“At least he used to have some guts,” Feeney went on, and deliberately cracked his knuckles in three nasty little pops. “Used his own hands to pound Draco’s face in. Must’ve really ticked him off, huh, Stiles. You actor guys are fussy about your pretty faces.”
Stiles moistened his lips. “I had absolutely nothing to do with Richard’s death. I’ve told you everything I know about it.”
Eve put a hand on Feeney’s shoulder as if to restrain him, then with a sigh, rose. “The file, Officer Peabody. Hard copy.”
“Yes, sir.” Keeping her face blank, Peabody offered Eve a folder.
Eve sat with it, opened it, gave Stiles a chance to read as much as he could manage upside down. And watched his color drain. “I have documents here relating to both criminal and civil actions, which involve you, as defendant.”
“Those matters were resolved years ago. Years. And sealed. I was assured they were sealed.”
“This is murder, pal.” Feeney’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Seal’s broken.”
“Let’s give the guy a chance to settle into this, Feeney. Mr. Stiles, we were authorized to break the seal due to the course of this investigation.”
“You don’t owe him explanations.”
“Let’s just keep it smooth,” Eve murmured to Feeney. “You were charged with assaulting Richard Draco, causing extensive bodily harm, mental and emotional trauma.”
“It was twenty-four years ago. For God’s sake.”
“I know. I understand that. But…you indicated to me in your previous statement, on record, that you and the deceased had no overt difficulties. And yet…” Eve said, letting the silence hang a moment. “At one time you were driven to assault him seriously enough to result in his hospitalization, in your arrest, in a seven-figure civil suit.”
The paper cup crumpled in Stiles’s hand. Little drops of water flew. “It was all resolved.”
“Look, Kenneth.” She used his first name now, establishing intimacy. “The fact is, everything I’ve come up with on Draco points to him being a sorry son of a bitch. I have to figure you had cause to lay into him. Good cause. You were seriously provoked. You don’t strike me as a violent man.”
“I’m not.” The sheen of sophistication had turned into a sheen of sweat. It gleamed on his face as he nodded at Eve. “No, I’m not. Of course, I’m not.”
Feeney snorted again. “I’ll buy that one. Didn’t even have the nerve to stick Draco himself.”
&nbs
p; “I didn’t kill Richard!” Stiles’s voice rose, boomed as he looked at Feeney. “I had nothing to do with it. What happened before, good Lord, I was hardly more than a boy.”
“I understand that, Mr. Stiles. You were young, you were provoked.” Sympathy rang in Eve’s voice. She got up, filled another cup with water, brought it back to him. “Tell me how it happened. Why it happened. All I want to do is clear this up so you can go home.”
Stiles closed his eyes, drew air in slowly, released it. “We’d both begun to make our marks in theater, in small regional theaters. Not much of a mark, of course, but we were beginning. We were both aiming for New York. Broadway was enjoying a rich revival in those days.”
His voice warmed a bit as he remembered his youth, that sense of anticipation, invulnerability. Color came back to his cheeks. “It was a return to the lights, the glamour, the brilliance after the destruction of the Urban Wars. People were looking for entertainment, for escape and, I suppose, for heroes who didn’t carry weapons. We were a tight and perhaps an arrogant circle. It was a heady time, Lieutenant, a renaissance. We were treated like royalty. Offstage, we lived very large lives. Excessive lives. Sex, illegals, lavish parties.”
He picked up his water again, drank deeply. “It ruined some of us. I would say it ruined Richard. He reveled in the fame, in the excesses. It never affected his work, that was his genius, but offstage, he indulged in every possible vice. There was a cruelty to him, particularly toward women. He crushed more than one on his way. He liked to brag about it, to make bets about which woman he’d have next. I found it…unpleasant.”
He cleared his throat, shoved his cup away. “There was a woman, a girl, really. We were seeing each other. It wasn’t serious, but we enjoyed each other’s company. Then Richard began the hunt. He stalked her, lured her, and in the end, ruined her. When he cast her off, it broke her. I went to her apartment. I don’t know what instinct sent me there. When I found her, she…she was on the point of taking her own life. She had already slashed her wrists. I got her to a health center. I…”
He trailed off, hesitated, then continued with obvious difficulty. “They saved her, but something inside me snapped when I looked at her lying there, so pale, so used. I got drunk, then I went after Richard.”
Stiles ran his hands over his face. “I might have killed him that night. I admit it. But people from the neighboring apartments stopped me. Afterward, I realized what a useless gesture it had been. It changed nothing and cost me a great deal. Instead of damaging Richard, I could have destroyed my own career, my own life. I put myself at his mercy, you see. He agreed to the settlements and the seals to protect his own image. I had reason to be grateful he was just that self-interested. It took me three years to pay off the suit, with merciless interest. Then I put it behind me.”
“Seems to me you had plenty of reason to hate the son of a bitch,” Feeney put in.
“Perhaps.” Steadier now that the story was told, Stiles nodded. “But hate takes enormous amounts of time and energy. I prefer employing mine in more positive channels. I have everything I want; I enjoy my life. I would never risk it again on the likes of Richard Draco.”
“Not such a risk when you put the knife in the hands of a woman.”
Stiles’s head snapped up. His eyes burned. “I don’t use women. I’ve had nearly twenty-five years to learn a lesson, Lieutenant. Richard Draco stopped mattering to me a very long time ago.”
“What happened to the woman?”