“You’re telling her?” Martella asked. “You should tell her all of it. Tell her, Cate.”
“All right, thanks. I’d rather finish it off. I wouldn’t have thought anything—or not much of anything of it, Lieutenant, but after . . . In brief, a couple weeks ago the man I’ve been seeing for a while stopped by the gym. I was meeting him for breakfast between class and work, but he came in just as I was coming out of the locker room. I guess it was obvious we’re involved as several people asked me about him the next time I went in.”
“They’re still at the glow stage,” Martella said. “It’s sweet.”
“It’s still new,” Catiana said. “I had a massage booked that week, end of the day, with my usual therapist. But when they called me out of the relaxation room into the massage room, Ziegler was there. He said Lola—my usual—wasn’t available, so he was doing my massage. He
offered me some tea. I declined, and I said I’d reschedule.”
“Why?”
“Bottom line?” She moved her shoulders in an elegant sort of shrug. “I didn’t want his hands on me, it was as simple as that. So I walked out, got dressed, went home. That was a couple days before he was killed. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, just an annoyance, but . . .”
“I told her everything.” Martella groped for her husband’s hand. “I told Catiana and Lance everything about what happened, about what you found out. About . . . He was going to do it to her. You said when you contacted me this morning, he’d put something in the tea.”
Lance Schubert, just as striking as his wedding photo, drew his wife close to his side. His eyes, hard as stone, held Eve’s. “That’s rape. It’s no different from sexual assault.”
“No, it’s not,” Eve said.
“If he hadn’t made my skin crawl—and it was as simple and as visceral as that—I’d have gone ahead with the massage.”
Catiana rubbed her arms, then sighed, leaned in a little when Lance put an arm around her in turn.
“I’d have tried the tea. When Martella told me, I realized he wasn’t just annoying, wasn’t just someone who made me feel uncomfortable. He was a predator. I don’t want to get in the way of what you’re here to talk about, but I thought I should tell you.”
“I appreciate that you did. It was his pattern, and your instincts were good. Walking out kept you from being another victim.”
“I didn’t walk out. I let him in. I’m so sorry, Lance.”
“Stop.” He angled to press his lips to Martella’s hair. “Stop.”
“I’ll leave you to talk,” Catiana began.
“Stay, please. Can she stay?” Martella asked Eve. “I’ve told her all of it, then she told me. It helps a little.”
“It’s up to you.”
“Why don’t we sit? Let’s all sit down.” Lance led his wife to the sofa, kept her hand in his.
“Mr. Schubert, you’re aware that the deceased, Trey Ziegler, administered an illegal substance to your wife, without her knowledge, and while she was under the influence of same, raped her.”
Schubert’s smooth, handsome face hardened. “Yes.”
“And when did you become aware of these circumstances?”
“This afternoon. Catiana contacted me, told me I needed to come home as soon as possible. I came home—by one-thirty—and Tella told me what had happened.”
“I thought I’d cheated.” Tears swirled in Martella’s eyes. “I thought I’d cheated on Lance, and I couldn’t understand how I could have. I tried to tell myself it was just an awful mistake, just sex, and at a weak moment, but it made me sick inside. Then you contacted me, and told me there’d been something in the tea, that he’d put something in the tea he’d given me, and . . .”
“She fell apart,” Catiana said. “I was here, and when she got off the ’link, she went to pieces. She told me everything, and when she was calm enough, I told her what had happened with me. I gave her a soother and got in touch with Lance.”
“You also worked with Ziegler,” Eve said to Schubert. “You had no indication prior to today of this incident with your wife?”
“None. I wouldn’t have thought of it, considered it. I knew something was wrong. You’ve been trying too hard,” he murmured to Martella. “I knew there was something, but I never considered . . . If I had, if I’d known what he did, I’d have killed him.”
“Lance!”
“I’d have killed him,” he repeated, his voice stone cold, a mirror of his eyes. “I’d have beaten him to pulp with my own hands. I wish I could. She’s naive, kind, trusting,” he said to Eve. “He took advantage of all of that, and the fact that we’d had a stupid fight, and I went out of town on business before we’d resolved it. He raped my wife. I’d have gone after him, and I’d have beaten him into the ground for it.”