Echoes in Death (In Death 44)

“Rosa’s never hurt anyone in her life. You can’t—”

“You did nothing. She did nothing.” Because it mattered, Eve let her words simply hang for a moment before continuing. “It may be that the ones you represent to this individual did nothing.”

Though he nodded, Neville rubbed his hands over his face like a man scrubbing away a film. “I did everything he told me to do, gave him whatever he asked for. And still he raped her, and he choked her, and he hit her.”

“Because that’s what he wanted. That was his purpose. The rest was incidental.”

“What do you mean?”

“He violated your wife in front of you. That’s what he wanted. You know him, Mr. Patrick.”

Those words had him flinching back as if from a sharp slap.

“You’ve done business with him,” Eve continued, “he’s worked for or with you, or with your wife. When we do find him, you may not recognize him immediately. But you will recognize him.”

“Someone I know?” He had to choke the words out. “Why do you say that? How can that be?”

“He waited until you were back from your honeymoon, rather than breaking in when you were gone. Rather than taking what he wanted. And he waited until you were out for the evening, so he could ambush you both. He knew about the safes, he knew enough to deactivate your security, your house droid.”

“You’re saying he’s been in our home. That he’s spent time in our home?”

“Yes, I am. Considering that, I’d like you to think back. Did you have any arguments or disagreements, personally or professionally, with anyone?”

“Of course. We’re in a creative and passionate business. We thrive on disagreements. It’s how we refine any project. Kyle and I—my partner—give our people a great deal of autonomy, but at the end of the day, the decision to make or break comes from us. We started this company together. It’s very personal to us.”

“Did any of those disagreements lead to the termination of an individual or project that left hard feelings?”

“Shelving a project always leaves hard feelings. But it’s a business, Lieutenant. Anyone inside it knows how it works, has to work. And that they can always make a case to have the project revived.”

“An actor,” Eve pressed, “who wasn’t given a part, or fired?”

“God, every project would have actors passed over for a part during the casting process. It’s the nature of the beast. I honestly can’t think of anyone who’d react to that with this sort of violence.”

“In your statement you said he used a fake British accent. Upper-class Brit.”

“Yes, he dropped it a couple of times when he…” Neville looked away. “He dropped it once or twice. I believe he’s American, or Canadian.”

“Could he have switched it up to make you think that?” Peabody asked him.

Struck, Neville frowned at her. “I hadn’t considered that. But no. I’m nearly certain the English accent was fake.”

“What about someone who had feelings for your wife?” Eve suggested. “A former relationship, or someone who wanted a relationship with her.”

“Rosa and I have been together more than three years. Her former relationship is now happily cohabbing in Florence, and has been for more than a year. Lieutenant, Rosa is beautiful, inside and out. If you didn’t know her, you’d be struck by her looks. I’m fully aware men look at her, and look at me with some envy. I can tell you, without hesitation, I don’t know anyone who’d hurt her the way she was hurt.”

Eve changed tack. “Your company has used Jacko’s Catering and Loan Star Rentals.”

“Yes, Loan Star. They’re our go-to for renting a one-off. I don’t know the caterer offhand. I’d need to check with Zella. Why?”

“We’re exploring all avenues, any possible connections. Have you held any events at your home where you would have used a caterer or rentals?”

“No. We’d only moved in—in April, and were married in June. We had friends over from time to time, but small gatherings, informal. We’d planned to hold our first party as a married couple during the holidays, but…”

He looked over as the door opened, and Eve saw his face register love, grief, hope. He said, “Rosa.”

9

She looked like a woman in mourning, Eve thought. Beautiful, tragic, resigned. She’d pulled her hair back so what were likely wild and wonderful ebony curls were restrained by a clip at the nape of her neck.