Chapter 20

A giggling Martella opened the door before Eve buzzed. Both she and Lance Schubert wore coats and scarves, and both had sparkles in their eyes.

Eve recognized the sparkle. While obviously on their way out the door, the couple had enjoyed a little predeparture sex.

"Oh, Lieutenant, you just caught us." Martella slipped her hand into her husband's. "We're ridiculously late."

"I'm sorry. We need to speak with you."

"Can it wait until tomorrow?" Schubert asked. "We should have left nearly an hour ago."

Martella didn't quite manage to stifle a fresh giggle as she sent her husband another sparkling look. "So rude."

"I'm afraid it can't wait. It would be best if we go inside, sit down."

"Oh, well. Another few minutes can't matter that much." As she stepped back to let them in, Martella's gaze shifted from Eve to Roarke. "It's Roarke, isn't it? It's nice to meet you. Martella Schubert." She offered a hand. "My husband, Lance."

"I suppose this is some sort of official business. We can't offer you a drink?" Lance led the way into the living area, where he turned up the lights.

"No, but thank you."

Roarke waited as Eve did while Martella slipped out of a silvery fur coat, tossed it aside. Beneath she wore a hot blue cocktail dress with ice-white diamonds. Schubert didn't bother to remove his coat, but sat with his wife.

"If this is about Ziegler," he began, "I don't know what else we can tell you. I won't say I'm sorry he's dead."

"Lance!"

"There's no point in pretense, Tella. As far as I'm concerned, he got what he deserved. You've got a job to do," he said to Eve. "But we have our lives to live."

"We're not here about Trey Ziegler, not directly. I have difficult news." The most difficult, and best done quickly. "I regret to inform you that Catiana Dubois was killed earlier this evening. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"What? No." Martella grabbed her husband's hand. "That's a terrible thing to say. Cate's on a date, with Steven."

"She was killed, and your sister injured tonight at the Vandam residence. John Jake Copley is in custody, charged with her murder and the attack on your sister."

"Tash is hurt? No, no." Color high, breath quick, Martella pushed to her feet. "You've got something horribly mixed up. I spoke with Tash this afternoon."

"Tella." Schubert rose, put an arm around her, but his eyes stayed on Eve's. "What happened?"

"But she's wrong."

"Tella," Schubert said again, gently, as he drew his wife back down to the sofa. "What happened? Please."

"Ms. Dubois went to the Quigley-Copley residence. We believe subsequently a confrontation between her and Copley ensued. During which she fell, struck her head on the marble hearth, and was killed."

"No. No. No."

"Could I get you some water, Mrs. Schubert?"

Schubert looked at Roarke. "We've given the staff the evening off. If you wouldn't mind—the kitchen..."

"I'll find it. I am sorry," he said to Martella.

"JJ wouldn't hurt Cate," Martella insisted, but tears streamed down her face. "Why would he do that? And Tash—she's hurt? Where is she? I need to go to her."

"She was taken to the hospital, is under medical care. I'll give you the details, but, at the moment, she's sedated."

"Please, I have to go to her. She needs me."

"When we're done here, I'll arrange your transportation. I've spoken to the medicals personally. She's stable."

"JJ wouldn't hurt her. He'd never— Lance, tell her."

"I don't understand it. I played golf with JJ today. We got back around six. He had an exceptional round, wasn't upset, wasn't angry. Why do you think he did this? It doesn't make sense."

"Ms. Quigley called nine-one-one. On the record she can be heard shouting your brother-in-law's name, pleading with him to stop, before the 'link was dropped and damaged. An officer arrived on scene within minutes. Copley was alone in the house."

"Someone broke in—"

"There's no sign of break-in," Eve interrupted Schubert as Roarke came back with a tall, clear glass of water. "The security cam shows Ms. Dubois's arrival. The time stamp of her entrance into the residence is approximately ten minutes before her time of death."

"She can't be dead. Oh, Lance, not Cate. Not our Cate."

"It still doesn't make sense. JJ and Cate rarely interacted. Why would anyone think he..." Schubert stiffened. "Ziegler. It all goes back to Ziegler."

"I know this is hard, but there are questions I have to ask."

"Is it my fault? Is this my fault because I let him come here? I had sex with him."

"You didn't have sex with him, Mrs. Schubert," Eve corrected. "Ziegler drugged you and he raped you. That's not sex. And the person who killed Catiana and attacked your sister is at fault. No one else. Did you know Catiana intended to go to your sister's home this evening?"

"No. No. I thought she was going home to get ready for her date. I don't know why she went there."

"You said she and Copley rarely interacted. Was there friction?"

"Not friction." Schubert rose to shrug out of his coat, laid it over his wife's. "JJ can be a dick with women, especially those he views as subordinates, but that sort of thing rolls off of Catiana's back. I apologized to her more than once, but she'd just laugh it off."

"Apologized for what?"

"Oh, he'd tell her to get him a drink, as if she were waitstaff. It wasn't so much what he said, but the tone. Master to servant. I've spoken to him about it a number of times, and he feigns ignorance. Since Cate could laugh it off, I let it go rather than stir up family conflict."

"She didn't like him. She never actually said so," Martella said thickly. "She never would, but she didn't. She's family, too, Lance."

"I know, Tella. I know."

"You don't like him, either," Eve observed. "Either of you."

"He's family," Schubert said simply as his wife wept quietly on his shoulder. "You don't get to choose. Tella and Tash are close. He's Tash's husband. I might consider him a bit of a dick, as I said, but I can't conceive of him doing any of this. You think he killed Ziegler, too."

Rather than answer, Eve changed tacks. "You and Catiana must have talked about Ziegler. What he'd done, his murder. And now that it's come out your sister and he had an intimate arrangement, you must have talked about that."

"We were surprised, all of us," Schubert confirmed. "But then... he's her type."

"Oh, Lance."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but good-looking users seem to be Tash's type."

"Did the three of you talk about that situation today?"

"Actually, I didn't really talk to Cate today, just in passing as she was getting ready to go as I got back from Florida."

"We did. Cate and I did." Struggling with tears, Martella burrowed closer to her husband. "I was a little angry that Tash hadn't told me, even when she knew how horrible I felt when I thought I'd cheated on Lance. I told Cate, and she calmed me down. She does that. She did... Oh God."

"I'm going to get you some brandy." Schubert kissed her temple before he rose.

"You and Catiana talked about the situation," Eve prompted.

"We did. It was all so... so sordid, really. What happened to me. Cate and Lance, they've both been so supportive. And Tash, too. So I was upset when Tash finally told me she'd had an affair with Trey, and that JJ was having one with some stripper. I can understand, really, I can, how Tash would turn to Trey. A kind of revenge, I guess."

"So Catiana knew the details."

"I told her. She was like my sister, too. She's family. Her poor mom. Oh, Lance, her mother."

"We'll be there for her." He handed Martella a snifter, swirled his own. "Catiana would never insert herself in Tash's marital business. Never."

"Was she invited to the party at the Quigley-Copley residence the night Ziegler was killed?"

"Yes. Well, more, really. Tash asked her to help out with the prep. Cate's a whiz with party preparations. So she was over there a good part of the day. Family," she repeated. "Tash and Cate were good friends, were close. She must have gone there tonight to talk to Tash about something. I don't know. I can't imagine the rest. I just can't. It doesn't seem real."

"You knew about your sister-in-law's relationship with Ziegler," she said to Schubert.

"I just found out."

"And Copley? To your knowledge when did he learn about it?"

"I don't know. I don't know if he knew or not. He certainly didn't tell me, or show any signs of it. But then, I didn't know he was having an affair himself. It's not the way we live, Tella and I. We don't live that way."

"My sister. Please, I need to see my sister."

"Give me a minute." Rising, Eve pulled out her comm, stepped out of the room.

"Do you... do you know where Catiana is?" Martella asked Roarke. "Can we see her? Can we do something? Anything?"

"I know the person who's looking out for her now. He's kind. Lieutenant Dallas is looking out for her now as well. It's a terrible thing that's happened. When terrible things happen to those we love, we couldn't ask for anyone more capable and determined than Lieutenant Dallas."

"How could he do this to Cate, to Tash? I didn't even ask. I'm so turned around, turned inside out. What did he do to Tash? Did he hit her?"

"Has he hit her before?" Roarke asked.

"No! Of course not. I..." A mixture of horror and grief flashed into her eyes. "I don't know anymore. An hour ago I'd have said absolutely not. I'd never have believed it of him, even though he had a temper. And I'd have sworn she'd have told me if he ever had. Now I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't know what happened to my family."

Eve came back in. "I've arranged for officers to take you to the hospital, escort you to your sister's room. It's the quickest way."

"Thank you. I... I want to change. I don't want to go to Tash dressed for a party. It feels wrong. I want to go see Cate's mother as soon as I can. Am I allowed to do that?"

"Of course."

"And Steven. Steven Dorchester, the man she's been seeing. Does he know what happened?"

"I can have that taken care of."

"They were in love, just the lovely beginning of it. She was happy. And she was so worked up about their date tonight."

"How? Worked up how?"

"Oh, just in a hurry to get home, get ready. She just seemed worked up about it all of a sudden. Distracted. Excuse me, please. I need to change. I need to get to Tash."

When she hurried out, Eve turned to Schubert. "Did you notice this distraction?"

"I did, now that you mention it. I wish I'd paid more attention. I suppose that's always the way. You always think, Oh, we'll talk about that tomorrow. And then... I don't want Tella to be alone."

"We'll let ourselves out," Roarke told him.

"Gotta get this down," Eve said when they went back outside. "Need to work it around, sort it out. Sordid. It's a good word. Also convoluted."

"Do you still want to go by the morgue?"

"Yeah, I need to do that. And I need to get this down."

"Do that. I'm driving."

He left her to her notes, her muttering, her short periods of silence, eyes closed, then more notes and muttering.

"When I was a kid," she said abruptly, "in the whole foster/state school cycle, I sometimes wished I had a sibling. Did you ever?"

"I had my mates. That was family for me."

"Mates. You think of that word first as lovers, that two-person connection. But it's a good word for friends when you mean it. My sense is Tella and Catiana were mates. She loves her sister, feels close to her, but for the deep and down, she'd turn to the mate. She'd have told Catiana about what happened with Ziegler before she told her sister. And here's what else. Neither of them much like Copley. They'd golf with him, hang out, go to parties, have family deals, but neither of them would have considered confiding in him. They wouldn't have trusted him to keep a confidence. And it irked them he treated Catiana like a servant—but they sucked it up, mostly for the sister's sake.

"And still," she said when they arrived at the morgue. "Both of them claim, with apparent sincerity, they can't conceive of Copley hurting anyone."

"I think, speaking of general population and not cops, or me, most can't conceive of someone they know well, are family with, killing anyone."

"A lot of the general population are wrong."

Eve strode briskly through the tunnel, and through the double doors of Morris's room.

He wore a clear protective cape over a steel blue suit with steel- gray chalk stripes, a braided tie that twined the two tones. His dark hair slicked into three slim, stacked tails. He sat at a counter working at a comp while some sort of hymn soared through his music system like angel wings.

"Sorry to pull you in."

"Don't be. The nights are long; work shortens them. And her nights?" He rose, walked to where Catiana lay on a slab. "Are over. Filling in for Peabody?" he asked Roarke with a faint smile.

"I am."

"I spoke with our favorite detective shortly ago. Catiana's family is coming in soon. They don't want to wait to see her until tomorrow. I've enough time to soften the worst." He indicated the head gash. "She has no other injuries to speak of. The fall broke her nose, and as you can see, there's some minor lacerations, contusions on her knees, forearms. They would have been incurred in the fall."

"She went down hard."

"The depth of the wound would indicate considerable force. The secondary wounds on her limbs? She didn't have time to brace for the fall, to try to catch herself. She fell face-first, striking a solid edge."

"Marble hearth."

"Yes."

"Tripped or shoved?"

"Hmm. It can be both. A slip's unlikely, as unless she'd been impaired in some way—and I found no illegals or alcohol in the blood—she should have attempted to catch herself. Her palms would show some impact. Again the depth and width of the gash indicate force. I'd speculate she was shoved from behind, lost her footing—"

"She was wearing those high, skinny heels."

"Harder to regain balance as heels, by construction, lean the body forward. She went down hard and fast, and had the very bad luck to have a marble ledge in the way of the fall. You won't get Murder One on her. I found no sign of offensive or defensive wounds other than what I've told you."

"No, I know it. Murder Two's enough. Still. Are you sure about her being shoved from behind?"

"Highest probability given the angle of the wound, the lack of other injuries to the body."

"She turned her back on him. Maybe walking away, except the fireplace is on the other side of the room from the doorway to the foyer. But she turned her back."

"Pacing."

Eve glanced at Roarke. "What?"

"Pacing. You do that when you're thinking or upset. Stride away, back and away."

"Huh. Yeah. She was upset, had gone there without telling her boss—and friend. Distracted. Got a date with the guy she's in love with, but upset and distracted enough to stop off there first. Talking, pacing, and telling him—speculatively—something she's figured out or knows that could implicate him with Ziegler. That's what plays for me. And, like with Ziegler, he goes with the raging impulse of the moment. In this case, he pushes her. She falls hard and fast, and she's dead. Blood coming fast, too. Head wound, you always get plenty of blood."

Eve paced now, and the act of it made Roarke smile. "He left the room, had to leave the room or the wife would never have gotten so far on the nine-one-one call. Does he hear her? Maybe she screamed. People do when they walk in on blood and a body. So he rushes back in, sees her. And that rage is still pumping, so he goes after her. It's what plays."

"And fairly tidily," Morris commented.

"Yeah, it's the fairly I have to eliminate."

"It's going to be difficult for her family—the holidays. Difficult enough," Morris continued, "to get through holidays after a loss, but when the loss is so closely connected to them, harder still."

Hesitating, Eve slipped her hands into her pockets. "If they have any questions, you can tell them to contact me."

"I will, but I should be able to answer most."

"Okay, well. Listen, if you don't have any plans for Christmas, you could hang with us."

Morris looked at her. His eyes darkened a moment—a war of emotions. Then he crossed to her. "You won't mind," he said to Roarke, and laying his hands on Eve's shoulders, kissed her cheeks, one then the other. "You don't need to worry about me."

"It's not that. It's just... we're pretty loose that day. Depending. Right?" she said, appealing to Roarke.

"We are. And no," he said to Morris. "I don't mind at all."

"I'm spending the day with my parents, and some other family. I plan to leave tomorrow, early afternoon, if possible."

"Good. That's good." Eve left her hands in her pockets, not sure what else to do with them. "Have a good one, Morris."

"And you. Both of you." He looked back at Catiana. "And we'll all do our best by her."

She worked on the drive home. She'd forgotten about dinner, Roarke thought, but he'd see she got food—even if it was that slice of pizza—once they were home.

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.

The next thing she knew, Roarke was carrying her out of the office.

"I'm awake, I'm awake."

"You weren't. Give it a rest."

"I was working stuff out. He hit on all the women—the Quigley-connection women. Was it to give Copley a jab? Sure you take me golfing at the club, but you make sure I know I'm the help. Guess what, fucker? I'm doing your wife. I did your sister-in-law. I'd do your sister-in-law's best pal, but she's a lesbian. Except not. Catiana's connected to both. I checked her financials, but maybe—"

"No other accounts, no secret money hidden away. I looked."

"You did?"

"I did." He set her on the bed. "Anticipating you."

"Oh." She watched him, with sleepy affection, as he took off her boots. "It didn't feel right anyway, but you've got to think about it."

"Suspicious minds do, which equal yours and mine. Now, we're both going to turn off those suspicious minds so we can put them to work for us tomorrow."

She peeled off her clothes, didn't bother with a nightshirt. That took too much energy.

"Do you need a suspicious one tomorrow?"

"I need one every day—yours and mine," he repeated and slid in beside her.

"It's after midnight."

"Well after."

"So it's Christmas Eve."

"It is indeed."

"I'm going to wrap this up by tomorrow afternoon, then we'll have ours, right?"

"We'll have ours." When she stroked his cheek he drew her in and, knowing how to lull her, rubbed her back lightly until she dropped away.

They'd have theirs, he thought, but for a moment he saw Catiana lying in her own blood. Others, no matter the justice, would grieve.

He pressed his lips to Eve's hair, drew in her scent, and let it lull him to sleep as well.