“That’s enough.” She lurched to her feet. “You have an ugly heart, an ugly mind. I loved my brother. He never harmed anyone in his life, and I would never harm him. Your world’s a cold and ugly place, Lieutenant, filled with that.”
She gestured toward the photos still on the table.
“I have nothing, nothing more to say to you. If you insist I stay in this horrible room, I want my lawyer.”
“You’re free to go,” Eve said easily. “Peabody, why don’t you show Ms. Jones the way out.”
“I see the door.” Spinning to it, she rushed out and away.
“Jesus.” Peabody blew out a long breath. “Intense. Is that really what you think happened? Because it’s not only plausible, but convincing.”
“It’s one way. It’s most of the way. I haven’t got all the threads knotted, but it’s most of the way.”
“Their brother killed the girls.”
“He’s the one who fits, and he fits just fine for all the reasons I hit her with.”
“Yeah, convincing. But do you really think they killed their baby brother? I mean, who went to Africa if he didn’t? Because she’s right, it’s documented.”
“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.”
“That’s why you said to ask Owusu to see if anybody in the village had a photograph taken of Jones—the younger—when he was there.”
“Any kind of identification’s out since he’s cremated and scattered. He—whoever he was—took pictures. So I’m betting there’s some photos of him. One thing I do know after that little session. However it went down, however the last of the threads knot, she didn’t know.”
“That’s what I think, but you said—”
“I got a rise out of her, didn’t I? Got the shock and outrage, and little bits of information that fill in some blanks. What I didn’t get, once we got rolling, was fear or nerves. Guilt, some guilt over the girls, and I’d have looked at her sideways if I hadn’t gotten some of that. But if I’m right, and little brother hooked with Shelby, and that connection forged the rest of the chain, she didn’t know.”
“But . . . then the Africa bit? Are you saying just a coincidence?”
“Hell no. She’s got another brother, doesn’t she? She’s got a partner. Raised traditional—old traditions. Big brother, head of their little family. Yeah, it could play. We need him in here, Peabody.”
“I’ll make it happen.”
When she started to rise, Eve’s ’link signaled. She pulled it out, glanced at the readout, arched her brows. Then punched for the text. “Son of a bitch. Sebastian came through. My faith in humanity is . . . about where it was a minute ago. I’ve got a meet with DeLonna.”
“No shit? When?”
“Now. Let’s move.”
The bar at the purple moon glittered with stars. More stars twinkled in the ceiling and would, Eve imagined, sprinkle light on dancers who took to the floor when the place was open.
For now its purple booths and silver tables stood empty.
The couple who stood in front of the glittery bar turned when Eve came in.
The man, rangy in good jeans and a white shirt, held both hands of the woman with him. He had an excellent face of strong bones, hard chin, framed by an artful tangle of dreads. Eyes green and hard as the chin watched Eve resentfully as she crossed the room with Peabody.
The woman looked up at the man who said something in an urgent undertone. She only shook her head.
“It’s important, baby,” she said, gave his hands a squeeze, then pulled hers away to stand on her own.
Eve doubted she’d have recognized the skinny, not quite formed DeLonna in the curvy, exotic beauty.
She’d grown into herself, Eve thought, and knew how to make the most of what she had. The short, spiky cap of hair gave her face a lift, made the most of big, slanted eyes of rich chocolate.
She’d painted her lips stoplight red, and wore the same color in a short, snug dress.