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He shifted, looked mildly annoyed. “I can’t tell you exactly. Took a shower, puttered about, read a little, as I recall. I went to bed early. It’s lovely to get away, but there’s nothing quite like your own bed.”

“Did you speak to anyone, let them know you were back? Answer messages that might have come in while you were away?”

“No. As I said before I was tired. I really don’t understand why you need to know all of this.”

“Jordan Banks was murdered in the early hours of Tuesday morning.”

“Yes, so I heard. What does it have to do with me?”

“You knew him. He was murdered after leaving a party of your mutual friends. These are routine questions in a murder investigation.”

“I wouldn’t know as I’ve never been questioned by the police.” His tone cooled, considerably. “Frankly, it feels intrusive.”

“I’m sure it does. Do you know Hugo Markin?”

“Hugo? Yes, I know him and Delores—his wife.”

“Willimina Karson?”

“I met her when she was involved with Jordan. I wouldn’t say I know her, but I’ve met her.”

“Paul Rogan.”

He stared into Eve’s eyes, tapped his fingertips. “No, that’s not a familiar name.”

“Wayne Denby.”

“I don’t think so. I meet a lot of people.”

“Angelo Richie.”

“No, I don’t think . . . wait. The artist. I know of him and his work. He was just killed, wasn’t he? It’s tragic.”

“For him,” Eve agreed. “For an art collector who bought his work before he started to rise—that would mean increased value. Wouldn’t it? Speaking as someone in the arts and antique business.”

He shifted again. “That’s a cold and calculating perspective.”

“But accurate?”

“Yes, very likely.” His fingers tapped, his gaze strayed, fixed over her shoulder. “I don’t see what that has to do with Jordan’s murder.”

“Banks had a Richie figure study in his apartment.”

“Did he? I doubt I’d have recognized the work. But surely you’re not suggesting Jordan was killed over a charcoal figure study by an emerging artist.”

Eve smiled. “People kill for all kinds of reasons. Do you gamble, Mr. Iler?”

“Gamble? Occasionally. Who doesn’t?”

“Did you ever gamble with Banks?”

“Not that I recall. Lieutenant, I met the man a handful of times over the last year or two. We weren’t close friends. If that’s all, I—”

“Just a couple more. You have a number of family members in the military.”

His lips quivered a little so the dimple flickered like a nerve twisted. “You looked into my family?”

/> “Standard procedure, Mr. Iler. I want to say I’m grateful for their service, and very sorry for the loss of your brother.”


Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery