by J. D. Robb
“She won’t. You don’t have to screw up your day on this.”
“How could it be screwed up? With you?”
“You could be handy,” she considered. “Money, social status—it’s her language. And if he’s there, you could lure him off to show you his golf clubs or something.”
“Now, that might screw up my day, but I’ll risk it.”
“Get your toys. I’ll meet you out front.”
By the time she got down, the vehicle was waiting. Not her deceptively bland-looking DLE, but a big, brawny, black SUV.
“Are we driving up a mountain?” she asked Roarke when he came out.
“Who can say? I did a little due diligence on Copley and Quigley when I poked into his finances, but I assume you took more time with that end. You can fill me in while we drive.”
“They’re both cheaters,” she said flatly. “Were both attached when they fooled around, then he fooled around some more, then took her off to Hawaii for an elopement he planned, using her family’s facilities.”
“You don’t like either of them.”
“Not a whole lot.”
“Which is why you sent Peabody off to the sister and brother-in-law, because you do like them.”
“I don’t like or dislike. But they strike me as pretty straight. Not squeaky. Martella thought she’d screwed Ziegler voluntarily, and paid him off to keep it secret instead of sucking it up and dealing with it. And he struck me as a little too calm about the whole thing once it came out. Quigley, Copley? They’re lying outright, but the other two hide things. Maybe they’re hiding murder.”
“It may be both of them—the Schuberts are dealing, in their own way, with the trauma of it. It’s a double blow for him. The first, learning his wife believed she’d betrayed him with another man. The second, knowing she didn’t do as she’d believed but was drugged and raped. It’s a great deal for any man to cope with.”
He’d know, Eve thought. He’d know what it was to cope.
“Maybe. Maybe they’re both just trying to find their way through it. There’s another player on their end. Catiana Dubois, the social secretary—which is a bullshit title in my world of titles.”
“For some, the social life is a kind of career or vocation, and having someone to keep order is helpful.”
“You don’t have one.”
“I have Caro and Summerset. A man needs little more.”
She couldn’t argue with that one. “They seem cozy, the three of them. Not we-have-a-threesome-every-Tuesday cozy, but cozy enough. According to Catiana, Ziegler hit on her and she blocked. He then spread the word she was a lesbian, which she let pass because she didn’t care. And he got pissed when the guy she’s seeing came into the gym and it became apparent she liked men just fine.”
“Sorry, I’m a bit distracted by the threesome every Tuesday.”
“Wipe it out of your mind. The point is, Ziegler screwed with—on various levels—all five people in those two households. What are the odds?”
“Another reason you like one of them for the murder, particularly Copley as he appears the weakest in the moral sense, and somewhat of a dick.”
“That sums it up. Plus your basic motive, means, opportunity. Because he had time. He had enough time. Any of them did, really, if one of the others covered for them.”
“How did you get McNab’s shoe size?”
“I have my ways.”
“You really do. Would you stab my dead body in the heart with a kitchen knife if I cheated on you?”
“Your mind is the most marvelous machine,” Roarke said, with a touch of wonder. “Murder to threesomes to shoe sizes to speculative murder. No.”
“You wouldn’t stab my dead body in the heart with a kitchen knife if I cheated on you?” She found herself oddly insulted.
“There wouldn’t be enough left of it to stab. I expect I’d have already cut out your cheating heart and set it on fire. This, of course, after I’d—what was your phrase—‘beaten your lover into paste,’ after which I’d have castrated him. But not with a kitchen knife, mind you. I’d have used a dull, rusty, and jagged blade, putting it to use again in the aforementioned cutting out of your heart. And I’d feed his cock and balls to a vicious rabid dog I’d acquired for that specific purpose.”
“That should cover everything.” Now, rather than insulted, she felt well loved. “We’re violent,” she said after a moment.
“Speak for yourself.” He negotiated around a pokey tourist triple tram loaded with shivering bodies, sparkling lights, and garland. “If you hadn’t cheated on me, I would never have laid a hand on you outside of love, passion, and tenderness.”
“You cleaned Webster’s clock because he wished I’d cheat on you with him.”
“That should provide fair warning.”
“We’re violent,” she repeated. “We grew up that way. We know our own natures, mostly channel it. But our instinct would be to react with violence in this kind of situation. Or to threaten it in a way that should—and almost always would—have the opponent backing down. Then we’d own it. That’s our nature, too. These people aren’t violent—in the same way—by nature. This violence was of the moment, a control snap, and in every case if it was one of the four, a good lawyer would get them off on temp insanity, diminished capacity, extenuating circumstances. Except, that goes down the tubes with the flourish.
“The flourish was pure ego, was stupid, was very much bragging.”
“Which is why you like Copley.”
“Which is why.”
She rolled it around in her head while he parked.
“Follow my lead, okay?”
“Naturally. You know they may not be home on this bright and cold Sunday afternoon.”
“They’re somewhere. I’ll find them.”
Eve pressed the buzzer, did the scanning deal for the computer. The process moved quickly this time, and the house droid opened the door.
“Lieutenant. How can I help you?”
“I want to speak with Ms. Quigley. Mr. Copley, too.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Copley isn’t at home at this time. Ms. Quigley has an appointment shortly.”
“Then I’ll try not to keep her long.”
“Of course. Please come in. I’ll let her know you’re here. Make yourselves comfortable,” she added, leading them into the living area. “May I serve you anything?”
“We’re good.”
Eve waited until the droid left the room. “You know she’s already told Quigley who was at the door. Why do they always act like they haven’t?”
“It’s a procedure. It’s a nice old building,” he observed. “Very well rehabbed.”
“Taste and money?”
“It would take both, and an admirable respect for the character of the brownstone.”
He turned, as she did, at the quick click of heels. “Lieutenant, I wasn’t expecting . . . Roarke.” Natasha’s smile flashed out as she clicked over, extended a hand. “We met, very fleetingly, several years ago, at an art show in London.”
“It’s lovely to see you again.”
“Please, sit down. I didn’t put it together when I spoke with you before,” she said to Eve. “I suppose the upset over everything fogged my focus. Eve Dallas, Roarke’s wife—and the star of The Icove Agenda.”
“Marlo Durn’s the star of that. I’m a cop.”
And you’re a liar, Eve thought. She’d made the connection already. Why pretend otherwise?
“Of course. I heard Nadine Furst is working on a second book based on one of your cases. I’ll look forward to reading it even more now that we’ve met. Even under the circumstances.”
“Where’s your husband?”
Natasha blinked once at the flat tone, but kept her smile in place. “JJ’s golfing. He and Lance and two of their friends have
a regular game every fourth Sunday, in Florida. They took the corporate shuttle this morning. He’ll be back by six, if it’s important.”
“You’ll do. The last time we spoke you expressed considerable concern about your husband learning of your affair with Ziegler.”
“I . . .” The faintest flush—embarrassment, anger, a combination, rose into her cheeks. “I was forthright with you, Lieutenant. I’d prefer not to discuss it again.”
“If you know Nadine’s book, the vid, you’re aware Roarke often serves as an expert civilian consultant.”
“You can rely on my discretion, Natasha.” Roarke spoke smoothly, and with the lightest touch of sympathy.
“I appreciate that, of course. Still, it’s very uncomfortable. It wasn’t an affair, though I pretended it was to, well, sugarcoat it for myself. It was a business transaction, on both sides, which I engaged in during a difficult time in my marriage. I’m certainly not proud of it.”
“You were concerned if your husband knew, he’d end the marriage. Yet this wouldn’t be the first time either of you engaged in affairs.”
The color deepened. “I don’t see what that has to do with Trey’s death, or my current marital status.”
“It’s harder for me to believe he’d toss it all out over . . . a business transaction, given the history.”
“The history is precisely why. We’ve made mistakes, we’ve both been unfaithful in the past. We promised each other we’d never do so again.”
“Felicity Prinze.”
She saw it, immediately. Natasha knew.
“You’re not tossing it all out over your husband’s . . . business transaction.”
“That business has been concluded.” She shoved to her feet. “I won’t have you come here and insult me, I won’t have you pry into my personal life.”
“Your personal life is part of my investigation. Try telling me the truth, and I won’t have to pry. You knew about Felicity Prinze.”
“Yes, I knew. It’s over.”
“How long have you known?”
“Weeks.” She waved a hand in the air. “I’m perfectly aware of JJ’s pattern, and his weaknesses. The situation put a strain on our marriage.”
“The rough patch.”
“Yes. We discussed counseling, argued, discussed divorce. And I . . . I began my business with Trey. I was so hurt and angry. Then JJ promised to end it, asked for another chance. I needed to think about it, of course, to search my own heart, but under it all I wanted to save my marriage. I intended to end my association with Trey, as I told you. And when JJ asked if I’d go away with him after the holidays, just the two of us, I knew I had to give him, give us, a chance.”
“You caught him cheating. How do you resolve your frantic concern about him finding out about your relationship with Ziegler.”
Natasha closed her eyes a moment, then released a breath. “One moment, please.” She stepped over to the house comm. “Hester, please contact Brianne and tell her I’m going to be just a little late.”
She came back, sat. “I’d lose my leverage. I’d lose any chance of patching this up, moving on. I was furious when I learned about this—this—dancer. I nearly tossed JJ out then and there, but . . . We argued, we said the usual horrible things to each other. But among those horrible things he had a point or two about my neglecting . . . some areas of our marriage, about expecting him to be present for my events and social needs while often not being available for his.”
She pushed at her hair, seemed to gather herself. “You’re married. There are ups and there are downs. I wanted time to think, to evaluate what I really wanted from JJ, for myself. And at a weak moment, I leaped into this business with Trey. It was stupid, it was emotional. By engaging with Trey I did precisely, or nearly, what JJ had done. I can hardly pretend to be outraged and list all the requirements for staying married to him if he learns I had sex with our personal trainer, can I? We’re working toward making it all whole, and this would tear it apart again.”
“Not tit for tat?” Eve said.
“Like most men—at least in my experience—he has the mind-set that it’s one matter for a man to dally, another for a woman. I can put aside what he did. He’d never do the same.”
“What would he do?” Eve asked.
“He’d slap me with it and walk away, or slap me with it and stay to slap me with it every time we had a problem. I can live with the secret. I can forget it. I can’t live with him holding it over me.”
“You told me he wasn’t violent, but you use a violent word to describe his reaction.”
“Verbally, of course. And . . . emotionally.”
But there was a hitch, a slight one.
“Has he ever hit you?”
“No! Absolutely no! Yes, he has a temper, it’s foolish to deny it. But he takes his anger out on inanimate things. He might throw something, or slam doors. He’s . . . it’s a bit like a child really, a tantrum. One of the things we’ve discussed is anger management.”
She leaned forward, earnestly. “He shouts, and it annoys people, puts them off. We have house droids rather than human help as they don’t become offended. I can promise you, if he knew about Trey, he’d make me pay, but he wouldn’t physically harm me. Or anyone.”
She rubbed her hand up and down her throat. “You can’t think he had anything to do with what happened to Trey. I’d know. I would. He was here, getting dressed for our party that night. And he was calm and even cheerful. He’d have been enraged, but he wasn’t. We even . . . we were together that night, for the first time since I learned of that dancer. He could never have done what you’re thinking then come home, and been so calm and cheerful, hosted a party, made love with me. He couldn’t have.”
• • •
A lot of ‘he couldn’ts’ in there,” Eve observed when they walked back to the vehicle.
“You unsettled her.”
“I meant to.”
“Not enough for her to agree to any taps, which is a pity.”
“She was pretty unsettled about that, too. Lots of ‘absolutely nots.’ No spying on spouse. No more prying into personal lives.”
“She may have protested—and too much as the bard would say—but she showed some fear, plenty of doubt.”
“Yeah, she did. Still, the leverage makes more sense, rings truer to me than the ‘Oooh, don’t tell JJ I did the nasty with the trainer.’ There’s some truth rolled in there, it’s just rolled in with lies, half-truths, and bullshit. I need some time to sort it all out.”
“She doesn’t love him.”
Pausing, Eve narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do you say that?”
He opened the car door for her, walked around to slide behind the wheel. “The bit about leverage? That’s something you and I might joke about, as we do cutting out hearts or dancing tangos on battered bodies if unfaithful.”
“Who says I’m joking about dancing on your battered body?”
He leaned over, kissed her. “That’s love. She wants that leverage—as if she’s to be believed he would hold a mistake over her head. Leverage, weight, payback. It’s not love.”
“No. It’s a power struggle with sex. Marriage is that, sort of—but it’s only right with the love in there. She’d go on this trip with him, and they’d make love noises—I don’t mean sex noises. Then, if he isn’t the killer—in which case I’ll have him in a cage—he’ll cheat again. She expects it. Next time she’ll boot him. They’ll have a prenup so he’ll get something, but she’s too smart, the money’s too old, for her to go into it without planning for this. Cheated with her, will cheat on her.”
“Logical enough,” Roarke agreed.
“Same with her. Cheated with him, and so on. Shit, when it comes down to it, they deserve each other.
“We’ve got a prenup, right?”
“We do, yes. You read i
t, had your lawyer go over it. We signed it and put it away where we never have to think of it again.”
“Yeah, right. I didn’t read it or do the lawyer thing. I just signed it.”
He stopped the car, annoying several cars behind him. “What? Christ Jesus, Eve.”
“Drive, before they get out the bats. What the fuck do I care? Your money was a big strike against you at the start anyway, pal. I never wanted it.”
“That’s not the bloody point.”
She heard the temper—very real—edge his tone and just shrugged it off. “It’s exactly the bloody point. You’ve got billions of billions, organizations, corporations, enterprises on and off planet, and I don’t even want to know all of it anyway. You have people depending on the income they earn from those organizations and the rest. All that needs to be protected, and if you didn’t you’re a moron. You’re not a moron or I wouldn’t have married you and we wouldn’t be talking about this anyway.”
“The bloody point is, you have rights, expectations, rights to those expectations. And speaking of morons, who signs a shagging legal document without reading it first?”
“Roarke Industries needed the legal document. You and I never did.”
Just like that, she saw the temper dissolve. “Ah, Christ, Eve.”
“You think I don’t know the difference? That I didn’t always know? I signed it because I thought: Great, this takes what gives me the jitters out of it. Not all the jitters because getting married gave me plenty. But the main jitters, signed away, and it gave me some peace of mind on it. And if you think I’d take a penny with me if you boot me, you are a moron. I take what I came in with. Except this.” She tapped her wedding ring with her thumb. “And this.” Lifted the diamond from under her shirt. “They’re mine, and if that’s not in there, it’s going to be amended.”
“You leave me speechless.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“I love you beyond speech. Beyond reason.”
“That works for me. You work for me.” She leaned back, looked down. “I might keep these boots, too, and the coat. Yeah, if you boot me, I’m definitely keeping the coat.”