“How she liked New York, how she was settling in to her new home, her new job. What I’d done in Paris. I’d come in from there. She told me she was involved with someone. Seriously involved, and that he made her happy. It was easy to see that was true. She looked happy.”
“And on the night she was murdered?”
“I had dinner in. About eight, I think. Rod would know. Caught up with some work. He went to his room about ten, and I went out shortly after that.”
“You went out? Where?”
“I was restless. I thought I’d take a walk, as I don’t get to New York often. I like the city. I walked over to Broadway.”
“You walked from Park to Broadway?”
“That’s right.” The faint edge of annoyance crept in. “It was a nice night, a little on the cool side. I wanted the lights, the noise, the crowds, so I ended up wandering around Times Square.”
“Alone.”
“Yes. I hit a couple of video arcades. I like to play. I stopped in a bar. Crowded, noisy. They had the game on-screen. American baseball. I prefer football. Not what you people call football. Real football. But I had a beer and watched some of the game. Then I walked back here. I’m not sure of the time. Not very late. Before one, I’d say.”
“What’s the name of the bar?”
“I have no idea. I was walking around; I wanted a beer.”
“Got a receipt?”
“No. It was one bloody beer. I paid cash. If I’d known I’d need an alibi, I’d’ve done considerably better.”
Temper, temper, Eve thought. “A man in your position, a businessman with international interests—and considering, again, your back
ground—might find it necessary to own a licensed weapon.”
“You know I do. You’d have checked already.”
“You’re licensed for a civilian stunner, which is registered in your name. Maybe, since you’re being so cooperative, you’d allow me to take it with me, have it tested and examined. Since you were having a beer and watching the game when Detective Coltraine was killed.”
Resentment lay cold on his face. “If my father was anyone else but Max Ricker?”
“I’d still be asking for it. I can get a warrant, if you’d prefer.”
He said nothing, only rose. He walked to a table, unlocked a drawer. It was smaller, sleeker, and less powerful a weapon than hers. One that stunned only. He offered it to her, along with its license.
“Handy,” she said.
“As I said, I was expecting you. I’m not my father.” He clipped out the words as Eve put the weapon and paperwork in an evidence bag, labeled it, sealed it. “I don’t kill women.”
“Just men?”
“I cared about her, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Now we’re done.” He accepted the receipt Eve printed out of her PPC. “I expect the cop who put Max Ricker in that cage will catch the person who killed Amaryllis.”
He walked back to the foyer, called the elevator.
“You know the routine, don’t leave town, stay available, blah blah.” Eve stepped onto the elevator with Roarke.
“Yes, I know the routine. I also know if our backgrounds made us who we are, we’d all be fucked.”
He walked away as the doors closed.
When they hit the sidewalk, Eve stopped, turned to speak. Roarke simply shook his head, then took her arm and led her to the car.
“What?” she said, and repeated when they were inside, “What?”