The windows sparkled.
The result, from Eve’s view, equaled classy, safe, welcoming.
Another layer of safe came from excellent security, including a door cam.
She turned, again to get a sense of the area where there would have been interaction, routine, certainly deliveries. And spotted Peabody on the opposite corner.
She wore her pink coat—surely with the winter lining zipped out for spring—her obviously beloved cowboy boots, navy pants that may or may not have been loose, and a scarf, silky rather than knit, that held flowers not unlike those in the white pots.
The sun bounced off the lenses of her sunshades, making Eve wish she’d remembered her own.
Peabody crossed over, hoofed down to Eve.
“Mag morning! It should always be spring.”
“You’re wearing flowers.”
“Spring. I just ran this up last night.” Peabody patted the scarf.
“Ran it up where?”
“On my sewing machine. I don’t see the car.”
“I parked back at the crime scene so I could walk Kent’s usual route.”
“Oh. Well, damn, I should’ve had that apple turnover. I bet McNab gets one on the way to Central, because nothing sticks to his skinny ass. He’s on tap when and if you need him to deal with the electronics. Oh, look how pretty those mini irises are with the daffs and those sweet potato vines.”
Puzzled, Eve stared down at the pots. “They’re growing potatoes outside the office?”
“No, those are just decorative vines.”
“How do you know these things?” Eve wondered as she started up the steps. “Wait, Free-Ager. Never mind.” She pressed the buzzer.
The woman who answered had deep gold skin, dense black hair wound into a wide knot at the nape of her neck. Her eyes, richly brown, wide, thickly lashed, showed signs of recent weeping and considerable fatigue.
She wore a simple black suit, sensible black shoes.
“You are the police,” she said in precise English with the faintest of accents.
“Lieutenant Dallas,” Eve said, offering her badge. “Detective Peabody.”
“Yes, Detective Peabody and I spoke. I am Seldine Abbakar, Dr. Abner’s office manager. Please come in.”
The reception/waiting area had walls of cheerful green holding cheerful art. Photos of babies, toddlers, older kids covered an entire wall. It offered thickly cushioned chairs in primary blue in the main area, with another section offering crayon-red tubs of toys.
An alcove had rods—regular height, and lower ones she supposed smaller humans used—to hang up coats.
No one currently manned the long L-shaped workstation with several comps and screens behind the reception counter.
“I asked everyone to come by seven-fifteen, to be sure,” Seldine said. “We are all here, and I thought it best to have you speak to everyone in our conference room. You will excuse us.…”
She paused, pressed her carefully dyed lips together. “We are, all of us, shocked and saddened. Dr. Abner, he was very loved.”
“We’re sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It’s a great one.”
“We appreciate you arranging this time.”
“He would have wanted it so. It is your duty to find who did this terrible thing. I want more than I can tell you for you to do your duty. I will take you back.”
“Before you do, how long did you work for Dr. Abner?” Eve knew—she’d run her. But she wanted to hear it from the source.
“I began here at twenty-two, after college. I came from Iran as a student, and studied here, applied to live here. That was twenty years ago next month. Dr. Kent— Excuse me, he invited me to use his given name, but I could not. So he was Dr. Kent to me.”
“Understood.”
“Dr. Kent allowed me to learn more, and encouraged me to rise. My own father died in Iran long ago. When I married, it was Dr. Kent I asked to give me away. He allowed me very generous leave when I had my children, and because I wished to work and to have my children, he … We have day care, here in the office. He loves—loved children, you see.”
A tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away. “Excuse me, I am upset. He was a father to me. Dr. Martin, his husband, was family to me. They were, in all but blood, grandfathers to my children.”
“I’m going to ask you this and get it out of the way. Can you tell me where you were night before last at ten?”
“This is your duty. Yes, I can tell you. My sister-in-law, my husband’s sister, had a baby on that night, at ten-sixteen. A boy, eight pounds, one ounce, who will be called Jamar. I was with her, as she asked me to be, through the labor and delivery, and we stayed, my husband and I, with her and the family until nearly midnight.”
She let out a breath. “Dr. Kent was to be Jamar’s pediatrician, as he was for my children. I will give you the names, the address of the birthing center so you can know.”
She knew pure and simple truth when she heard it, but Eve nodded. “Thank you. We’ll talk to the others now.”
Seldine opened a side door, led the way past a series of exam rooms, a couple of stations. An office that had Abner’s name on the door. A second office that had the associate’s name.
They went up a flight of steps—closed off with another door—and came into a kind of break room/lounge area, what was obviously the—currently empty—day care area, and into a room with a large table, a number of chairs, a couple of counters holding an AutoChef, coffee and tea setups.
Those around the table looked up as they entered. Eve saw a lot of weepy and reddened eyes. And more than one person clinging to the person beside them.
The air was thick with grief.
“This is Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody. They have questions, and we honor Dr. Kent by answering them fully and honestly. Please sit, Lieutenant, Detective. You will have coffee?”
“Thanks. Black.”
“Cream, two sugars,” Peabody told her. And, following Eve’s lead, started it off. “We understand all of you have had a terrible shock, and we’re sorry for your loss. It’s always hard to be asked, but by getting everyone’s whereabouts at certain times, it helps us eliminate and move on to other questions.”
“I’ll start. I’m Melissa Rendi. Dr. Rendi, Dr. Abner’s associate.”
A mixed-race woman in her mid-thirties, she sat with a tissue clutched in her hand. “I came into the practice three years ago. Everyone else has been here longer, so I’ll start, if that’s okay.”
“It’s fine. Can you tell us where you were night before last at ten P.M.?”
“I— But I thought Kent was killed yesterday morning.”
“That’s correct,” Eve said. “We also need this information.”
“I was home, with my fiancée. Do you need her name?”
“Please.”
“Alicia Gorden. We had dinner in—we’d both had a long day—and we’re getting married next month, so we went over some of the RSVPs, and other wedding plans. We stayed in all evening.”
“How about yesterday, about nine-thirty in the morning?”
“Here. It was Kent’s day off. I had patients starting at eight.”