavy sigh, Madeline lifted her hands, let them fall gracefully to her lap. “Sometimes those expectations are a burden. Accept this invitation, and refuse that one, feelings are hurt. It was just a little ploy to avoid all that and have those quiet evenings. We do love your city. Ah, here’s some refreshment.”

The droid wheeled in a cart holding decanters, a teapot, plates of fruit and cheese, and little frosted cookies.

“May I offer you brandy or tea? Perhaps a bit of both.”

As he anticipated her refusal, Roarke laid a hand on Eve’s knee, squeezed lightly. “Tea would be lovely.”

“Wonderful. I’ll pour. You’re excused,” she said to the droid, who slipped silently away. “Cream, lemon?”

“Neither, for either of us. No sugar, thanks.” Roarke took the lead. “You have an impressive home. Marvelous view.”

“The view was the pull. I could sit and watch the river for hours. All of our homes are near water of some kind. I feel very drawn to it.”

“You have this lovely home,” Eve put in, “but you stayed in Robert Kraus’s this trip.”

“We did. His wife – have you met her? Lovely woman. She extended the invitation, and it seemed like fun. We do have a nice time together. We enjoy cards.” After passing out the tea, she poured her own. “I’m afraid I don’t understand why that would be of interest to you.”

“Every detail of a murder investigation is of interest to me.”

“Then it’s still being investigated? I’d hoped it was all settled by now. Terrible thing. They were both so young. But surely you’re not looking at Robert?”

“Just getting the full picture. You knew Randall Sloan.”

“Of course. Now there’s a social butterfly. Such energy! Nothing stay-at-home about him.”

“I don’t know. He died there.”

“I’m sorry? What did you say?”

“Randall Sloan was found early this afternoon, hanging from the chandelier in the bedroom of his brownstone.”

“My God.” Madeline pressed a hand to her breasts. “Dear God. Randall? Dead?”

“When did you see or speak to him last?”

“I don’t… I can’t take this in. It’s such a shock. I… Please.” She reached over, tapped open a silver box. Inside was an intercom system. “Brown, please tell Mr. Chase to come down right away.”

Madeline sat back, pressed her fingers to her brow. “I’m sorry, this is such a shock. I knew the man nearly a decade. We were friends.”

“How close friends were you?”

Hot color streaked Madeline’s cheeks as she dropped her hands into her lap. “I realize you must ask questions at such a time, but I find the implication in that question in very poor taste.”

“Cops have very poor taste. Were you and he involved on a personal level?”

“Certainly not in the way you mean. We enjoyed each other’s company.”

“I’m told he persuaded you to bring your business to his father’s firm.”

“He did. Years ago. I found the firm’s reputation, ethics, and service more than satisfactory.”

“Robert Kraus was listed as your accountant.”

“That’s correct.”

“Yet Randall Sloan kept your books, the books for the foundation.”

“No, you’re mistaken. Robert does.”

“Randall Sloan oversaw the finances of the Bullock Foundation from day one, until his death.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Oh, God! Win! Sloan is dead.”

Winfield Chase stopped short in his stride across the room. He had the look of his mother, the same strong build, same strong face, same glacier eyes. Then he moved quickly to take the hand she’d thrown out toward him.

“Randall? How did this happen? Has there been an accident?”

“His body was found today, hanging from a rope in his bedroom,” Eve said.

“He hanged himself? Why would he do such a thing?” Winfield demanded.

“I didn’t say he hanged himself.”

“You said…” Winfield checked himself as he stroked his mother’s hand. “You said he was found hanged, I assumed…” He widened his eyes. “Are you telling us he was murdered?”

She had to give him credit for the fancy British play on the word. It made it sound as if Randall should have been wearing a smoking jacket while he choked to death.

“I didn’t say that either. The matter is under investigation. And as the investigator I’ll ask you both where you were on Friday between the hours of six and ten P.M.”

“This is insulting! How dare you question my mother in this ma

“Bullock, Madeline. Formerly Chase, born Madeline Catherine Forrester.” Their body language had something curling in her gut, but she kept her eyes steady. “And in case you don’t know who I am, it’s Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Until the cause of death is determined by the Medical Examiner, this matter is being treated as an unattended, suspicious death. Answer the question.”

“Mother, I’m going to ring our solicitor.”

“Go ahead,” Eve invited. “You’ll need one if you’re afraid to tell me your whereabouts on Friday.”

“Calm down, Win. Calm down. This is all so upsetting. We were home all evening. Win and I discussed plans for our spring gala, a fund-raiser the foundation is hosting in April in Madrid. We dined about eight, I believe, then listened to music and played cards. I suppose we retired about eleven. Does that sound right to you, Win?”

He looked down his nose at Eve. “We had lamb cutlets for di

“Yummy. Have either of you ever been to Randall Sloan’s New York residence?”

“Of course.” Madeline kept a firm hold on her son’s hand. “He often entertained.”

“On this trip?”

“No. As I explained before, we were looking for quiet evenings.”

“Right. Do you do any driving in the city, Mr. Chase?”

“In New York.” He gave her a look of mild distaste. “Why would I?”

“Couldn’t say. Well, thanks for your time.” Eve got to her feet. “Oh, your accounts, as overseen by Sloan, Myers, and Kraus will be turned over to the U.S. and British tax authorities – and, I imagine, those same agencies in several other countries.”

“That’s outrageous!” Winfield might have lunged forward, but his mother surged to her feet and kept the reins on him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“There are a number of questions regarding those accounts. Me, I’m a murder cop. What do I know? I’m sure the proper agencies will find the answers.”

“If there are any questions regarding the foundation accounts, they’ll be answered by Sloan, Myers, and Kraus. Robert Kraus…” Madeline paused, laid her free hand on her breast again. “But, no, you said it was Randall who, in actuality, kept the accounts for us. That alone is an outrageous breach of trust. Has he embezzled? Dear God, we trusted them, trusted him.”

She leaned into Chase, and his arm draped around her shoulders. “Was he using us?” Madeline demanded. “Is that why he killed himself?”

“That would be tidy, wouldn’t it? Thanks for your time.”

And that, Eve thought, would give them plenty to think about.

She was gri