by J. D. Robb
“People gossip. If the family and the staff are questioned by the police, people will gossip. Her husband is a very important man, very important. People like to gossip about important men.”
She wrung her hands as she spoke. It wasn’t often Eve saw someone actually wring their hands. Nerves, and something closer to fear, shimmered around the woman like warning lights.
“Sophia, I checked with INS. You’re legal. Why are you afraid to talk to the police?”
“I told you. Mr. and Mrs. Renquist brought me to America, they gave me a job. If they’re displeased, they could send me away. I love Rose. I don’t want to lose my little girl.”
“How long have you worked for them?”
“Five years. Rose was only a one-year-old. She’s such a good girl.”
“What about her parents? Are they easy to work for?”
“They . . . they are very fair. I have a beautiful room and a good salary. I have one full day and one afternoon off every week. I like to come here, to the museum. I’m improving myself.”
“Do they get along? The Renquists?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do they argue?”
“No.”
“Not ever.”
Sophia went from looking terrified to desperate. “They are very proper, at all times.”
“That’s hard to swallow, Sophia. You’ve lived in their home for five years and have never witnessed an impropriety, never overheard an argument.”
“It’s not my place—”
“I’m making it your place.” Five years, Eve thought. At the going salary rate, the woman would have a reasonable financial cushion. The vague possibility of losing her job might upset her, but not frighten her. “Why are you scared of them?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” It was in her eyes now, too easily recognizable. “Does he come to your room at night, when the girl’s asleep? When his wife’s down the hall?”
Tears welled up, spilled over. “No. No! I won’t talk this way. I’ll lose my job—”
“Look at me.” Eve gripped Sophia’s busy hands, squeezed. “I’ve just left the hospital where a woman is losing her life. You will talk to me, and you’ll tell me the truth.”
“You won’t believe me. He’s a very important man. You’ll say I’m a liar, and I’ll be sent away.”
“That’s what he told you. No one will believe you. ‘I can do whatever I want because no one would believe it.’ He’s wrong. Look at me, look at my face. I’ll believe you.”
The tears had to blur her vision, but she must have seen something, seen enough to have the words come flooding out. “He says I must, because his wife will not. Not since she learned she carried a child. They have separate rooms. It is . . . he says it is the civilized way of marriage, and that it’s my place to let him . . . touch me.”
“It’s not the civilized way of anything.”
“He’s an important man, and I’m just a servant.” Though she continued to cry, her voice held a cold finality. “If I speak of it, he’ll send me away, away from Rose, in disgrace. Shame my family, ruin them. So he comes to my room, and he locks the door, and he turns off the lights. I do what he tells me to do, and he leaves me again.”
“Does he hurt you?”
“Sometimes.” She looked down at her hands, and the tears that dripped on them. “If he’s not able . . . not able to, he becomes angry. She knows.” Sophia lifted her drenched eyes. “Mrs. Renquist. There is nothing that happens in the house that she doesn’t know. But she does nothing, says nothing. And I know, in my heart, she will hurt me more than he could if she finds out I spoke of it.”
“I want you to think back, to the night, the early morning of September second. Was he home?”
“I don’t know. I swear to you,” she rushed on before Eve could speak. “My room is at the back of the house, and my door is closed. I don’t hear if someone comes in or goes out. I have an intercom for Rose’s room. It’s always on, except . . . except when he turns it off. I never leave my room at night, unless Rose needs me.”
“The following Sunday morning.”
“The family had brunch, as they always do. Ten-thirty. Exactly ten-thirty. No minute sooner, no minute later.”
“Earlier than that. Say eight o’clock. Was he in the house then?”
“I don’t know.” She bit her bottom lip as she tried to remember. “I think not. I was in Rose’s room, helping her pick her dress for the day. She must wear a proper dress on Sunday. I saw, from the window, Mr. Renquist drive to the house. It was perhaps nine-thirty. He sometimes plays golf or tennis on Sunday mornings. It’s part of his work, to socialize.”
“What was he wearing?”
“I . . . I’m sorry. I don’t remember. A golf shirt, I think. I think. Not a suit, but something casual for summer. They dress carefully, both of them. Appropriately.”
“And last night? Was he home all night?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t come to my room.”
“This morning. How did he behave this morning?”
“I didn’t see him. I was instructed to give Rose her breakfast in the nursery. We do this if Mr. or Mrs. Renquist is very busy, or unwell, or if they have appointments.”
“Which was it?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t told.”
“Is there any place in the house where he goes that you and the child aren’t allowed?”
“His office. He’s a very important man, doing very important work. His office is locked, and no one is to disturb him there.”
“Okay. I may need to talk to you again. In the meantime, I can help you. What Renquist is doing to you is wrong, and it’s a crime. I can make it stop.”
“Please. Please. If you do anything, I’ll have to leave. Rose needs me. Mrs. Renquist doesn’t love Rose, not the way I do, and he—he barely notices the child. The other, what he does, it’s not important. It isn’t so very often, not any longer. I think he loses interest.”
“If you change your mind, you can contact me. I’ll help you.”
Chapter 19
A call to Renquist’s office netted her the information that he’d been called out of town, and would be unavailable for the next two days. She went through the formality of making an appointment upon his return, then drove to his house.
The housekeeper gave her the same information.
“You see him leave? You personally?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You watch him walk out the door with his suitcase?”
“I fail to see the relevance of such a question, but as it happens, I carried Mr. Renquist’s luggage to the car myself.”
“Where’d he go?”
“I’m not privy to that information, and would not be free to divulge it if I were. Mr. Renquist’s duties often require travel.”
“I bet. I’d like to see Mrs. Renquist.”
“Mrs. Renquist isn’t at home. Nor is she expected to be until this evening.”
Eve looked past her, into the house. She’d have given a month’s pay for a search warrant.
“Let me ask you something, Jeeves.”
She winced. “Stevens.”
“Stevens. When did the boss get this call to duty?”
“I believe he made the arrangements very early this morning.”
“How’d he find out he was hitting the trail?”
“Excuse me?”
“A transmission come in, a call, a private messenger whiz by, what?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“Some housekeeper you are. How’d his eyes look this morning?”
Stevens looked perplexed, then simply annoyed. “Lieutenant, Mr. Renquist’s eyes are not my concern nor yours. Good day.”
She thought about booting the door open when it started to shut in her face, but decided it was a waste of energy.
“Peabody, start the EDD troops doing a search to find out where Renquist
went, and how he’s getting there.”
“I guess he’s the one.”
“Why?”
It was Peabody’s turn to look perplexed and she hurried after Eve to the vehicle. “He’s molesting the nanny. He and his wife lied about him being home all morning on Sunday. He’s got a private, locked room in his house, and this morning, he’s conveniently called out of town.”
“So you cross off Fortney, just like that. Peabody, you’re an investigative slut.”
“But it all fits.”
“You can fit it this way, too. He’s molesting the nanny because he’s a royal shit and a perv. His wife’s not putting out, and he’s got a young, pretty girl in the house who’s afraid to say no. They lied because they’re both royal shits who don’t want to be hassled by the police, and saying he was home is more convenient. He’s got a locked home office because he’s got staff who might poke into sensitive material, and a kid he doesn’t want bothering him when he’s working. He’s called out of town this morning because his line of work demands he get up and go when the call comes.”
“Well, hell.”
“If you don’t think it from both ends, you don’t get the right answers. Now let’s see how Breen holds up in formal interview.”
He was waiting, examining the one-way glass when Eve stepped into Interview Room B. He turned, and sent her one of his boyish smiles.
“I know I should be pissed off, and yelling lawyer, but this is just iced.”
“Happy to entertain you.”
“I had to leave Jed with a neighbor though. I don’t trust the droid when I’m not in the house. So I hope this isn’t going to take too long.”
“Then sit down, and let’s get started.”
“Sure.”
She engaged the recorder, recited the case data, and the Revised Miranda. “Do you understand your rights and obligations, Mr. Breen?”
“Oh yeah. Look, I heard the media reports on the attack early this morning. Guy pulled a Bundy. What do you think—”
“Why don’t you let me ask the questions, Tom?”
“Sorry. Habit.” He flashed a grin.
“Where were you this morning at two A.M.?”
“At home, asleep. I knocked off work about midnight. By two, I was sawing them off.”
“Was your wife at home?”
“Sure. Sawing them off right beside me, but in a delicate, ladylike manner.”
“You think you get points for witty remarks in here, Tom?”
“Can’t hurt.”
Saying nothing, Eve shifted her gaze to Peabody.
“Well, yeah,” Peabody responded. “If you piss her off, it can hurt. Trust me.”
“Are you going to do the good cop/bad cop gambit?” He rocked back in his chair, balancing it casually on its back legs. “I’ve studied all the basic interrogation techniques. I can never figure out why that one works. I mean, come on, it’s the oldest one in the books.”
“No, the oldest one in the books is where I take you into a private room and during our little chat you trip and somehow manage to break your face.”
He continued to rock while he studied Eve. “I don’t think so. You’ve got an attitude for sure, and some innate violent tendencies, but you don’t pound on suspects. Too much integrity. You’re a good cop.”
He spoke earnestly now, obviously high on his own intellect and intuition. “The kind that digs in and doesn’t let go because you believe. More than anything else you believe in the spirit of the law, maybe not the letter, but the spirit. Maybe you take shortcuts now and then, stuff that doesn’t find its way into your official reports, but you’re careful about the lines—the ones you cross, the ones you don’t. And beating confessions out of suspects isn’t one of your shortcuts.”
Now he looked at Peabody. “Nailed her, didn’t I?”
“Mr. Breen, you couldn’t nail the lieutenant if you made the attempt your life’s work. She’s beyond your scope.”
“Oh, come on.” He gave an irritated little twist of his lips. “You just don’t want to admit I’m as good at this sort of game as you are. Listen, when you study murder, you don’t just study murderers, you study cops.”
“And victims?” Eve put in.
“Sure, and victims.”
“All that studying, researching, analyzing, writing . . . that would hone your observational skills, wouldn’t it?”
“Writers are born observers. It’s what we do.”
“So when you’re writing about crime, you’re writing about who committed it, who it happened to, who investigated it, and so on. In essence, you’re writing about people. You know people.”
“That’s right.”
“An observant guy like you, you’d pick up on nuances, on habits, on what people think, how they behave, what they do.”
“Right again.”
“So, being so observant, so in tune with human nature and behavior, you wouldn’t have missed the fact that your wife’s out having chick sex while you’re at home playing horsey with your kid.”
That wiped the smug look off his face as if she’d hit a delete button. What replaced it was the shock that turned the skin shiny white before the heat of humiliation and rage bloomed.
“You’ve got no right to say something like that.”
“Come on, Tom, your amazing powers of observation haven’t failed you inside your own little castle where a man is king. You know what she’s been up to. Or maybe I should say down on.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s gotta be a pisser, doesn’t it?” Shaking her head, Eve rose, strolled around the table to lean over his shoulder, to speak directly in his ear. “She doesn’t even have the courtesy to fuck another guy while you’re home playing mommy. What does that say about you, Tom? The sex was so boring she decided to see what it was like in the other end of the pool? Doesn’t say much for your equipment, does it?”
“I said shut up! I don’t have to listen to this kind of crap.”
Fists balled, he pushed up from the chair. Eve shoved him down again. “Yeah, you do. Your wife wasn’t at a meeting the night Jacie Wooton was slaughtered. She was with her lover, her female lover. You know that, don’t you, Tom? You know she’s been sneaking off, cheating on you for nearly two years. How do you feel about that, Tom? How does it feel to know she wants another woman, loves another woman, gives herself to another woman while you’re raising the son you made together, keeping the house together, being more of a wife than she ever was?”
“Bitch.” He covered his face with his hands. “Goddamn bitch.”
“I’ve got to have some sympathy for you, Tom. Here you are, doing it all. The house, the kid, the career. An important career, too. You’re somebody. But you go the professional father route, and that’s admirable. While she spends her day in a big office, having meetings about clothes, for Christ’s sake.”
Eve gave a hefty sigh, slowly shook her head. “About what people are going to wear. And that’s more important to her than her family. She ignores you and the kid. Your mother did the same. But Jule, she takes it another step. Lying, cheating, whoring herself with another woman instead of standing up and being a wife, being a mother.”
“Shut up. Can’t you just shut up?”
“You want to punish her for that, Tom, who could blame you? You want to get some of your own back, who the hell wouldn’t? It eats at you. Day after day, night after night. Makes you a little crazy. Women, they’re just no damn good, are they?”
She sat on the edge of the table, close, pushing into his space, knowing he could feel her pushing, even as she felt him vibrating.
“She looks me right in the eyes and lies. I love her. I hate her for that, hate her because I still love her. She doesn’t think about us. She puts that woman ahead of us, and I hate her for it.”
“You knew she wasn’t at a meeting. Did you stew about that while she was gone? And she came home, and went up to bed. Tired, too tired to be with you because she’d been with ano
ther woman. Did you wait until she was upstairs, settled in, before you left the house? Did you take your tools down to Chinatown, imagine yourself as Jack the Ripper? Powerful and terrifying and beyond the law? Did you see your wife’s face when you cut Jacie Wooton’s throat?”
“I didn’t leave the house.”
“She wouldn’t know if you went out. She doesn’t pay any attention to you. She doesn’t care enough.”
She saw him flinch when she said it, watched his shoulders hunch as if bracing for hammering blows. “How many times did you go down to Chinatown before you did Jacie in that alley, Tom? A guy like you does his research. How many trips did it take over there to scope out the whores and junkies?”
“I don’t go to Chinatown.”
“Never been to Chinatown? A native New Yorker?”
“I’ve been there. Of course, I’ve been there.” He was starting to sweat now, and the cockiness had been replaced by shaky nerves. “I mean I don’t go there for . . . I don’t use LCs.”
“Tom, Tom.” Eve clucked her tongue and sat across from him again. There was a pleasant smile on her face and a look of amused incredulity in her eyes. “A young, healthy man like you? You’re going to tell me you never paid for a quick blow job? Your wife hasn’t been inclined to give you much of a bounce for what, close to two years? And you haven’t made use of a perfectly legal service? If that’s true you must be pretty . . . wrought up. Or maybe you just can’t get it up anymore, and that’s why your wife checked out the competition.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” His color came up again. “Jule’s just . . . I don’t know, she just has to get this out of her system. And, okay, so I’ve hired an LC a few times since things have gotten messed up at home. Jesus, I’m not a eunuch.”
“She’s making you one. She’s insulted, belittled, betrayed you. Maybe you were just going out to pick up some stranger. Guy’s entitled when his wife shuts him out. Maybe things got out of hand. All that anger and frustration just built up. Thinking about how she’d lied to you, how she was in your bed fresh from another woman. Lying, cheating, making you nothing.”
She let that single word vibrate in the room, let it slap at him. “You needed some attention, goddamn it. You’ve got a head full of men who knew how to get attention. Knew how to make a woman stand up and take notice. Had to feel good to rip into Jacie, into the symbol of her, to cut out what made her a woman. To make her pay, make them all pay for ignoring you.”