“No one ever confronted you about your relationship?”
Her lips moved into a soft, sad pout. “Not until now.”
“You never told, or hinted, to your friends? The other singers, your, ah, almost fiancé.”
“No, I didn’t. I was bound by my word. Jimmy Jay and I both swore right on the Bible that we’d never tell anyone. I hope it’s all right I’ve told you. You said—”
“It’s different now,” Roarke assured her.
“Because he’s gone to the angels. I’m so tired. I just want to say my prayers and go to bed now. Is that all right?”
Back on the sidewalk, Eve leaned back against the side of her vehicle. “No way that was an act. She really is that gullible. She really is dumb as a sack of moondust.”
“Yet very sweet.”
Eve rolled her eyes toward him. “I think you have to have a penis to get that impression.”
“I do, and did.”
“Despite that—or probably because of it—you pushed the right buttons up there. You handled her very well, and got her to tell us without me having to threaten to haul her silly tits downtown.” She couldn’t stop the grin. “Set down the burden of the secret and step onto the path of righteousness.”
“Well, it was a theme. In any case, she’s the type who looks to the penis, in a manner of speaking, to tell her what to do, what to think. Jenkins used that. Or maybe he actually believed what he told her.”
“Either way, it’s an angle.” She opened the car door. When they were inside, she glanced at Roarke. “Could they both be dim enough to believe nobody suspected, got the sex vibe? Nothing? Two or three times a week for months, and the occasional booster backstage. Backstage, as we’ve seen, that’s swarming with people.”
“Someone found them out, as you put it,” Roarke said as he drove them home, “and killed Jenkins because of it?”
“It’s an angle. What would have happened to the church—its rep, its mission, its coffers—if this understanding got out, was made public.”
“Sex has toppled countries, and buried leaders. I imagine it would have done considerable damage.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking more, lots more than the death of the founder and figurehead. The murder of that figurehead by what could be taken as a killer targeting men of God. You could get play out of that, if you spin it right. You could take a few hits, but more, you could drum up more business. The outraged, the sympathetic. You could hold the line until a new figurehead stepped in.”
Oh yeah, she thought. It played. It played a marching tune. “Meanwhile, you’ve got the widow, the family, grieving and steadfast. You’ll have media coverage out your ass, that will charge right through the memorial. Hell, if you know what you’re doing, you can make this a big plus.”
“Who knows what they’re doing?”
“Oh. It’s his manager. Billy Crocker.”
Roarke let out a quick laugh. “And you know this from one interview with him—I assume—and a few hours on the investigation.”
She rolled her shoulders, rubbed her eyes. “I should’ve said I like the manager for it. I’m tired, starting to feel punchy. I like the manager for it if it’s a separate killing. If I’m wrong and it’s connected to Flores/ Lino, I’m fucked if I know.”
She yawned, hugely. “Not enough coffee,” she muttered. “I think I need a couple hours down, let my brain play with it while I’m out.” She checked the time, cursed. “Okay two hours max, since I’ve got to get my report in order before Peabody comes on. And I need time to do a couple runs, and plug in your financials summary. If I do a probability, even with Ulla’s statement, it’s going to slap me back. I need some more.”
Roarke drove through the gates. “I take it you and I won’t be creating light together this morning?”
She gave a sleepy laugh. “Pal, I’m looking for the dark.”
“Fair enough. Two hours down and an energy shake in the morning.”
“They’re revolting.”
“We have a new flavor. Peachy Keen.”
“Revolting and silly. Yum.”
But since that was two hours away, she wasn’t going to worry about it. She concentrated on getting upstairs, stripping down, and falling into the bed where Galahad already curled, looking annoyed at the interruption.