"And murder and injury by that particular type of weapon is now an aberration rather than the norm."
"You like rules, lieutenant?"
The question was mild, as was the insult under it. Her shoulders stiffened. "Without rules, chaos."
"With chaos, life."
Screw philosophy, she thought, annoyed. "Do you own a thirty-eight caliber Smith Wesson, Model Ten, circa 1990?"
He took another slow, considering drag. The tobacco burned expensively between his long, elegant fingers. "I believe I own one of that model. Is that what killed her?"
"Would you be willing to show it to me?"
"Of course, at your convenience."
Too easy, she thought. She suspected anything that came easily. "You had dinner with the deceased the night before her death. In Mexico."
"That's right." Roarke crushed out his cigarette and settled back with his brandy. "I have a small villa on the west coast. I thought she'd enjoy it. She did."
"Did you have a physical relationship with Sharon DeBlass?"
His eyes glittered for a moment, but whether with amusement or with anger, she couldn't be sure. "By that, I take you to mean did I have sex with her. No, lieutenant, though it hardly seems relevant. We had dinner."
"You took a beautiful woman, a professional companion, to your villa in Mexico, and all you shared with her was dinner."
He took his time choosing a glossy green grape. "I appreciate beautiful women for a variety of reasons, and enjoy spending time with them. I don't employ professionals for two reasons. First, I don't find it necessary to pay for sex." He sipped his brandy, watching her over the rim. "And second, I don't choose to share." He paused, very briefly. "Do you?"
Her stomach fluttered, was ignored. "We're not talking about me."
"I was. You're a beautiful woman, and we're quite alone, at least for the next fifteen minutes. Yet all we've shared has been coffee and brandy." He smiled at the temper smoldering in her eyes. "Heroic, isn't it, what restraint I have?"
"I'd say your relationship with Sharon DeBlass had a different flavor."
"Oh, I certainly agree." He chose another grape, offered it.
Appetite was a weakness, Eve reminded herself even as she accepted the grape and bit through its thin, tart skin. "Did you see her after your dinner in Mexico?"
"No, I dropped her off about three A.M. and went home. Alone."
"Can you tell me your whereabouts for the forty-eight hours after you went home – alone?"
"I was in bed for the first five of them. I took a conference call over breakfast. About eight-fifteen. You can check the records."
"I will."
This time he grinned, a quick flash of undiluted charm that had her pulse skipping. "I have no doubt of it. You fascinate me, Lieutenant Dallas."
"After the conference call?"
"It ended about nine. I worked out until ten, spent the next several hours in my midtown office with various appointments." He took out a small, slim card that she recognized as a daybook. "Shall I list them for you?"
"I'd prefer you to arrange to have a hard copy sent to my office."
"I'll see to it. I was back home by seven. I had a dinner meeting with several members of my Japanese manufacturing firm – in my home. We dined at eight. Shall I send you the menu?"
"Don't be snide, Roarke."
"Merely thorough, lieutenant. It was an early evening. By eleven I was alone, with a book and a brandy, until about seven A.M., when I had my first cup of coffee. Would you like another?"
She'd have killed for another cup of coffee, but she shook her head. "Alone for eight hours, Roarke. Did you speak with anyone, see anyone during that time?"
"No. No one. I had to be in Paris the next day and wanted a quiet evening. Poor timing on my part. Then again, if I were going to murder someone, it would have been ill advised not to protect myself with an alibi."
"Or arrogant not to bother," she returned. "Do you just collect antique weapons, Roarke, or do you use them?"
"I'm an excellent shot." He set his empty snifter aside. "I'll be happy to demonstrate for you when you come to see my collection. Does tomorrow suit you?"
"Fine."
"Seven o'clock? I assume you have the address." When he leaned over, she stiffened and nearly hissed as his hand brushed her arm. He only smiled, his face close, his eyes level. "You need to strap in," he said quietly. "We'll be landing in a moment."
He fastened her harness himself, wondering if he made her nervous as a man, or a murder suspect, or a combination of both. Just then, any choice had its own interest – and its own possibilities.
"Eve," he murmured. "Such a simple and feminine name. I wonder if it suits you."
She said nothing while the flight attendant came in to remove the dishes. "Have you ever been in Sharon DeBlass's apartment?"
A tough shell, he mused, but he was certain there would be something soft and hot beneath. He wondered if – no, when – he'd have the opportunity to uncover it.
"Not while she was a tenant," Roarke said as he sat back again. "And not at all that I recall, though it's certainly possible." He smiled again and fastened his own harness. "I own the Gorham Complex, as I'm sure you already know."
Idly, he glanced out the window as earth hurtled toward them. "Do you have transportation at the airport, lieutenant, or can I give you a lift?"
CHAPTER FOUR
Eve was more than tired by the time she filed her report for Whitney and returned home. She was pissed. She'd wanted, badly, to zing Roarke with the fact that she knew he owned the Gorham. His telling her in the same carelessly polite tone he used to offer her coffee had ended their first interview with him one point up.
She didn't like the score.
It was time to even things up. Alone in her living room, and technically off the clock, she sat down in front of her computer.
"Engage, Dallas, Code Five access. ID 53478Q. Open file DeBlass.
Voice print and ID recognized, Dallas. Proceed.
"Open subfile Roarke. Suspect Roarke – known to victim. According to Source C, Sebastian, victim desired suspect. Suspect met her requirements for sexual partner. Possibility of emotional involvement high.
" Opportunity to commit crime. Suspect owns victim's apartment building, equaling easy access and probably knowledge of security of murder scene. Suspect has no alibi for eight-hour period on the night of the murder, which includes the time span erased from security discs. Suspect owns large collection of antique weapons, including the type used on victim. Suspect admits to being expert marksman.
"Factor in personality of suspect. Aloof, confident, self-indulgent, highly intelligent. Interesting balance between aggressive and charming.
"Motive."
And there, she ran into trouble. Calculating, she rose, did a pass through the room while the computer waited for more data. Why would a man like Roarke kill? For gain, in passion? She didn't think so. Wealth and status he would, and could gain by other means. Women – for sex and otherwise – certainly he could win without breaking a sweat. She suspected he was capable of violence, and that he would execute it coldly.
Sharon DeBlass's murder had been charged with sex. There had been a crudeness overlaying it. Eve couldn't quite reconcile that with the elegant man she'd shared coffee with.
Perhaps that was the point.
"Suspect considers morality a personal rather than legislative area," she continued, pacing still. "Sex, weapon restriction, drug, tobacco, and alcohol restrictions, and murder deal with morality that has been outlawed or regulated. The murder of a licensed companion, the only daughter of friends, the only granddaughter of one of the country's most outspoken and conservative legislators, by a banned weapon. Was this an illustration of the flaws the suspect considers are inherent in the legal system?