Devoted in Death

2

Eve concluded playing a big, fat violin paid pretty well. Dorian Kuper had lived in a two-level apartment in a meticulously rehabbed building – one that had survived the Urban Wars. It stood, bright white brick and long sheets of glass gleaming, in a tony area of the Upper West Side.

When the doorman, wearing a classic black topcoat over his livery, greeted her by rank instead of snooty insults on the bland appearance of the DLE she drove, she knew Roarke owned the building. Obviously Doorman Frank had gotten the memo.

“How can I help you today, Lieutenant?”

“We need access to Dorian Kuper’s apartment.”

His round, almost cherubic face fell. “I was afraid of that. Please, come inside, out of the wind. I heard Mr. Kuper was missing. I guess you found him, and I guess it’s not good.”

She stepped inside, into warmth and white marble veined with gray, into the strangely spicy scent of whatever the masses of bold flowers cast off from their silver urn on the central table.

“We found him. It’s not good,” she confirmed.

“This will crush Ms. McKensie. His mother. They were really tight. He was a nice guy, Lieutenant, I just want to say. Always had a word, you know?”

“Do you know anyone who didn’t think he was such a nice guy?”

“Not right off, I’m sorry. He had a lot of friends. They’d come over for parties, for music.”

“Girlfriends, boyfriends?”

Frank shifted on his feet.

“Anything you can tell us,” Peabody said, adding a light touch to his arm. “Anything may help us find who killed him.”

“I get it, but it’s hard to talk about a resident’s personal life. I’d say Mr. Kuper had both, and nothing really serious.”

“All right. Has anyone been around in the past couple weeks, asking about him?” Eve asked. “Any former friend make any trouble?”

“Not that I know of. And when you’re on the door, you usually know.”

“Okay, Frank, thanks. I need you to clear us up to his place.”

“Sixth floor. Apartment six hundred. That’s the main entrance. I’ll clear the first elevator. I need to get clearance to get his pass key and code. It’ll take a minute.”

“I’ve got a master. We’ll get in.”

With a nod, Frank walked over to a blank granite counter, tapped and brought up a screen. “Lobby droid’s in the back. I don’t activate her this early. It’s usually quiet, so what’s the point? You’re clear, Lieutenant.”

He cleared his throat as Eve and Peabody stepped to the elevator. “Ah, does his mom know?”

“We’ll speak to her after we see his apartment. Like you said, it’s early. No reason to wake her up with this kind of news.”

“It’s going to crush her. They doted on each other, you know?”

Though she didn’t know what it was to have a mother dote on her, or to dote back, Eve nodded before she stepped into the elevator.

Ascending to sixth floor, the computer announced as they started to rise, proving Frank as efficient as any droid.

“Nice guy, lots of friends, loved his mother, bisexual.” Eve considered. “Not a bad rundown from a doorman in a couple minutes.”

“He looked sad,” Peabody commented. “When the doorman looks sad, you know you’re going to be dealing with a lot of sad in an investigation.”

“If you want happy, don’t be a murder cop. Or a cop period,” Eve decided.

The elevator opened to a wide hallway carpeted in dignified gray with the classy touch of artwork arranged on the walls. Curved tables holding slim, clear vases of white flowers ranged between apartment doors.

Six hundred took the west corner farthest from the elevator. Prime real estate in a prime building. Yeah, Eve thought, playing the big, fat violin brought in the bucks.

“Full security,” she noted, engaging her recorder. “Cam, palm plate, double police locks.”

She bypassed all with her master, opened the right side of the double entrance doors. Lights that had been off went automatically to a soft ten percent illumination.

“Convenient,” she said, “but not enough. Lights on full,” she ordered.

“Wow.” Peabody’s eyes widened as the light strengthened. “It’s totally uptown.”

Classy old-world, was Eve’s sense. The sort of deal Roarke preferred. Rich, deep colors, sink-in sofas and chairs. High backs, graceful curves. Dark, gleaming wood, the glint of silver and crystal. Flowers in vases that looked old and precious, candles in slender holders.

Art ran to landscapes, cityscapes, seascapes.

“Let’s take this floor first, see if he kept an office down here. We’ll want a look at his computers, his house ’link.”

Eve moved left, Peabody right.

When Eve opened double pocket doors, she found the unrestricted space created one large L. Living area, dining area, kitchen.

A serious sort of kitchen, she concluded, with a massive cooktop and oven in addition to double AutoChefs, miles of counter done in pale gold with tiny glinting flecks. Like beach sand, she thought as she walked through, opened cabinet doors, drawers at random.

A lot of serious kitchen tools, precisely organized.

Tucked inside a large, fully stocked pantry, she found a house droid created to depict a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman of short stature and sturdy build. The droid wore a gray uniform and white apron, and the dead-eyed expression of a droid at rest.

“Got a droid here!” Eve called out, and began to examine it for its manual operating switch.

“There’s a powder room, a totally mag music room,” Peabody began as she came in. “Piano, cello, double bass, three violins, flutes, piccolos. It’ll open up just like this area. High-class party central. Here.”

She moved around Eve, reached under the steel-gray bun at the base of the droid’s neck and did whatever needed to be done to activate.

The dead blue eyes became full of life and merriment. The slack mouth curved up in a cheerful smile.

“And what is it I can be doing for you this fine morning?”

The plank-thick Irish brogue would have made Roarke – whose own Irish was like a hint of music gliding through words – laugh or wince. Eve just lifted her eyebrows, and her badge.

The merry eyes scanned the badge, processed, confirmed. “And what, Lieutenant ma’am, would the local gardi be wanting with the likes of me?”

“Dallas. Lieutenant Dallas. Detective Peabody. At what time were you last activated?”

“I’ll be pleased to answer that, and any other questions you might have once I’ve cleared the matter with my Dorian. That scamp would still be abed at this hour if you hadn’t come ’round.”

“  ‘Scamp’?”

“He’s a lively one, he is. Works hard, plays the same. If he’s been waked so early, he’ll be wanting his coffee. I’m happy to serve you as well.”

“He won’t be wanting his coffee. Dorian Kuper is dead.”

Something resembling shock came and went in the droid’s eyes. “I can’t process that information. Please repeat.”

Once again Peabody moved in. “Could we have your name?”

“I’m Maeve.”

“Maeve, we regret to inform you Dorian was killed last night. We’re very sorry for your loss.”

“But, he’s young and healthy.” Grief, and anyone would have sworn sincere, clouded the voice, the eyes. “Killed? An accident?”

“He was murdered. Let’s move out here,” Eve demanded. “There’s no point standing in a closet.”

“No one would do him harm. I think there’s a mistake of some sort, begging your pardon.”

“There’s no mistake,” Eve began. “His identification’s been verified and confirmed.”

The droid moved to the counter, sat on one of the stools. “Why are humans so fragile?”

“It’s a mystery. When did you last interact with Dorian?”

“One moment, please.” The eyes went blank for a moment, then filled with apparent distress. “Ah God, ah God. My records show it’s been sixty-two hours and eighteen minutes since my Dorian deactivated me. Has he been dead so long?”

“No. No one has activated you until now?”

“No.”

Eve wondered why the officer on the missing persons hadn’t activated and questioned the house droid – then remembered the report had only just been filed.

“Was Dorian alone when he deactivated you?”

“He was, aye. He was going out to the rehearsal hall, he said, before the evening’s performance. It’s Giselle they’re doing right now. He said not to wait up for him – he liked to joke with me – and that he’d wake me himself in the morning as it might be late on both counts. He thought to have a late supper with friends. He often did so.”

“You could give us a full list of his friends, of people who’ve been on his guest list here for parties.”

“I could certainly. I could generate that for you, print it as well if that would help you. Or I can interface with any computer and create a disc.”

“Intimate friends, too,” Eve said.

“My Dorian had a large and lively group of friends, of all manner. He enjoyed having parties and musicales here, or quiet evenings with just a few, or the one of the moment.”

Like a doorman, Eve thought, a house droid could be informative. “Anyone get pissed when they were no longer the one of the moment?”

“I never heard of it, and sure I would have. He talked to me, my Dorian, and would have said if he’d been troubled by a difficult ending. For those intimate friendships, as you say, he tended toward those who wanted as he did, of the moment. He wasn’t ready to settle down. His music came first, always. When he worked, Lieutenant, he worked.”

The droid actually let out a little sigh.

“Many’s the hour I’ve passed doing my duties here and listening to him play. He was writing an opera himself, and worked on that as well when time allowed and the mood was on him.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll miss him.” When Eve raised her eyebrows again, the droid shook her head. “It’s not as you would understand, not a human emotion. But his mother had me made to resemble, in all possible ways, the Maeve who was nanny to him as a boy, and who loved him dearly. As he loved her.”

Weird, Eve thought, but there were plenty of the flesh-and-blood variety who couldn’t muster the sincerity of Maeve the house droid.

“Then I’m sorry.”

“His mother. I can be of comfort and help to her, should she wish it. Sure they were devoted to each other.”

“We’ll ask her. If you could provide that list, both hard copy and disc, it would be very helpful. My partner and I need to go through the apartment.”

“I’m glad to be of any help. Can you tell me, Lieutenant Dallas, why humans kill humans? It doesn’t process.”

“It never will,” Eve said.

Eve gave Peabody the computers and ’links, took the master bedroom on the second floor.

She found his goodies drawer as she thought of it, fully stocked with sex aids, toys, protection. That showed her he’d been adventurous and open in that area of his life. The scarcity of drugs – all she found legal – indicated he’d been in good health.

Plenty of high-end skin and body care, grooming tools, so he’d taken care with his appearance. And his extensive closet showed a range of styles – formal to grunge – that said he’d had a flexible sense of fashion.

She found the small wall safe in the closet, and found herself pleased when – in probably triple (at best) the time it would have taken Roarke, who’d been teaching her – she got it open.

Some cash, she noted, his passport, a small collection of wrist units, cuff links, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing over-the-top.

He kept a small office on the second floor, but it didn’t take long for her to discover he did only the absolutely necessary work there. He paid his bills promptly, kept an up-to-date calendar, for rehearsals, performances, travel, social engagements.

She found nothing of particular interest in either of the two guest suites, only a continued reflection of the victim’s taste and style, and apparently his droid’s exceptional skill for maintaining cleanliness and order.

“I’ve got the list from Maeve, and a copy on disc. It’s a long list,” Peabody added as Eve came back down to the main level. “And I deactivated her. She requested it, and said she’d be available for Ms. McKensie, whatever she needed or wanted.”

“We’ll let her know.” Eve glanced at her wrist unit. “Now’s as good a time as any. Nothing upstairs that rang. Comps, ’links?”

“Lots of communication. Conversations with friends, arrangements to meet up, orders out for party supplies, wine. I tagged for EDD, but I didn’t come across any threats, arguments, anything that seemed hinky, like someone trying to track him. Work stuff, too.”

“Work?” Eve repeated as they lowered the lights, went out into the hall. “He’s got an office upstairs, does bill paying and so on there.”

“No, music work. He has a comp in the music room. I thought it was a closet at first, but it’s a small work area. He’s got music on there, compositions he’s working on, and recordings he must listen to. No other business or communication on it. Music only.”

“Okay.” Eve fixed a police seal to the door. “You might as well have EDD pick up the electronics, go through them.” She didn’t think any of the geeks in the Electronic Detectives Division would find anything relevant, but it paid to be thorough.

“Send a query to the officer who caught the missing persons. Give him or her the status, take anything he’s got, which at this stage is likely nothing.”

“Got it.”

“It’s 508 for the mother, right?” Eve got in the elevator, requested the fifth floor while Peabody sent the email. “Anything back from IRCCA?”

“It’s early, and we only sent it about an hour ago. They’re always a little backed up. You’re thinking he wasn’t the first?”

“Why does somebody torture, for what looks like about forty-eight hours, and kill a cellist? Maybe it was personal. Maybe one of those of-the-moment types wasn’t as happy to keep it that way as the droid says. Maybe some other big, fat violin player wanted that first chair. Maybe the vic knew something about something or someone that somebody else wanted to know. Lots of angles yet. And one of them is he wasn’t the first. The heart’s bugging me. How many E’s on the list?”

“Can’t say right off, but I saw an Ethan, an Elizabeth, an Edgar, an Ellysa at a quick glance. Since there’s a couple hundred names on there, we’ll probably find a few more than that.”

They walked out on five, where Mina McKensie had the unit closest to the elevator. Same security, Eve noted, and pressed the buzzer.

In short order the light on the security cam blinked to green.

“Good morning. May I help you?”

The voice was rich and fruity and British.

“Lieutenant Dallas, Officer Peabody.” She held up her badge for the scanner. “We need to speak with Mina McKensie.”

“Yes, of course.”

Locks disengaged; the door opened.

Another droid, Eve thought, this one created to mimic a distinguished gentleman with a shock of dark hair silvering at the temples. He wore butler black.

“Please come in. Ms. McKensie hasn’t yet come down. I’ll inform her you’re here.”

He escorted them into the living area where the vic’s mother had gone more contemporary than her son. Still classy, Eve mused, but sleeker, slicker, more primary colors, bolder art.

“If you’d wait here. Please sit and be comfortable. May I provide you with any refreshment?”

“No, thanks. Just Mina McKensie.”

“Of course.”

He moved to the curve of stairs and walked up.

She’d know, Eve thought. She’d know as soon as the droid said the cops were downstairs. There’d be a desperate glimmer of hope, but she’d know.

Eve caught the movement, looked up. Mina hadn’t dressed as yet, and wore a full-length cream-colored robe, silk and fluid. On her face – an arresting face of sultry eyes against golden skin – Eve saw the hope fighting to overcome the grief.

Her hands whitened at the knuckle on the rail as she came quickly down.

“Dorian. Please, say it quickly. Say it fast.”

“Ms. McKensie, we regret to inform you your son was killed.”

She held up both hands as if she could shove the words away, lowered as carefully as an invalid into a chair of lipstick red.

“You’re sure it’s Dorian. You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yes, we’re sure. We’re sorry for your loss.”

“  ‘Loss’? That’s such a small word, isn’t it? Most of what you lose, you can replace again. Like a key card or an earring. You just get another. But…”

She rocked herself, gently, gently, while tears swam and shimmered. “I knew. I knew. I knew. When he missed the performance. He would never miss a performance. But I thought, No, it’s just… anything else. Anything else. But he didn’t answer his ’link, and I begged him to just let me know he was all right. He would never cause me to worry. He would never do that. They said, the police, that we had to wait to file a report. Why, why?”

Peabody sat, leaned toward her. “A lot of people, adults, sometimes take a day or two, just need that space.”

“Dorian isn’t like that.”

“I understand, Ms. McKensie.”

“Would it have made a difference?” A rawness in the question, just short of accusation. “If you’d looked sooner, would it have —”

“I don’t think so.” In her gentle way, Peabody took her hand. “I don’t think so, I’m sorry. Can I get you some water, Ms. McKensie?”

“I need…” She closed her eyes, and two tears slid through. “Jarvis, I need a brandy, please.”

“Of course, madam, right away.”

“I need a brandy,” Mina repeated, opening her eyes again. “And I need just a moment. Then I need you to tell me what happened to Dorian. I need you to tell me that, and to tell me where he is so I can go see him. I need to see my son.”

“We’ll arrange that, Ms. McKensie.”

She took the brandy from the droid, brought it to her lips for a long, slow sip. “I won’t fall apart. That’s for a private moment. I won’t fall apart,” she repeated, but her voice shook, and the tears slid down her face. “Tell me what happened to my son.”

“Ms. McKensie, is there anyone I can contact to come and be with you?”

“I don’t need anyone. I need to know.”

“Ms. McKensie.” Eve stepped in, sat on the slick silver table, trained her eyes on the brimming ones. “What I have to tell you is hard. It’s very hard. If there’s someone you trust, you depend on, you might want that person to come and stay with you after I tell you. We spoke to your son’s house droid. Do you want us to activate her, bring her down?”

“Maeve.” Another tear spilled, but she drew in, shook her head. “No, not Maeve, not yet. Ethan. Ethan Chamberlin. My conductor. My lover. I asked him not to stay last night, but…

“Jarvis, please contact Mr. Chamberlin and —”

“It might be better if I spoke with him.” Peabody rose.

“Jarvis, give the officer the information.”

“We’ll take this in the next room.” Peabody gestured to the droid to lead her out.

“I won’t fall apart,” Mina repeated. “I’m very strong. I raised Dorian on my own after his father died. Dorian was only six. I raised him on my own, and built a career. I’m very strong. Tell me.”

“His body was found in Mechanics Alley. Do you know that area?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s downtown. It’s Lower East Side. Do you know any reason he might have been in that area?”

“No. No. He has friends downtown. In the Village, in Tribeca, SoHo. Dorian made friends easily. I want to know how he died.”

“The medical examiner will determine that.”

“You know. It’s what you do, isn’t it? You know what happened to him. I’m his mother, and I need to know.”

“Ms. McKensie, the ME has to determine cause of death. I can tell you that from our on-site evaluation, it appears he’d been restrained. He suffered multiple injuries.”

Very carefully Mina took another sip of brandy. “They restrained him so they could hurt him? So he couldn’t stop them from hurting him.”

Yes, she was a strong woman, Eve concluded. And far from stupid.

“It appears to be the case, but the ME will have to examine Dorian. I’m very sorry. Do you know of anyone who would do something like this to your son? Someone with a grudge, a former lover, a competitor?”

“No.” Mina pressed her fingers between her eyebrows, took a slow breath. “No, I don’t. I’m not just dismissing what you asked, but he was well-liked.”

“He taught at Juilliard. Maybe a student he reprimanded.”

“None that I know. He liked teaching. He didn’t need to teach for financial reasons. He gave that time because he enjoyed nurturing new talent. It excited him to help a student come along. No one who knew him could have done this. No one who knew him could have hurt him this way, taken his life.”

“You were close.” She kept her eyes on Mina’s as Peabody came back in.

“Yes. Very.”

“Then I’m going to ask you, do you know anyone who’d want to hurt you by hurting your son? The same question from a different angle, Ms. McKensie. Someone with a grudge, a former lover, a competitor?”

“Oh God.” Her hands trembled as she set the snifter aside, so she gripped them together in her lap. “Kill Dorian to hurt me? I don’t know anyone who’s capable of such a terrible thing. There are people who don’t particularly like me, or people I’ve had disagreements with. Even serious ones. But I swear to you, no one I know would hurt Dorian. Even people who didn’t particularly like me liked him. The idea, even the thought that someone would hurt him because of me —”

“Ms. McKensie, we have to ask. We have to look at every possibility.” Peabody sat again. “Mr. Chamberlin is on his way.”

“Thank you.”

“Did your son mention anyone bothering him? He’d have fans, right?” Eve suggested. “People who follow the opera, who enjoyed his work?”

“Yes – I mean, yes, he had many who enjoyed his work, who might attend performances, and wait to speak with him or have him sign a program.”

“Sometimes a fan can cross a line, can develop a fictional relationship, and become angry when the object of that interest doesn’t reciprocate.”

Mina folded her hands again as if to keep them still, nodded. “Yes, I understand, and Dorian had followers, yes, of course. He’s young and very attractive and talented. He’d play at clubs now and again, especially off season. Not opera, of course. Jazz, blues. Dorian can play a number of instruments. Some would hear he’d be at a certain club and go to see him. Or wait by the stage door after a performance. There’s no one I can… Wait.”

She sat straight up. “There was a girl he spoke of in the last few weeks. What did he call her?” Mina closed her eyes a moment. “Earnest Tina.”

“Earnestina? Do you have a last name?”

“No, no, Earnest – as in she was earnest. Overly so. He had a drink with her once, which tells me she’s attractive. And he said she spent most of the hour dissecting Wagner and Mozart and so on. Not a musician, not that, she was composing. That’s it. Composing an opera, and very, very earnest. He said she’d come to whatever club, somewhere he’d jammed, a few days after he’d had a drink with her, and was very displeased he wasted his time and talent on what she considered lesser music. He laughed about it, but she’d been angry.”

“  ‘Tina,’   ” Eve repeated. “No last name?”

“I’m sorry. He never said. It was just an anecdote over coffee one morning. He might have mentioned her to a friend in more detail.”

“We’ll look into it,” Eve said as the buzzer sounded.

Peabody rose, gestured the droid back. “I’ve got it.”

“I don’t want to see anyone but Ethan. I don’t want to —”

“Don’t worry,” Eve assured her.

“I need to see my son, Lieutenant. I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name. I can’t quite remember.”

“Dallas. I’m going to arrange it. I’m going to go see him myself when I leave here, and I’ll arrange it. Dr. Morris is looking after him. I promise you he’ll be well taken care of.”

“Mina.” The man who rushed in was dashing, dramatic in looks. Tall, imposingly so, and whippet lean. Like the droid, he had a generous mane of hair gone silver at the temples, and eyes of dark and piercing brown under arched black brows.

Ignoring Eve he dropped to his knees by Mina’s chair, drew her into a hard embrace.

“Dorian. It’s Dorian. It’s —”

Though she’d kept her word, hadn’t fallen apart, she broke now on one keening wail.