Free Indulgence in Death by J. D. Robb Page A

don’t know him.”
    “Your PA, some of your staff, would have your information, and probable access to that card number.”
    “A handful, yes, who hold the necessary level of security clearance.”
    “I’ll want the names of that handful,” Eve told him.
    She split the interviews with Peabody and took Mitchell Sykes, the PA, first. He was thirty-four and looked slick and efficient in what she thought of as an FBI-lite suit.
    “I coordinate Mr. Sweet’s schedule.” He had a prissy, I-am-efficient-and-educated voice and kept his hands folded on his left knee. “I confirmed the reservation for the dinner meeting last night, and arranged for Mr. Sweet’s transportation to and from.”
    “And when did you do all that?”
    “Two days ago, with follow-ups yesterday afternoon. Mr. Sweet left his office at seven-thirty. I left at seven-thirty-eight. It’s in the logs.”
    “I bet. You have access to Mr. Sweet’s company credit card?”
    “I do, of course.”
    “What do you use that for?”
    “Expenses incurred by company business, at Mr. Sweet’s direction. All use is logged and screened. If I use it, the expense must include a purchase order or signed request, and also includes my passcode.”
    “Anything in the log about its use last night?”
    “I looked, as requested. There’s no entry. If there had been a charge against the account, it would have sent up an auto notice, but as it was simply used to hold a reservation, there’s no flag. The security code on the account is changed every three days, again automatically. Without the code, even a hold would be denied.”
    “So someone had the code. You’d have that?”
    “Yes. As Mr. Sweet’s personal assistant I have Level Eight clearance. Only executives at Mr. Sweet’s level have higher.”
    “Why don’t you tell me where you were last night, between nine and midnight?”
    His lip curled. “As I said, I left the office—verified by our logs—at seven-thirty-eight. I walked home. That’s one block north, two and three-quarters blocks east. I arrived at approximately seven-fifty. My cohabitation partner is out of town on business. I spoke with her via ’link from eight-oh-five until eight-seventeen. I had dinner in, and remained in my apartment for the evening.”
    “Alone.”
    “Yes, alone. As I didn’t expect to be interrogated by the police this morning, I saw no reason to secure a proper alibi.” This time he managed to curl his lip and look down his nose simultaneously. “You’ll simply have to take my word for it.”
    Eve smiled. “Will I? How long have you worked here?”
    “I’ve been employed by Dudley and Son for eight years, the last three as Mr. Sweet’s PA.”
    “Ever use Gold Star?”
    “I have not. Nor am I acquainted in any way with the unfortunate Mr. Houston. My only concern in this incident is the fraudulent use of Mr. Sweet’s name, information, and credit data. This department provides the company with the very finest security in the corporate aegis.”
    “Think so? Funny, then, how a little thing like—alleged—identity theft slipped through.”
    It was small of her, no doubt, but she got some satisfaction at the sour look that put on his face.
    With the interviews done, she hooked up with Peabody to ride back down to street level.
    “The two I interviewed, Sweet’s head of security and the accountant, cooperated. The accountant’s alibi—birthday party for his mother, twelve people attending, hosted at his home with his wife from eight to eleven or so. Security guy’s a little spongier. He’s married, but his wife went out with friends for the evening, and he stayed in and watched the ball game. She didn’t get home until around midnight. He’s got home security that would log the comings and goings, but being as he’s in the business, he could probably tweak that. Thing is, he’s former military, decorated, solid record, married fourteen years, one kid— who’s in summer camp at this time. He’s