Eve looked up from her PPC, deliberately turned the screen away, but kept it in her hand. “You can start by telling us why you denied having sex with Trey Ziegler.”
“Because I didn’t have sex with him.”
“Peabody, what happens when an individual lies to the police during an investigation?”
“Charges are forthcoming. Obstruction of justice is generally first, but we can follow that with—”
“We’ll just start there,” Eve interrupted. “And here: You have the right to remain silent.”
“Wait. For God’s sake. This is ridiculous.”
“You’re going to want to listen to your rights and obligations, Ms. Quigley,” Eve advised, then recited the rest of the Revised Miranda. “Do you understand your rights and obligations in this matter?”
“I’m not an idiot. Of course I do. And I resent being treated like a criminal.”
“You’re going to have cause for even more resentment then when we take this interview down to Central.” Eve rose.
“I’m not going anywhere. You can’t force me to go anywhere.”
“Peabody?”
“The suspect can voluntarily be questioned. Or we can get a warrant compelling her to submit to questioning. She is, of course, entitled to a legal rep either way, but the second option could include restraints.”
“This is ridiculous.” Color rode high on her cheeks; her hands balled into fists. “It’s outrageous. I’m contacting my lawyer.”
“Please do. He can meet us here, if you speak voluntarily. Or my partner will get the warrant, and your representative can meet us at Central. Your choice.”
“I tell you I didn’t have sex with Trey Ziegler.”
Eve looked down at her PPC, back at Quigley. “You’re lying.”
“What do you have on there? What are you looking at?”
“Peabody, get the warrant.”
“Wait, wait. Just . . . wait.” Quigley dropped down again. “All this, all this insanity over sex. All right, I slept with him. I didn’t want Tella to know. I don’t want JJ—my husband—to know. I don’t see it’s any of your business.”
“Your bedmate was murdered.”
“Well, I didn’t kill him. Why would I? Over sex?” She waved that away with a flash of the emerald on her finger. “It was stupid—no one likes to broadcast stupidity. It’s humiliating to talk about to strangers, to police. My marriage has been a bit fraught for the last few months.”
“Fraught?”
“We’ve been in a rough patch, and we’re working through it. Marriages have rough patches.” She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “In fact, things are getting better. But, well, I have needs like anyone, and Trey made it obvious he was attracted, that he was interested. He was sympathetic when I told him things weren’t good between me and JJ, and that, well, and that we were sleeping in separate rooms. He suggested he come here, when JJ was away, and give me a private massage.”
Rising, she walked to a cabinet, took out a decanter, poured herself amber liquid in a short glass. “I knew what he meant. It wasn’t a secret he offered separate and private services.”
She stared down at the glass. “Intimate services. I wasn’t going to have him come here, in my home. I wouldn’t . . . not in the same bed I slept in with my husband. So—as I also know other clients had—I suggested a hotel. I booked a suite, ordered up champagne. He met me there. We went through the pretense—or the foreplay—of the massage. Then we had sex. He’s good at it, and JJ hadn’t been attentive in some time.”
“How much did you pay him?”
Color stained her cheeks again before she drank. “Three thousand extra, then I booked another private session. We had two a week for three weeks before . . . he died. We were booked for one right after Christmas. I was going to cancel that as JJ and I . . . things are better. We’re talking about taking a holiday after the first of the year, JJ’s idea. We’re trying to find the magic again.”
“Did Ziegler threaten to tell your husband?”
“Why would he? We had a mutually beneficial arrangement. If he told JJ, it couldn’t continue. I hadn’t canceled the last session as yet.”
“Why, if you’re coming out of that rough patch?”