Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“Someone did hurt her. Several hours after she left my husband’s office, where she attempted to shake him down for two million. She left empty-handed. That tells me she was working with someone, and that someone was seriously pissed off. She walked into Roarke’s office and wanted two million to go back to Texas and leave me alone. It’s on record, Bobby.”

There was no color left in his face. “Maybe… maybe she asked for a loan. Maybe she wanted to help me out, with the business. Zana and I are talking about maybe starting a family. Maybe Mama… I don’t understand any of this. You’re making it sound like Mama was— was—

“I’m giving you the facts, Bobby.” Cruelly, she thought, but the cruelty could take him off the suspect list. “I’m asking who she trusted enough, cared for enough to work with on this. The only ones you’re coming up with are you and your wife.”

“Me and Zana? You think one of us could’ve killed her? Could’ve left her bleeding on the floor of some hotel room? Over money? Over money that wasn’t even there? Over anything?” he said and sank back onto the side of the bed.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because someone left her bleeding on the floor of some hotel room, Bobby. And I think it was over money.”

“Maybe your husband did it.” His head shot up, and his eyes were fierce now. “Maybe he killed my mother.”

“Do you think I’d be telling you any of this if there was a chance of that? If I wasn’t absolutely sure, if the facts weren’t rock solid on his side, what do you think I’d do? Open window, escape platform. Unknown intruder, botched break-in. Sorry for your loss, and that’s that. Look at me.”

She waited until he took a good long look at her face. “I could do that, Bobby. I’m a cop. I’ve got rank, I’ve got respect. I could close the door on this so nobody’d look back. But what I’m going to do is find out who killed your mother and left her lying on that floor. You can count on it.”

“Why? Why do you care? You ran away from her. You took off when she was doing her best by you. You—”

“You know better, Bobby.” She kept her voice low, kept it even. “You know better. You were there.”

He lowered his gaze. “She had a hard time, that’s all. It was hard raising a kid on her own, trying to make ends meet.”

“Maybe. I’ll tell you why I’m doing this, Bobby. I’m doing it for me, and maybe I’m doing it for you. For the kid who snuck me food. But I’ll tell you, if I find out you’re the one who killed her, I’ll lock you in a cage.”

He straightened; he cleared his throat. His face, his voice, were very set now. “I didn’t kill my mother. I never once in my life raised a hand to her. Never once in my life. If she came for money, it was wrong. It was wrong, but she was doing it for me. I wish she’d told me. Or—or somebody made her do it. Somebody threatened her, or me, or—”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” His voice cracked and shattered. “I don’t know.”

“Who knew you were coming to New York?”

“D.K., Marita, the people who work for us, some of the clients. God, the neighbors. We didn’t keep it a secret, for God’s sake.”

“Make a list of everyone you can think of. We’ll work from there.” She rose when the door opened.

Peabody came in all but carrying a pale and shaking Zana.

“Zana. Honey.” Bobby sprang off the bed, leaped to his wife’s side, caught her in his arms. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. A man. I don’t know.” Sobbing now, she threw her arms around Bobby’s neck. “Oh, Bobby.”

“Found her a block east,” Peabody told Eve. “Looked lost, shaken up. She said a man grabbed her, forced her into a building.”

“My God, Zana, honey. Did he hurt you?”

“He had a knife. He said he’d cut me if I screamed or tried to run. I was so scared. I said he could have my purse. I told him to take it.

“I don’t know. I don’t think… Oh, Bobby, he said he killed your mama.”

Eve waded through the next flood of tears, muscled Zana away from Bobby. “Sit down. Stop crying. You’re not hurt.”

“I think he—” With a trembling hand, she reached down the small of her back.

“Take off the coat.” Eve noted the small hole in the red cloth, and the tear in the sweater Zana wore under it. There were a few spots of blood. “Superficial,” Eve said, then pulled up the sweater, examined the shallow cut.

“He stabbed you?” Horrified, Bobby slapped at Eve’s hands to get a look for himself.