Too Many Murders(37)

“I see. How long ago was the divorce?”

“Five years ago last November.”

“And has Mr. Skeps had intimate congress with other women since then? Has he a mistress? Girlfriends?”

Philip Smith looked irritated. “How would I know?”

“You had plenty of contact with the man.”

“Not when it came to whom he philandered with, Captain! I am known to disapprove of such activities.” He drew a breath. “Go ask Erica Davenport!”

Myron’s inamorata! “Why? Is she the likely one?”

“No, definitely not. That woman’s an iceberg. But she may know the more prurient aspects of Desmond’s life.”

“Fill me in on the iceberg, Mr. Smith.”

“This is like being the class tattletale!”

“Tattle away, Mr. Smith.”

“Erica is the head of Cornucopia Legal, which oversees the activities, contractual and otherwise, of all Cornucopia.”

“Define ‘otherwise,’ sir.”

“Oh, how would I know? Things like verbal indiscretions, potential libels and slanders, compromising behavior in senior personnel.”

“Wow! Mr. Skeps ran a tight ship.”

“He had to. We do a lot of business with the Pentagon.”

“So it would be fair to say that Miss Davenport heads up Cornucopia’s private KGB?”

“Oh, unkind! She’s a ‘doctor,’ actually. Dr. Erica Davenport. She’s been with us for ten years. Her undergraduate studies were at Smith, in economics, then she went on to Harvard Law. After which she did the customary dreary apprenticeship all lawyers do—at a firm in Boston. When she came to us, we funded her doctorate in corporate law at Chubb. A terrifyingly intelligent woman! She took over Cornucopia Legal from Walter Symonds ten years ago. Those years in Boston were not wasted, Captain. We got a fully polished gem.”

“Her childhood background, Mr. Smith?”

“WASP, from Massachusetts—plenty of money in the family.” Smith examined his buffed nails. “She knows all the right people—I was told she was the most beautiful debutante of her year.”

Where did she fit it all in? Carmine wondered. Debutantes don’t usually end up working for dreary Boston law firms.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Smith. Please remember that, no matter what the federal interest in Cornucopia might be, this is first and foremost a murder investigation.” On his way to the door he paused. “Where will I find Cornucopia Legal?”

“Right below here.”

That pecking order again! Clearly Dr. Davenport rated a two-viewed set of windows—unless, of course, the size of her office was considerably reduced.

It was not. Here there were definite signs of feminine occupancy: vases of spring flowers, delicately pastel paper on the two solid walls, woodwork painted pale green to match the leather upholstery, a pink-hued oriental rug on the blond wood floor. A room that gave an impression of a soft, nice, intensely feminine occupant. Horseshit, thought Carmine. The woman Philip Smith had described ought by rights to be flaunting black leather and chains. Women just didn’t rise to head a segment of Cornucopia without more than their share of cunning, ruthlessness and utter heartlessness. The only person she’d cry for was herself. Poor Myron!

She was coming to meet him, which gave him a good opportunity to assess her. Yes, the private school princess brought to full bloom. He knew she was born on February 15, 1927, which made her forty years old, but she could have passed for thirty. Of mediumtall height, she moved very gracefully and had a whipcord-slim body atop a pair of extremely shapely legs. The clothes could not be faulted, from the cobalt blue dress with a floating, longish miniskirt to the French shoes with very high heels. The studs in her ears were two-carat diamonds, and the single diamond on a chain around her neck added another four carats. Her streaky blonde hair was cut almost as short as a man’s and combed forward to frame a face of sculpted bones under thick tanned skin; her mouth was red-lipped and full, her nose had a slightly aquiline curve, and her large, open eyes were a cobalt blue reflection of her dress. Here was the queen bee; how had Desmond Skeps managed to dominate her?

He held his hand out. “Captain Carmine Delmonico, Holloman Police,” he said. At first glance he had begun to revise his opinion of how she had risen to head Cornucopia Legal; a woman this beautiful could do it on her back. Then he encountered her eyes, and dismissed the idea of a horizontal promotion. The ruthlessness, cunning and heartlessness were all there, and well used. She would have despised woman’s wiles, taken on her adversaries with their own weapons.