Dark in Death (In Death 46)

“You can do that.” Eve held up a hand, watched the woman struggle over who to obey. “You’re absolutely entitled to that, but it’s a simple, straightforward, and routine question. Getting it out of the way saves everyone time. Let’s be clear. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m establishing your whereabouts so we can move on, and so I can tie this up and leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Craig, I don’t have Stan Grotti’s contact number.”

At his wife’s apologetic tone, Jefferson flicked his wrist at her. “I don’t like the quest

ion, your tone, or your attitude.”

“I get that a lot, but answering the question gets me out of your hair faster.”

“I arrived home at five-twenty. I unwound from my workday in my den until Mattie served dinner at six-thirty. At seven-fifteen, while Mattie cleared and ordered the kitchen and dining room, I spent thirty minutes with my son in the family room. I believe that more than covers it.”

“It does. Mrs. Jefferson, can you corroborate that?”

“I—yes, yes, of course.”

“Thank you. Has anyone contacted either of you asking questions about Ms. DeLano?”

“Why would they?” Jefferson shot back.

“She is the mother of your two oldest children.”

“Blaine lives her life, such as it is. We live ours.”

“Could you tell me the last time you had contact with her?”

Jefferson shrugged, picked up his drink. “I live my life,” he repeated.

“Mrs. Jefferson?”

“Ah, I—that is, we—sent the girls gifts for Christmas. They sent us thank-you notes.” When this earned her a cold stare from her husband, Mattie returned it with a quiet smile. “You said it was fine as long as I paid for them myself.”

“If you want to throw your … ‘professional mother’ salary away.” He tapped fingers in the air, making air quotes around the term.

“The long and short, this is none of our concern. If some moron decides to pattern murders after Blaine’s ridiculous excuse for novels, it has nothing to do with me. And if the blowback throws her silly career in the ditch, it was always going to end there. Now, is that all?”

“I think that covers it.” Eve rose. “Thanks for your time.”

“Mattie will show you out.”

When she reached the door, Eve dug out a card, handed it over. “In case you remember something. Or have any issues that require police assistance or intervention.”

“I don’t see how I can be of any help to you.”

Eve glanced up where the kid sat at the top of the steps, watching, listening.

“You never know where help might come from.”

She thought about it on the drive home, concluded she wouldn’t hear from Mattie Jefferson. Eventually she, or another badge, would end up sitting across from Craig Jefferson Junior in the box.

She knew a violent offender in the making when he tried to kick her in the shins.

But for now, she could cross them off her list. No question in her mind Jefferson loathed his ex-wife, but he also believed her unworthy of his attention. That bled over to his daughters.

He didn’t think of them, didn’t care about them.

Whoever murdered Rosie Kent and Chanel Rylan cared a great deal about Blaine DeLano.

From what Eve could see, the ex-husband made sure he knew no one who cared about his first wife.