It got a rise of color along his cheekbones, but Alex’s voice remained neutral. “I trusted Rod. My mistake.”
“Oh boy, wasn’t it just? We’re talking years here, Alex. Your boyfriend’s been socking away money your daddy paid him to spy on you, to pass info on. You can probably think back to a deal that didn’t pan out the way you wanted, and wonder if it’s because your old man had the inside track and felt like screwing with you.”
“Am I in here to admit a trusted friend used me for his own gain, and my father enjoys complicating my life? Admitted. Freely. Is that all?”
“Not even close. It’s got to piss you off.”
“Again, freely admitted.”
“In your shoes I’d want some payback.” Eve gave Peabody a speculative glance. “If my partner here worked me that way and I found out? She couldn’t run far or fast enough.”
“And I can run pretty fast given the right incentive.”
“I’d make her pay for it. How do you think I’d make you pay for it, Peabody?”
“In the most painful and humiliating way possible.”
“See how well we know each other? The difference in the situations and personalities as I see it is I wouldn’t end her. I’d want her to hurt and fear me for a long, long time. But we all have our different definition of fun. Did you have fun killing Sandy, Alex?”
“That accusation—”
Alex simply lifted a hand to cut the lawyer off. “Rod’s dead? How?”
She’d kept a lid on it and saw now she’d been right to do so. He hadn’t known, Eve thought. His network hadn’t found Sandy, or hadn’t been ordered to look quite deep enough. “I’m asking the questions. He betrayed you, made a fool of you, now he’s dead. That’s a one plus one equals two kind of deal around here. Of course, that’s if we believe you were the goat.”
She tipped back casually in her chair. “We could speculate that you and Sandy were duping your father. Take his money and Sandy feeds him what you want him to eat. You’re smart enough to do that.”
“It’s exactly what I would have done, if I’d known.”
“You’re in a tough spot here, Alex. Say you knew and it could take you off the hook on Sandy’s murder. But say you knew, and—since he’s implicated in Coltraine’s murder—that could tie you to a cop killing. Say you don’t know, and you come off a fool who’d probably want some of his own back.”
“Lieutenant Dallas,” Proctor began, “my client can hardly be held responsible for the actions of . . .”
Eve didn’t bother to listen, didn’t bother to interrupt. She just kept looking at Alex. It was Alex who finally shut the lawyer down, and leaned toward Eve. “I don’t know when my father got his hooks into Rod. I intend to find out, but I don’t know how long ago. I don’t know why Rod betrayed me for money. Now I’ll never know. You may not think the why would be important. It’s essential to me. I didn’t want Rod dead. I wanted to know why, I wanted to know if he had anything, anything at all to do with Ammy’s death. I wanted to look in his face and know if he could’ve done that to her, to me. And why.”
“He not only could have, he did. Why? Money’s often enough. Add sex and the potential for power, and you’ve got it all. Hell, Alex, he’s probably been banging your sister regularly since college.”
“I don’t have a sister, so the supposition is—”
“Christ, Peabody, maybe he is just an oblivious idiot.” Eve pulled out Cleo Grady’s photo, tossed it on the table. “Not much family resemblance, but that’s understandable with half sibs.”
Alex stared at the photo, and Eve watched his color fade shade by shade. “Get out,” Alex said to the lawyers. “All of you, get out.”
“Mr. Ricker, it’s not in your best interest to—”
“Get out now, or you’re fired.” He stared at Eve as the lawyers packed up their briefcases and left the room. “If you’re lying about this, if you’re playing me on this, I’ll use every means at my disposal to have your badge.”
“Now I’m scared.”
“Don’t fuck with me!”
It was the anger, the raw emotion through it, that gave Eve some of the answers she’d wanted. “We’ll remain on record. You have dismissed your attorneys?”
“Yes, I’ve damn well dismissed them. Tell me who this is, and what she has to do with me.”
Morris opened the door of Ammy’s apartment for Cleo Grady. She stepped forward, said only, “Morris,” and gave him both her hands.
“I’m sorry I pulled you into this, Cleo. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Don’t be. You shouldn’t try to do this alone. She was my friend. I want to help.”
She sounded so sincere, he thought. With just the slightest catch in her voice. How easy it would be to believe her, if he didn’t know. He shifted to let her inside, closed the door. “I don’t know if I could do it alone. But when her family asked, I . . . They don’t want to come back here. I can’t blame them. But going through her things, packing them up . . . There’s so much of her. And none of her.”
“I can take care of it. I’ve got the personal time coming. My LT knows I’m here today. Why don’t you let me deal with this, Morris? You don’t have to—”
“No, I said I would. I’ve started, but I keep, well, bogging down.” Successful lies, Morris thought, were wrapped in truth. “The police still have her electronics, her files, but I started on her clothes. Her family told me to keep whatever I wanted, or to give what I thought appropriate to her friends here. How do I know, Cleo? How can I?”
“I’ll help you.” She stood, looked around the living room. “She always kept her space nice. Here, at work. Made the rest of us look like slobs. She’d want us to put her things away, nice, if you know what I mean.”
“With care.”
“Yeah, with care.” She turned to him. “We’ll do that for her, Morris. Do you want to finish the clothes first?”
“Yes, that’s probably best.” He led the way into the bedroom where he had painfully begun the process of packing Ammy’s things. Now he continued the task with the woman he believed had murdered his lover.
They spoke of her, and other things. He looked straight into Cleo’s eyes as she folded one of Ammy’s favorite sweaters. He could do that, Morris thought. He could let this woman touch Ammy’s things, speak of her, move around the room where he and Ammy had been intimate, had loved each other. He could do whatever he needed to do, and for now—at least for now—feel nothing.
A twinge, just a twinge cut through when she began to box and wrap jewelry.
“She always knew just what to wear with what.” Cleo’s eyes met his in the mirror, smiled. “It’s a talent I don’t share. I used to admire . . . oh.” She held up a pair of small, simple silver hoops. “She wore these a lot, for work anyway. They’re so her, you know? Just exactly right, not too much, not too little. They’re just . . . her.”
It hurt, heart and gut. But he did what he had to do. “You should have them.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. Her family—”
Bitch, he thought as he watched her. You cold bitch. “Her family told me to give what was appropriate to friends. She’d want you to have those since they remind you of her.”
“I’d really love to, if you’re sure. I’d love to have something of hers.” Tears sheened her eyes as she smiled. “I’ll treasure them.”
“I know you will.”
There were so many ways to kill, he thought, as they closed and sealed boxes. Slow, painful ways, quick, merciful ways. Obscene ways. He knew them all. Did she? How many ways had she killed?