He found he wanted home—symbol and sanctuary. So much loss in one night, so much rage and grief. And all, from what he could see, generated from one man. Trey Ziegler’s greed had spread ripples of betrayal, fear, blood, and murder.
Lost trust, lost love, lost joy, lost life.
So he wanted home, even though those losses would follow them.
“Mira reports severe anxiety attack as believed. No other issues, and no reason Copley can’t be interviewed tomorrow.” She frowned as they wound up the drive. “The lawyer will try to block. I may need to pull Reo in, block the block. I want to finish that fucker off. Check on Quigley, because I want to talk to her first thing in the morning, toss whatever she tells me at Copley.”
She got out of the car, looked up at the sky for a moment. No stars, she noted, no moon. A cold rain was coming.
“If they hadn’t had sex, they’d have been gone when we got there, had another few hours without knowing they’d lost someone they loved. The Schuberts.”
“I’m aware. The grief would still come, Eve, inevitably. And the fact they’d been together shows they’re not letting what happened with Ziegler divide them, mar their relationship. They’ll get through this easier because they’re together.”
“She’s disappointed in her sister,” Eve added as they went inside, started up. “She won’t let it get in the way, or not for long, but she’s disappointed not just because Quigley didn’t tell her she’d paid Ziegler for sex, but because Quigley cheated on Copley. She doesn’t have much respect for Copley under it all, but my sense is she has a lot for marriage—for the promises made.”
“And Quigley doesn’t.”
“The second time—we know of—she’s cheated. She doesn’t deserve to get her head bashed in over it, but she doesn’t earn a lot of respect, either.”
In her office, still wearing her coat, she walked around her board. “If she’d been straight with me from the start, maybe things wouldn’t be as bad as they are. Maybe I wouldn’t be moving Catiana’s photo to victim status, and she wouldn’t be in the hospital. Martella might come to think that, and if she does, it’s going to crack their relationship, too.
“Fucking sex and money,” she muttered.
“Both of which can be enormous pluses as well as motives for murder. We need to eat.”
“What? Oh, we were going to stop for a slice. We forgot.”
“You may have, but I thought we’d have it here, at home.”
>
“Even better.” She’d hauled him all over the city, she thought, looking at death. “I’ll get it.”
“Deal with Reo, set up your block with our favorite APA. I’ll take care of it.”
“Roarke? A whole shitload of things are better because we’re together.”
“Truer words,” he said, and went into the kitchen.
She ate. She contacted Reo, talked to Peabody, checked on Quigley’s status—stable, still out, sister and brother-in-law by her side—checked on Copley. Sedated, in a cage.
After another review of her notes, she streamlined a report. She studied her board, ran probabilities. And to eliminate any possibilities, took a good look at Catiana Dubois’s financials.
Pretty generous salary, to her mind, but probably not out of line, considering who she worked for, and their relationship. Lived within her means, saved up for rainy days.
Why did rainy days require more money than dry ones? she wondered. Really, how much did an umbrella cost?
When her mind wandered, she pulled it in again, rubbed the back of her aching neck.
She had Copley. She had him cold, but it all just nagged at her.
Ziegler to Quigley—sex for money. To Copley—money for silence. Then to Martella. Was that Ziegler’s shot at Copley, or just another conquest? Why do the sister of a paying client? Had he just been that arrogant?
Not impossible.
He’d hit on Catiana, too—a close family connection.
She shut her eyes, tried to work through it.