“He has an alibi for the night of your daughter’s death,” Eve pointed out. “I can’t charge him without more.”
“An alibi?”
“The record shows that Rockman was with your father, working with him in his East Washington office until nearly two on the night of your daughter’s death.”
“Rockman would say whatever my father told him to say.”
“Including covering up murder?”
“It’s simply a matter of the easiest way out. Why should anyone believe my father is connected?” He shuddered once, as if blasted with a sudden chill. “Rockman’s statement merely detaches his employer from any suspicion.”
“How would your father travel back and forth to New York from East Washington if he wanted no record of the trip?”
“I don’t know. If his shuttle went out, there would be a log.”
“Logs can be altered,” Roarke said.
“Yes.” Richard looked up as if remembering all at once that his friend was there. “You’d know more about that than I.”
“A reference to my smuggling days,” Roarke explained to Eve. “Long behind me. It can be done, but it would require some payoffs. The pilot, perhaps the mechanic, certainly the air engineer.”
“So I know where to put the pressure on.” And if Eve could prove his shuttle had taken the trip on that night, she’d have probable cause. Enough to break him. “How much do you know about your father’s weapon collection?”
“More than I care to.” Richard rose on unsteady legs. He went to a cabinet, splashed liquor into a glass. He drank it fast, like medicine. “He enjoys his guns, often shows them off. When I was younger, he tried to interest me in them. Roarke can tell you, it didn’t work.”
“Richard believes guns are a dangerous symbol of power abuse. And I can tell you that yes, DeBlass occasionally used the black market.”
“Why didn’t you mention that before?”
“You didn’t ask.”
She let it drop, for now. “Does your father have a knowledge of security—the technical aspects?”
“Certainly. He takes pride in knowing how to protect himself. It’s one of the few things we can discuss without disagreeing.”
“Would you consider him an expert?”
“No,” Richard said slowly. “A talented amateur.”
“His relationship with Chief Simpson? How would you describe it?”
“Self-serving. He considered Simpson a fool. My father enjoys utilizing fools.” Abruptly, he sank into a chair. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I need some time. I need my wife.”
“All right. Mr. DeBlass, I’m going to order surveillance on your father. You won’t be able to reach him without being monitored. Please don’t try.”
“You think I’ll try to kill him?” Richard gave a mirthless laugh and stared down at his own hands. “I want to. For what he did to my daughter, to my sister, to my life. I wouldn’t have the courage.”
When they were outside again, Eve headed straight for the car without looking at Roarke. “You suspected this?” she asked.
“That DeBlass was involved? Yes, I did.”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
“No.” Roarke stopped her before she could wrench open the door. “It was a feeling, Eve. I had no idea about Catherine. Absolutely none. I suspected that Sharon and DeBlass were having an affair.”
“That’s too clean a word for it.”
“I suspected it,” he continued, “because of the way she spoke of him during our single dinner together. But again, it was a feeling, not a fact. That feeling would have done nothing to enhance your case. And,” he added, turning her to face him, “once I got to know you, I kept that feeling to myself, because I didn’t want to hurt you.” She jerked her head away. He brought it patiently back with his fingertips. “You had no one to help you?”